THURSDAY 1:46PM
Darla’s eyes widened as she stared at the gun. “Lucy, what are you doing?”
“It’s her.” Jerry stepped forward to shield Darla. “Lucy is the one behind it all.”
“Duh Jerry, I figured that out.” Darla kicked him in the shin.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“General principle. Plus, I owed you from the night at the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Hey, hey! Let’s not ignore the person with the gun.” Lucy smirked.
Jerry took one step toward her.
“Uh, uh.” Lucy waved the gun. “Back up, Jerry. Then you and D get over on the sofa.”
Jerry and Darla shuffled over to the couch and sat.
“Give me your phones.”
Jerry fake-struggled to pull his phone from his pocket. He wanted to delay Lucy as long as possible. Rachel knew he was here. Would she arrive? And when? Would she bring help?
“Quit stalling.” Lucy cocked her hip and glared.
Jerry extricated his phone and tossed it.
Lucy snagged it with her free hand. “D?”
Darla lobbed hers, but the aim was off. It landed on the floor and skidded under her desk.
“Real clever, D. Am I supposed to get down on my knees to retrieve it while you guys try to jump me? Or did you dial 9-1-1, and the cops are listening to everything we’re saying?”
Jerry cursed himself for not coming up with that idea.
“Who knows?” Darla shrugged.
“Get your phone, D.”
“No.” Darla crossed her arms.
Lucy pointed the pistol at Jerry. “Get the phone, or your boyfriend eats a bullet.”
“Go ahead. We’re broken up, anyway.”
Jerry’s heart pounded. Lucy’s lips twisted into a sinister grin. He doubted she was bluffing. Lucy was responsible for half a dozen deaths. “Uh, Darla...”
Lucy racked the slide. “I’m serious, D.”
“Fine.” Darla dropped to her knees, scooted under her desk, retrieved the phone, and slid it across the floor to Lucy.
“Now get back on the sofa.” Lucy, keeping the gun pointed at the pair, backed to the kitchen, filled the sink with water, then splashed the two phones.
Jerry needed to keep Lucy from whatever she planned next. “What I don’t get, Lucy, is why? What did Cassie, Noah, and Vince ever do to you?”
She laughed. “Nothing. I didn’t even know them.”
“Nothing?” Darla furrowed her brow. “That makes no sense.”
“Of course you guys don’t get it. Even Professor Harding didn’t get it, and she had a PhD in this stuff and was in a coven. It’s not about the bad luck, it’s about the good. I’m riding the biggest wave of good luck ever. I’m playing the best golf of my life, got a hot new boyfriend, heading toward a four-oh this semester, and cracked fifty thousand followers on Tik-Tok watching all my trick shots. Plus, I’ve got a top sports agent who’s lining up a stack of big money NIL endorsement deals.. But the thing about the universe is that these things balance out. So, while I enjoy all the good luck...”
“Others suffer the bad,” Jerry finished. “But why did you target people connected to the football team if you don’t have a grudge against them?”
“I didn’t.” Lucy shrugged. “I suspect it’s residue from Peggy’s anger, randomly selecting them. And football is a misogynistic, debilitating competition that sucks up way too many Athletic Department dollars at the expense of women’s sports, so it’s a win-win. Whatever the reason, I don’t care, as long as my luck keeps rolling.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Friday the 13th is going to be a bloodbath. I shot a best-ever sixty-five against Pierce on Tuesday. Amazing lies. Never a bad bounce. Wind always behind me. Lot of people are going to have to pay the price for that.”
Darla pointed at Lucy. “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world at the cost of his soul?”
“D, I’m really not going to miss your over-the-top sanctimony. But I would expect nothing less from someone coasting through life on her dad’s money and her mom’s looks.”
Darla pouted. “That’s not fair. I worked hard for everything I’ve achieved.”
“Born eighteen inches from the pin and thinks she nailed her approach.”
“Fine, you got what you wanted. Let us go. We won’t tell, will we Jerry? Besides, no one would believe us. They don’t believe it’s happening now.”
Lucy laughed. “That’s the one thing I do like about you, D. You’re pragmatic. Students are dying left and right, but if you can save yourself, who cares? I might even have faith that you’d keep quiet. But not Ron Burgundy here.” She pointed the gun at Jerry. “He would never let it drop. He’s like that reporter who was following the Hulk around. What was his plan when he finally caught up with the big green guy, anyway?”
“You’re right, Lucy. I won’t stop.”
“Jerry.” Darla punched him in the arm. “Think about what you’re saying.”
“I am. If Lucy’s right and the bad luck is random, then what can she do? Shoot us? How’s she going to explain that?”
Lucy’s finger stroked the trigger guard. “The police have no idea I got rid of Professor Harding. I’ll dispose of you too. Remember, I’ve got luck on my side. Plus, the cops around here aren’t too bright to begin with. They’ll swallow any half-plausible story I concoct. Maybe you were attacking Darla. Domestic violence is a national scandal.” Lucy shook her head and tut-tutted. “I tried to defend her, but you both got shot.”
