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Alice Beech was the only adult in Pierce. Ruth Standish and Tom Hastings didn’t appear to be at the school; at least there weren’t lights on in the dormitory cottages where they lived. Alice had set aside her nurse’s white uniform for faded jeans and a burgundy fleece sweatshirt. A dozen students were with her, including Tank Donoso, but Jessica wasn’t among them. The students were camped out in the downstairs living room and had collected mattresses and blankets so they could remain together. There was a fire in the fireplace. The table was strewn with candles, kerosene lanterns, loaves of white bread, bags of cookies, packages of cheese and bologna, two gallons of milk, and two gallons of orange juice. The students were sitting on the mattresses with blankets over their shoulders. They seemed excited and cheerful. A radio was playing jazz from the Vermont NPR station.

“We raided the kitchen,” said Alice rather proudly. “No telling how long we’ll be stuck here. The lights will probably go out at any moment; that’s what always happens.”

“Has Jessica been here?” asked Hawthorne. His glasses had again steamed over and he held them in his hand. The room appeared vague and unfocused.

“I’m afraid not. Her kitten’s here someplace. We gave it some milk.”

“I’ve got it,” said a girl in the corner, and she pulled back her blanket so Hawthorne could see the sleeping kitten.

“She was on her way over here,” said Hawthorne. Could she have gotten lost in the storm? That seemed unlikely. The lights were visible from Emerson. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m afraid not. I asked for one last spring but Fritz said it was an unnecessary expenditure.” Alice was rosy-cheeked and looked immensely happy, as if a bit of chaos agreed with her.

“Have you seen anyone else? What about Bill Dolittle?”

“I haven’t seen him. Fritz was here an hour ago but no one else,” said Alice.

“He didn’t even say yo,” said Tank, who sat on a mattress with a dark blue blanket over his head and tucked around his chin, which made him look oddly nunnish.

Hawthorne accepted a mug of hot tea and a cookie from Alice, who had a thermos. They spoke of the storm and the difficulties it presented. Hawthorne brushed the snow from his jacket. A few drops fell on a table where two boys were playing chess. They looked at him severely.

“We’ve been telling stories, but no ghost stories,” said Alice. “That’s the rule. Nothing scary. You’re welcome to stay if you like. We’ve got lots of blankets from the other dorms in case the furnace stops.”

But Hawthorne kept worrying about Jessica. After another minute, he moved toward the door and zipped up his jacket.

“I’ll be back later,” he said.

Tank got to his feet. “You want some company, bro?”

Glancing at him, Hawthorne was again impressed by his physical bulk. Then he said, “You stay here where it’s warm.”

“The radio says we’ll get three feet,” said Alice.

“Fucking A,” said Tank. “We can chill here till Wednesday.”

Hawthorne made his way back through the drifts. He wanted to see if the Reverend Bennett had a cell phone and he wanted to find Jessica. He couldn’t guess what had happened to her. They had separated over an hour earlier. Hawthorne considered organizing a search but it would be nearly impossible in the snow.

It was past six o’clock, but it could have been much later or no time at all, a period outside of time—just wind and blustering snowflakes. Hawthorne’s fingers were cold in his gloves and he tried to keep them in his pockets. Every minute or so he looked up to see if he was going in the right direction. He could feel the muscles ache on the insides of his thighs from constantly lifting his legs. Early in the fall he’d discovered a row of ancient-looking snowshoes on a back wall of the garage and he had laughed at the idea of ever needing them. Hawthorne had never used snowshoes; the closest he had come was cross-country skis, but even that had been on manicured trails.

He plunged across the lawn toward Stark Hall. The chapel was dark, but he could see a single light in the Bennetts’ apartment. Off to the left, along what might have been the driveway, was a large snow-covered lump that Hawthorne guessed was his Subaru. As the temperature had dropped, the snow had gotten fluffier and easier to wade through. The light at the top of Emerson shone unsteadily.

Hawthorne climbed the steps at the rear of Stark. The door to the Bennetts’ apartment was just inside the lobby. Hawthorne felt around for a light switch but couldn’t find one. Turning on his flashlight, he saw the doorbell and pushed the button. From inside he heard a distant chiming. He removed his ski cap and slapped it against his leg. The radiator inside the lobby hissed gently. After a moment, he rang the doorbell again. Since he had seen a light, he assumed somebody was home. Hawthorne took off his gloves and set them on the radiator. Then he rang the doorbell a third time.

