THE DUPLICITY
The drive to campus is only ten minutes. Tony says nothing on the way, which is fine with Kate. She’s lost in her own thoughts, too. But when they enter Marchburg’s heart, he points to a well-kept Victorian house done up in grays and whites with a matching side garage.
“That’s the old Westhaven place. You should see it inside. Chock-full of antiques, decorated to the hilt. There’s a Bentley in the garage, too, a perfectly preserved 1934. Belonged to one of the earlier headmistresses. Ford doesn’t live there, she stays on campus, but her mother stays when she comes to town. It’s a shame, big gorgeous old house like that standing empty most of the time. Makes me sad. But that’s what this town’s like. It’s all about the students. Most of the folks who grew up here have moved off to bigger towns and better lives.”
“Yeah, they’ve crowded into Charlottesville and are busy wreaking havoc for me instead of you. Uncle Tony, this is none of my business, but is there something up with you and the dean?”
He glances over, though his eyes are obscured by sunglasses. “If you’re asking if I’m compromised here, no. Ford and I saw each other for a while, off and on. Broke it off for good this summer.”
“May I ask why?”
He is silent for a few moments, then sighs. “She’s ambitious. Wants to get out of Marchburg, go to New York, be a big shot author. I’m almost twenty years her senior and not about to uproot my life. Timing’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wasn’t in the cards.”
The school looms on the horizon. Kate knows it’s beautiful, but there is something about it that unnerves her. All those windows, perfectly in line, the dormers watching the quad, jealously guarding the girls inside. The expansive grounds, the cottages, the arboretum. The rumors of tunnels, the very real specter of murder. She wouldn’t have enjoyed going here. The very air feels wrong, like a veil drifts between the school and the street, unseen and menacing.
They stop at the gates, which open inward with a deep, metallic shriek after Tony presses the intercom button and announces them. It’s a bit like entering a prison, only here, the inmates are upstanding teens with daddy issues. She’s shocked there aren’t cameras on every corner. Is that to protect the privacy of the daughters of the rich and famous? You’d think someplace like Goode would be running the most expensive, elaborate security money can buy. But they don’t. They use the gates, the redbrick wall, and a few security guards in golf carts to keep outsiders from ravaging their world.
What if they’ve let in someone who will ravage them from the inside?
Main Hall looks much like she’s seen it before: multicolor banners declare Odds and Evens weekend is coming, students scurry about without a care outside of getting to their next class on time. That’s another thing Kate would have hated, the uniforms, the robes. It’s all so formal, so fussy. So entirely unnecessary.
She follows Tony to the dean’s office. After a few small flirty greetings with the assistant stationed outside, he asks for her boss.
“She just finished up with a meeting. Hold on and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
It takes five, but Ford finally comes to the door, color high, a little breathless. “Tony? Anything new on Camille?”
“Hi, Ford. We need to have a quick talk. Alone.”
Is it Kate’s imagination, or does the dean pale when she hears Tony’s serious tone? What is this woman hiding? Kate hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the dean isn’t sharing all she knows about the night Camille Shannon died.
Face it, Wood. You’re looking for a disaster. Morbid much?
“Come on in. Can we get you some tea or coffee?”
“Not necessary,” Tony says. When the door is shut and they’re all arranged, he jumps in. “We’ve come across something of interest about one of your students. Ash Carlisle—Ashlyn Carr—specifically. Show her,” he says to Kate, and she pulls up the photo of the painting on her phone.
“This is from the Carrs’ estate. When the crime scene techs from Scotland Yard were combing the place, one took this shot. It’s an official portrait of the family. Do you see anything odd?”
Ford takes Kate’s phone and looks at the picture, squinting a bit. “That’s Ash.”
“Is it?”
“Well, it certainly looks like her. She’s younger, obviously. Why?”
“I don’t think it’s her. The shape of her face is off, her chin, her nose. They could be sisters, but I—”
“Wait. Let me see it again.” She stares at the photo.
“You interviewed Ash before she was admitted to the school, correct?”
“I did. But her admission was a foregone conclusion, which is not the usual. This was a bit of a unique situation. Her parents got in touch with my mother, who asked me to admit her as a personal favor. I was happy to do it—we had a transfer slot open, so the timing was good. And the Carrs were a very special family.” To Kate, “You probably don’t know this, but Goode has a waiting list. It’s rather extensive.”
“I assume that’s an understatement.”
“Well, yes. This situation... I’m bound by privacy here, Tony. She’s a student, and I’m her guardian. Where are you going with this?”
“If Ash isn’t who she says she is...”
“Then we’d have a much bigger issue. I hardly believe that’s the case, though. Girls change dramatically in their teen years.”
“Did you fly her here, or did you go there for the interview?” Tony asks.
“Neither. We talked on Skype. She came across as a very well-bred, articulate girl—for a sixteen-year-old. Half of their utterances are noncommittal grunts.”
“Do you have a tape of this interview?”
“No, actually. I don’t. There was no need, it was pro forma, more to make sure she understood the Honor Code than anything else. And soon after our conversation, her parents passed away. We worked with the estate and arranged for a scholarship because the money for her schooling was going to be tied up for a while. It’s something we’ve never revealed, another little Goode secret.”
“Why did her parents want to send her here? You said it was a favor?”
Ford taps a thumb on her desk. “Again, privacy. What happened before Ash arrived on our shores isn’t something I can discuss.”
“If you won’t tell us, then we’ll need to talk with Ash directly, let her tell us the story,” Kate says.
“Not without representation. I’ll call Alan and we can set up a time. But if you’re questioning her, I won’t let her do it without a lawyer. You understand, I’m sure.”
Tony stands. “Call Alan. We’ll be back tomorrow. Say, 10:00 a.m.?”
The dean looks startled that Tony has called her bluff. “I will make the arrangements.”
“One last thing. You lost a teacher earlier in term?”
“Dr. Muriel Grassley. Poor thing. Her heart finally gave out. We had incidents with her allergies over and over again.”
“This wasn’t a one-time thing?” Kate asks.
“Oh, no. Not to lay blame, but if I had an allergy that could kill me, I’d be a bit more careful with my intake. She rarely checked ingredients. Yes,” she says, looking out the window, “what a terrible term. Two deaths.”
“And a new student whose family has just died, as well.”
Westhaven shakes her head. “You’re programmed to see the sinister in every situation. I have a very hard time believing that Ash is capable of any sort of deceit. You talked to her. She’s a kid. A teenage girl. They’re like wolves, untamed, unruly, and for the most part, unremarkable.”
“But she’s a Goode girl,” Tony replies. “You always tell me Goode girls are special.”
The smile is swift and fleeting. “You have to say something on the brochures.”