13

Scarlett

For the second time in as many days, Scarlett sat in the library of Tudor House, on one of the chairs that Dr. Brown must have unearthed from a torture chamber, and marveled about how much her house and school had changed since the last term.

Take this room. Once, it had been a quiet reading room. Now, the book-lined shelves were still there, and the green-shaded reading lamps, but it was otherwise unrecognizable. The comfy armchairs were gone. Dr. Brown had erected a large folding screen to separate what were presumably her sleeping quarters from the rest of the space, which was set up as an office. The administrative offices had been damaged in the storm, and many remained closed.

Dr. Brown stood behind her desk now and glared at Mustard and Scarlett.

“What,” she asked them in a tone as dry as the desert, “did I say to you both last night?”

Mustard did not reply. Scarlett, too, thought the question was probably rhetorical.

“Answer me!” She slammed a hand down on the paperwork littering her desk. “Did I not say to concentrate on your schoolwork?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they responded obediently and in unison.

“Did I not say to study for your tests?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maybe they should start a spoken-word choir. Scarlett would need more extracurriculars on her college applications to balance out her crummy test scores.

“Did I not say to stop sneaking around this house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what have the two of you been doing?”

“To be fair,” Scarlett said, “we were standing openly in the hall. It was hardly sneaking. Anyone could have seen us.”

“All the more idiotic, then!” Dr. Brown looked utterly exasperated. Mustard was staring at her with his mouth open.

“I’m just saying.” Scarlett sat back in her seat.

This whole week was going from bad to worse. She should not have planned a scheme with Mustard. He was worse, even, than Finn. If only she had a real partner in crime.

Or maybe Orchid was right, and she should just give up on the whole crime thing altogether.

“Why were you bothering Rosa?” Dr. Brown pressed.

“We just wanted to know why she had maps hanging up in her room,” said Scarlett. “There’s a lot of weird stuff going on here, and a new kid who won’t talk to anyone and covers her rooms with diagrams of the buildings on campus is a little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?

“No,” replied the interim headmaster. “No, I would not say that. I would say that any student who chose, voluntarily, to come to this hellhole at the ends of the earth, despite its being the location of a grisly and sensational murder, and pay our lovely institution a hefty tuition to do so should be respected. I would further say that if I were said student, I, too, would choose not to speak to my fellow students if they called me things like ‘suspicious’ and utilized their spare time plotting ways to break into the certainly ill-equipped bedroom that this flood-ravaged campus has provided her.”

Chastened, Scarlett was silent.

“You, Miss Mistry, are hereby stripped of all leadership roles in campus activities.”

Scarlett gasped. “But—”

“You are bullying the new kids!” Dr. Brown said. “How in the world can I trust you to welcome them to this campus?”

Bullying? Her ? Unthinkable. She was leading !

“You can’t do this!” she shouted. “I’ll leave!”

“Oh, because Choate has all kinds of leadership positions open for a new kid senior year?” Dr. Brown replied.

Scarlett’s mouth snapped shut, but her eyes still burned.

“Would you look at that?” the headmaster said with a cruel smile. “It does still feel a bit like I can fire you.”

Scarlett swallowed heavily. That was her entire college application—gone. No standardized test score would save her now. Headmaster Boddy would never . . .

“We were just . . . concerned, Dr. Brown,” Scarlett tried. “We found another dead body in this house yesterday.”

“Because of snooping.” Dr. Brown waved her hand dismissively in the general direction of the study.

“I’m sorry, is your argument here that we should have left Rusty Nayler’s corpse to rot in the secret passage?” Scarlett asked incredulously.

Dr. Brown leveled a glare at her. “You’re skating on remarkably thin ice here. Don’t push me.”

“What if there’s another murderer in this house?”

“As I said before, Mr. Nayler died of natural causes. The coroner’s office has confirmed it.”

Oh. Scarlett hadn’t realized that. Maybe the blood and the head wound Finn had mentioned had happened when the body fell out of the ceiling. Maybe this whole thing was one big mistake?

If so, Scarlett was definitely the one paying for it.