“Who is it?” came a voice. It was the chaplain’s, but it sounded gruffer.

“Jim Hawthorne.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you have a cell phone?” Hawthorne kept his flashlight pointed down at the floor, filling the lobby with a dull yellow glow.

There was the sound of the door being unlocked, then it opened about two inches. A chain kept it from opening any further. “What did you say?” One of the Reverend Bennett’s eyes peered out at him.

“I asked if you had a cellular phone.”

“Have you seen Roger?”

Hawthorne stepped back from the door. “I saw him outside half an hour ago. He was looking for Fritz. Do you have a cell phone?”

“I sent it back—too much static. What about LeBrun, have you seen him?”

“He should be over in the kitchen getting food for the remaining students.” Hawthorne didn’t want to tell her what her husband had said. “You haven’t seen Jessica Weaver, have you?” He could see the shadow of the chaplain’s body through the crack in the door. He wondered why she kept the door chained. She didn’t answer his question about Jessica. Hawthorne could hear her breathing. “What’s going on?” he asked after another moment. “What’s Roger doing with Fritz and LeBrun?”

The Reverend Bennett continued to stare at him. Then she said, “You shouldn’t have come here. You know that, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” He lifted his light so he could see her more clearly.

Harriet Bennett began shouting at him. “Why are you plaguing me? Don’t you see what you’ve ruined? Everything would have been fine if you hadn’t come to Bishop’s Hill.” Her voice broke, then she slammed the door. Hawthorne heard the locks turning. He looked at the door as if expecting it to open again so he could ask for some explanation, but it remained shut. Hawthorne took his gloves from on top of the radiator and went back out into the cold.

He considered walking over to the faculty houses. Perhaps Skander had a cell phone, or Herb Frankfurter, or Ted Wrigley, even Betty Sherman. He was almost certain that Gene Strauss had a cell phone, but he was supposed to be away that weekend, although his wife might be home. But it would take fifteen minutes to get over there and Hawthorne wanted to look through Emerson once again. Perhaps Jessica was still in the kitchen.

He made his way along the driveway toward Emerson Hall. The spikes topping the metal fence outside of Emerson all had little caps of white. Hawthorne looked up toward the light in the bell tower, which shifted and grew dimmer, then brighter as the snow blew across it. He could just make out one of the gargoyles staring down at him and the scaffolding from the roof repairs. He continued to the front of the building and used the railing to help pull himself up.

The echoes inside the rotunda had a melancholy sound, more like the noise of a tomb than a school. Across the bright blue school crest were muddy footprints. Hawthorne turned toward his office. As he got nearer, he saw that the door was open. He even heard a voice, though it didn’t sound right—there was a staticky quality. Then he heard what it was saying. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. I’ve got something to tell you.” It was the answering machine with Moulton’s message repeating over and over. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Hawthorne hurried into the outer office. It was empty. The message kept repeating. He walked to the answering machine on Hilda’s desk and shut it off, but the message didn’t stop. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. . . .”

Hawthorne felt a chill, then he saw that the voice was coming from a voice recorder. He shut it off as well.

Then someone spoke to him from his own office, just beyond Hilda’s: “As soon as you can, professor. Beep. As soon as you can, professor.” Then there was a laugh. It was LeBrun.

With a mixture of relief and dismay, Hawthorne walked to the door. LeBrun sat in Hawthorne’s chair with his boots up on the desk. He had a bottle of Budweiser in one hand and something small and shiny in the other. His dark hair was plastered down across his forehead. He wore his white cook’s jacket unbuttoned over a white shirt.

“Making yourself at home?” Hawthorne tried to smile. Something had changed with LeBrun. It wasn’t just his expression, it was his electricity. His face kept moving, he kept wrinkling his forehead and pursing his lips.

“You look like a fucking snowman. You got to watch out, professor, playing in the snow. You could catch pneumonia and die.” LeBrun spoke quickly, clipping his words.

“I’ve been trying to see if anyone’s got a cell phone. I have to call Kate.” Hawthorne kept his voice relaxed. He didn’t want to mention Chief Moulton, that he wanted to get the police over to Bishop’s Hill as soon as possible.