“We have good luck too.” Darla held up her wrist. The rabbit’s foot dangled from a silver bracelet.
“Rabbits’ feet?” Lucy howled. “Let me explain how this works. Your charm is putting out the good luck equivalent of the power of a refrigerator magnet. While mine is like one of those giant electromagnets at the end of a junkyard crane, and I’m about to drop you into the crusher. You guys are completely outmatched, outclassed, and outgunned.”
Jerry needed to keep Lucy talking. “I get what happened to Cassie, Vince, Noah, and Fuller. But what about Professors Harding and Johnson? That wasn’t bad luck. That was murder.”
“What? I’m supposed to reveal everything to you?”
“It’s the reporter in me.” He hoped he sounded convincing.
“If you really must know, this is the CliffsNotes version. At golf camp a couple of years ago, some girls were talking about harnessing the power of good luck to improve their game. The power of affirmations, selfless deeds, and that sort of crap. It got me curious, so I did some research on the Internet. Turns out they had the right idea about luck but were going about it the wrong way. Bad luck is the key. However, there was so much garbage to wade through, because, you know, it’s the Internet. To get the actual truth, I turned to Professor Harding. The old bat wouldn’t help me. Said she still felt guilty about what happened to Peggy all those years ago.
“I asked who Peggy was, but the professor clammed up. Back to the Internet. More research, more garbage. Eventually, I found a couple of members of her coven still alive down in Florida. They were happy to teach me what they knew, and I pieced together the rest.
“When I was in your dorm on Monday, I heard you say you spoke with Professor Harding. I didn’t know how much she told you, but I didn’t want her talking to you again.”
“So, you killed her? Or had Professor Johnson do it?” Jerry steadied himself.
“Mark.” Lucy’s voice dripped with contempt. “He was useful for getting students to break superstitions to fill the vicinity with bad luck.” She cackled. “There’s nothing like stroking a middle-aged man’s ego, among other things, to get him to do whatever you want.”
A look of disgust crossed Darla’s face. “I think I’m going to vomit.”
“Go ahead. Who’s stopping you?”
“That still doesn’t explain why Professor Johnson disappeared from his classroom,” Jerry pointed out. “Or why he committed suicide. Or was he murdered too?”
“Do you really want to know? Or is this a stalling tactic until help arrives? Who are you counting on? Your geek roommate? The Bobbsey Twins?” Lucy sneered. “Story time is over. We’re going for a little walk.”
* * *
“What about a lunar mining drill?” Mike lay on the sofa, the back of his head resting in Talia’s lap.
“Good one.” Talia stroked his hair. “You’d need to operate in both extreme high and low temperatures. And figure out how, in a vacuum, to radiate away all the waste heat the drill would generate. You also—”
A knock at the door.
Mike rose from the sofa. “Keep going.”
“I was going to say that you want to construct it out of the least dense material—”
Mike opened the door, and Rachel burst in, panting. “I’m worried about Jerry. He’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s not here, but he’s always turning off his phone. What’s up?”
“I had my nerds run down that list of Professor Harding’s.”
Talia stood. “What list?”
“One of her students asked about magic and bad luck, but she couldn’t remember which one.”
“But I thought this was over.” Mike stared at her.
“It’s not. Jerry told me a girl fell at the Student Center, messed her leg up really bad. Said she split the group, whatever that means.”
“Split the group?” The blood drained from Talia’s face.
“One of my staff compared the names on the professor’s list against people who were in the area of the Whitmore Building when she was murdered.”
“You can do that?” Mike was wide-eyed.
“Yeah, the surveillance state is scary. Anyway, Steph crunched the data and came up with four names. She sent it to me and Jerry. I was in class, so he saw it first. Now I can’t reach him, and I’m afraid of what’s happened. Darla’s on the list. Jerry said he was going to confront her.” Rachel held up her phone.
Davenport, Allison L. – SIN# 210-96-6521
Jaggard, Darla T. – SIN# 385-80-2273
Munroe, Kris W. – SIN# 128-54-1793
Tollefson, Amanda B. – SIN# 133-23-5896
“Let me see that.” Talia reached for Rachel’s phone.
“Darla? She’s the one?” Mike shook his head. “That’s crazy.”
Talia squinted at the phone. “Oh no! If Jerry went to Darla’s, we have to get there quick. Mike, grab the jammer.”
“What? You mean it really is Darla?” Mike unplugged the jammer from the wall.
“Of course not. Darla wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Talia rolled her eyes. “But Lucy is on the list.”
“Lucy?” Rachel grabbed the phone back. “Who’s Lucy? I don’t see any Lucy.”
Talia pointed to the screen. “Allison L. Davenport. Lucy is her middle name. That’s Darla’s roommate.”