“And you have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to Rosa Navarro,” Dr. Brown concluded. She trained her attention on her next victim. “Now you, Mr. Maestor. What shall we do with you? I think you have far too much time on your hands. You’ve been remarkably reticent to join any group activities or clubs since you got here.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, and the Texas drawl was back in his voice. “There just wasn’t really the opportunity, what with the deadly storm and, well, the deaths.”

“I’m sure our work crews could use an extra pair of hands. They’re mucking out seaweed down at Dockery Hall all this week. That should keep you occupied. And it’s all the way across campus from any further troublemaking in Tudor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sure another expulsion would not look good on your record.”

“No, ma’am.”

Another expulsion, huh? Well, there was the confirmation Scarlett had been looking for. The one that—once upon a time—she and Finn would have methodically rooted out, then used to their own advantage.

But she didn’t want to now. Now, much as she hated to say it, all the Murder Crew stuff seemed almost to fit. She and Mustard were in this together.

Which made Dr. Brown their mutual enemy.

“I will repeat myself, since last time it did not sink in. No more schemes. No more sneaking. No more shenanigans. Step another foot out of line and I will find another creative way to make your lives here miserable. Am I understood?”

With one final “Yes, ma’am,” they were dismissed, with firm admonitions that Scarlett was to spend the rest of the evening in her room and that Mustard was to head directly to the nearest exit. They were not to confer.

Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.

Another boy might have hung his head and shuffled to the door. Mustard didn’t precisely march, but he didn’t skulk, either. Scarlett was impressed; she could admit that much. And she’d much rather have someone like him on her side than otherwise. Murder Crew 4-Evah and all that.

“Adults always say stuff like that,” said Scarlett when they’d reached the base of the stairs. “Like we can’t just text each other if we want to. By the way, what is your number?”

Mustard told her.

As she was inputting it into her phone, she said, “Sorry about the hard labor.”

He shrugged. “That was standard procedure at Farthing. Feels like old times. Sorry about your committees or whatever.”

She affected a similar shrug. “I’ll have my parents call and pitch a fit. I’ll get reinstated.”

Scarlett wondered if he was lying as much as she was. There was no way she was going to tell her parents about this. Though it might not be a terrible idea for her to impersonate her mother and call Dr. Brown. Usually white people didn’t question who was really on the phone if she faked even a mild Indian accent. She’d get it taken care of—after tests were done.

Scarlett could only handle one crisis at a time.

“So, what about Rosa?” he asked. “Going to be awkward around the breakfast table.”

“It was already awkward. And this doesn’t let her off the hook, either.”

“No,” he agreed. “If anything, it makes me almost want to buy the idea that she’s here as a spy. Dr. Brown is on the board. That she’s so mad means we might be closer than we thought.”

“Why, Mustard!” she exclaimed. “Are you sleuthing ?”

He shrugged.

“Are you going to go call Finn now?” she asked him.

“Yeah. Probably.” He hesitated. “Can I ask you what happened between you two? Before, it was like you were fighting, but then you stuck your neck out for him just now.”

Yeah, and got decapitated. “Don’t tell him that part.”

Mustard regarded her carefully. “Are you into him? Nonplatonic power couple?”

She snorted. Why was it so impossible to believe that a girl could want something other than a romantic attachment? Let the other idiots on campus—like Orchid—get moony over some boy. Scarlett had bigger goals in mind.

“You sound just like him. Trust me, Finn likes grand romantic gestures far more than I do.” Case in point: almost freezing to death running after Peacock in the storm last term.

“Oh.”

Mustard had perfected that laconic Texan thing where he could seemingly be talking about the weather no matter what was under discussion. But Scarlett heard it anyway. That little extra—something—in his voice. The kind that had never once been in Scarlett’s but was always in Orchid’s when she was talking about the stupid townie.

Interesting.

And Finn had told Mustard about the project. Mustard . . . and Peacock . . . and not her.

The seed of an idea planted itself in her mind. She should ignore it. It was definitely shenanigans as Dr. Brown had defined them.

But old habits died hard.

She pressed. “Anyway, it’s not like that with us. If I helped him, it’s because I think his invention could be valuable.”