LeBrun reached inside his green hunting jacket and drew out a cell phone. “Looky here, professor. My boss gave it to me as a present. Just so we could chat. Nice guy, right?”

Hawthorne took a step forward. “Can I use it?”

“Fat fuckin’ chance. I’m expecting a call. My stockbroker’s got a hot tip. He’s got the Japanese on the line.” LeBrun laughed and put the phone back into his coat. “Actually, your time’s up, professor. The big finale. Guess it had to happen.” LeBrun stretched both arms high into the air, holding the beer bottle up like a torch. He had put the shiny thing on the desk, where it glittered. “I don’t want you here no more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You got wax in your ears?” LeBrun took a drink, then clunked the bottle down on the desk. “I got work to do and I don’t want you around. You’ll distract me.”

When LeBrun picked up the shiny object, Hawthorne saw that it was a small ice pick. LeBrun’s movements were jerky and he kept recrossing his boots, as if someone had turned up his speed. And his voice was higher. It seemed clenched and barely under his control.

“I’m not following you,” said Hawthorne. He wiped the snow from his coat and moved back to the door.

“It’s a joke right? You’re the professor and you don’t know shit. I’m the idiot and I got all the answers. Beginning, middle, and end. Like all of a sudden I’m the fucking teacher. I’m the big chastiser. That’s what they said in school when I was a kid, ‘We’re going to have to chastise you.’” LeBrun picked up a piece of paper and pretended to read. “Let me see, do I got your name here? This one, that one. Hey, professor, you’re not on the agenda. Let me tell you, that’s good luck for you. You hear what elephants use for tampons?”

“Sheep. You already told me.”

“That was the old elephants. The new elephants use Canucks.” LeBrun leaned his head back and laughed. His teeth shone in the light.

Hawthorne waited for LeBrun to stop laughing. “What don’t I know?”

“You don’t know that Skander wants you out of here. Sewed up and put to sleep.” The lights dimmed, then came back again.

“Fritz?”

LeBrun cackled, then scratched his head, mussing his hair. “What do you think, his fucking wife, the tub of lard? You’re messing up Fritz’s plans, you’re keeping him from being boss of the bosses. He wants you dead. Him and that fag Bennett. Like you’re a chalk mark on their blackboard and they want you erased. And guess who’s the big eraser?”

“You wrecked Clifford’s office.”

“That’s old news, that was last month. You don’t know shit, do you? That’s why I want you gone. Just go home and you’ll be okay.”

Hawthorne put his ski cap in his pocket. He needed to keep LeBrun talking. “I don’t understand.”

LeBrun starting shouting. “Because I don’t want to kill you, you hear what I’m saying? I mean, I could do it. No fucking sweat. Like this!” LeBrun swung the ice pick down and hit the desk, then he withdrew his hand, letting the ice pick quiver in the wood. “But I don’t like being told what to do. I don’t like some scummy hunk of shit saying if I don’t do something, I’ll get arrested. I’ll go to jail. I’ll get butt-fucked. I’ll die. Fritz thinks he can scare me into doing his dirty work and he’s too cheap to pay me! Two hundred fucking bucks for the office! I would of killed you for a grand—at least I think so. But maybe I wouldn’t take the job. I mean, you haven’t been in my face. But let me tell you, that’s nothing in your favor. It doesn’t pay to like people. A friend is just a guy who hasn’t knifed you in the back yet. He’s still working out the details.” LeBrun laughed and looked angry at the same time. The words tumbled from his mouth. “Know what I got offered for the girl? Ten grand. Even if Fritz had come up with ten grand for sticking you, I might not of done it. And now the fucker’s saying that, if I don’t do it, I’ll get fried. He said you were going to the cops. He said you’d bring in the fucking army!”

“You killed Scott.”

“Doo, dah, doo, dah, professor.”

“But why?”

“He’d seen something he shouldn’t of, it was like an accident. But it was Fritz who told me the kid had seen it. The kid went to him when he couldn’t find you. He told Fritz all about it. I mean, I knew somebody’d seen it. I seen him hiding in the bushes. But just a shape, you know what I mean? I didn’t know who it was till Fritz told me. Then it was easy. I only had to be patient. You be patient and you wait for the other guy to be impatient. The kid’s dorm room was on the first floor.” LeBrun reached into his pocket, took out a key ring, and jingled it. “And I got keys, I got all the keys.”