“Yeah,” said Mustard quickly. “I think it might be, too.” He was quiet for a second. “Besides, with you two—he’s kind of still hung up on Peacock, isn’t he?”

Bin. Go.

A thrill coursed through her. She still had it. Between Orchid and Finn, Scarlett had worried she’d lost her touch. But she could still ferret out secrets. Maybe not everyone’s. But this one, from this guy—this one she had nailed.

All at once, it all made sense. The secrecy, the note, everything.

Mustard wasn’t a murderer. He was in the closet.

She almost felt sorry for him. Of all the boys in all the school that he could have picked, it was Phineas Plum? Airheaded, egotistical, selfish, scheming, knows-exactly-how-cute-he-is Finn?

Not to mention, the boy was straight. He’d dated Peacock. He’d hit on Scarlett. He’d once rated every one of her housemates on a ten-point scale. With decimal points.

And yet, that was the thing with crushes. They never made rational sense. Look at Orchid and her bizarre jones for Vaughn Green.

Scarlett gave Mustard her most wide-eyed, innocent look. “I really don’t know if he’s hung up on anyone at the moment. You’d have to ask him.” She could not resist adding, “Though I guess guys don’t do that kind of thing. You know . . . talk about who likes whom.”

Or do they, Mustard?

“Not in my experience,” Mustard said smoothly. Very smoothly. The kind of smoothly that came from a lifetime of practice.

Scarlett was utterly delighted. She was so delighted, she forgot for a second that life as she knew it at Blackbrook was most likely over.

Sadly, the elated feeling did not last long after Mustard left Tudor House. It wasn’t like she could rush to her coconspirators and dish. For once, she didn’t even have coconspirators.

In the end, she decided to make herself some tea and try one more practice test. The sky might be falling, but the SATs were still on Saturday.

Which was another reason why Mr. Winkle’s bozo tutor idea wouldn’t have helped her. It was too late for that. And too late, apparently, to apply for an untimed test, too. She’d have to power through.

Despite Dr. Brown’s admonishment, Scarlett could not imagine she was confined to her room entirely. After all, she needed to eat. She headed back down the hall toward the kitchen.

And found Vaughn standing by the sink. He must have just arrived at the house, as he was still wearing his dirty, worn, red overcoat. His brown wool mittens had the tops pulled back, revealing fraying fingerless gloves underneath, and his black ski cap was hanging haphazardly out of his coat pocket.

The locals here had a uniform Scarlett never quite understood. All their coats looked to be a million years old, and their wearers were utterly oblivious to mud stains or salt marks.

“Oh,” he said blankly. “Hey.”

As if this night could get any weirder. “How did you get by Brown?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Huh?”

“The rules are, no one gets into this house without an invitation.” She made a show of looking around. “Where’s Orchid?”

A slow smile spread across his features. They were not unpleasant features. Spiffed up a bit, Vaughn could be cute. Maybe Orchid saw past the trashy clothes. Then again, some people wrote love letters to murderers in prison. There really was no accounting for taste.

“Why, Scarlett, you’re the last person I expected to forget that I work here.”

She rolled her eyes. Right. Custodial. That was something she’d never had to worry about when Mrs. White was still the Tudor House proctor. Then, Mrs. White had mopped their floors, and Scarlett had never had to deal with the likes of Vaughn Green. Of course, thoughts of Mrs. White and a mop brought to mind bloodstains in the corners of the hall. Scarlett shuddered.

“Well, empty the trash or whatever and move along. I’m making tea.”

“I’m not blocking your access to the kettle, am I?”

No, but she still found his presence unnerving. Scarlett had never been able to get a proper read on Vaughn. Half the time, he was this shy little music nerd. The other half, he was a total snake. He’d made a game of torpedoing her projects when she’d led the Campus Beautification Committee. During the storm, he’d made a game of getting everyone in Tudor House to suspect everyone else of murder. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure he didn’t know that Mrs. White was the culprit all along.

Not that she’d been the greatest judge of character lately. Orchid’s revelation about her true identity had come as a shock. Finn’s betrayal, too. Mustard—well, she might have guessed that Mr. Buttoned-up Colonel had a few secrets up his sleeve.

What was Vaughn’s?

“Whatever,” she stated coolly and brushed past him on her way to the stove. As she lit the flame under the burner, he didn’t move. She did not love having her back to him. If there was a spider in the room, she wanted to keep her eye on it. She set the kettle on and turned back to him. “Today sucked, by the way, no thanks to you and that little trick last night.”

“Trick?”

“You know, hiding in the pantry.”

He looked at the nailed-shut pantry as if he’d never seen it before. “Oh. Right.”

She shook her head. He was too weird. “Brown’s on the warpath. She stripped me of all my student leadership positions.”

Of course he smiled! What a jerk.

“I’m not surprised you’re thrilled. Honestly, I have no idea what Orchid sees in you.”

Vaughn shrugged. “Me neither.” At least he admitted it. She wondered if he knew the truth about her. But, no, Orchid had sworn no one knew, not even the administration.

Or maybe that was another lie. Finn had found it easy enough to lie to her. Dr. Brown didn’t even want her help. She’d poured so much of herself into this school for the last few years, and it was all going down the drain.

“But it’s kind of fun, yeah?” he went on.

“You’d better not hurt her,” Scarlett said. “She’s my friend.”

“You don’t have friends,” he shot back. “You have assets.”

The kettle whistled. Thank goodness. Scarlett took the kettle off the stove and grabbed her mug. It wasn’t true. She had friends. She and Finn were just in an off period. She and Orchid were getting very close. And she’d made great strides with Mustard tonight. She liked everyone in the Murder Crew.

Except this jerk.

Her fingers fumbled with the mug, and she splashed hot water onto the counter as she poured. “Maybe I’ll transfer,” she said carelessly. “Make your whole year, wouldn’t it? I bet you’d like nothing better than to get rid of me.”

His voice was even as he replied. “I assure you, there are at least four or five things I want more.”

For her part, Scarlett couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than not to know what else was on his list. She took a deep breath, set her features in as calm and carefree an expression as she could manage, and turned back to him.

“So, no Murder Crew camaraderie?” she asked, stirring honey into her tea.

“With you?” he shot back. “I thought I was supposed to empty the trash and scram.”

“Fine.” She sipped her tea. “You never liked me, and I never liked you. What a shame Orchid doesn’t have better taste.”

“I feel precisely the same way,” he replied. “And maybe you should thank your lucky stars your fortunes are no longer tied to this school. It’s going down in flames.”

“That’s your expert opinion?”

“No. That’s my promise.” His tone was as cold as the night outside.

Scarlett’s fingers tightened around her mug as she swallowed. “I thought you loved this school more than life itself.”

He seemed to consider this. “Me? No. Never.” Then what was the point of their battle over the old boathouse? “Not love, anyway. More like obsession.”

Scarlett made a face. Seriously, what did Orchid see in this guy? But if she wasn’t going to let Mustard best her in a battle of words, there was no way she’d let Vaughn get one over on her. “I guess it’s good to get out while the getting is good, then. Rocky Point people who get themselves too involved in Blackbrook affairs don’t tend to make out very well. Mrs. White was obsessed, too.”

She expected him to flinch, but he did nothing. His face was a mask of stone.

“And Rusty,” Vaughn said, eyeing her carefully. “Who do you think killed him?”

She spluttered over her next sip, the hot liquid rushing in and scalding her tongue. She fought to keep her cool. “He wasn’t murdered. Dr. Brown said the coroner confirmed that he died of natural causes.”

“Did she?” Vaughn’s tone was appreciative. “Well, that’s convenient.”

That wasn’t what he’d said about the matter yesterday. He was crazy erratic. You never knew with Vaughn. Did he love Blackbrook or hate it? Was he friends with Rusty, or did he want to hypothesize that his old boss had been violently murdered?

“Why do you think he was murdered?” she couldn’t help but ask. Had Finn been showing around the photo?

“Of course he was.” Vaughn leaned in. “Murder Crew, Murder House . . . this whole place is drowning in murder. Just wait. It’ll all come out eventually.”

Scarlett shivered. She had heard enough. “You know what? I think I was right before. Empty the trash and get out.”