Prep School Confidential (A Prep School Confidential Novel) (26 page)

I have to fight with the wind to push the library door open. Campus is eerily empty, I realize with a wave of unease. I reach around in my bag and let my fingers curl around the sharpest item I have—a pair of tweezers.

I’m being ridiculous. I’ve walked through some of the scariest parts of New York City before. And how am I supposed to defend myself with tweezers? Pluck someone to death?

I’m halfway down the path leading to the center of campus when I hear leaves crunching behind me. My grip on the tweezers tightens, and I pick up my pace, ignoring the singsong voice in my head.

ROSES ARE RED,

VIOLETS ARE BLUE,

YOUR ROOMMATE IS DEAD,

MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, OR YOU WILL BE TOO.

I spin around, figuring I have a better chance at scaring off the person behind me if I look him or her in the eye. Make him think I’m not afraid, even though I’m one muscle clench away from peeing myself. But a shadowy figure is already darting back around the side of the library.

The person followed me out here,
I realize.
Someone is following me, and he was probably in the library with me the whole time.

I take off in the opposite direction. As much as I want to know who’s following me, that doesn’t matter as much as staying alive. My gut is telling me it’s Lee, and he’s got about a hundred pounds and a foot and a half on me. I don’t have a chance of defending myself.

Footsteps on leaves sound again behind me, but this time they’re quicker. I break into a run. The footsteps behind me keep getting louder, faster, and I’m about to scream when he reaches out and grabs my arm.

I jerk around and freeze, seconds away from jamming my tweezers into Brent’s neck.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

“What the
hell,
Brent?” I demand, shaking myself free of him.

He holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know it was only me. Please don’t stab me.”

“You’re lucky I don’t do more than that!” I practically shriek, barely hearing myself over the sound of my heart palpitations.

“I said I was sorry! I didn’t want you to walk back alone.” Brent’s eyes find mine in the dark. “I heard about the message you got. It freaked me out.”

“Yeah, well, I can take care of myself,” I tell him. “I’m not dumb.”

“Really? Because taking off with Isabella’s brother seems pretty dumb to me, Anne.”

I’m caught between being pissed off that he’s apparently been watching me since yesterday, and smug that he seems to care I’m spending time with Anthony. “You don’t even know Anthony.”

“I don’t have to,” he says. “The police think he killed Isabella. That should say it all.”

“The police also think
I
killed Isabella. Next, they’ll be saying one of the Muppets did it.” I square off with Brent. “What’s really your problem with Anthony, Brent?”

He gapes at me. “I’m just looking out for you.”

I laugh and set off in the direction of the dorms. “Okay.”

“You think I don’t know why you’re mad at me?” Brent says, trailing behind me. “Anne, I grew up with women. Three sisters and a mother—and a dad who was always traveling. I’m not stupid. This is about Jill.”

“What about Jill, exactly?” I ask. “You leading her on, or her trying to get me arrested?”

“Alexis is the one who gave Jill the idea to go to the police.” Brent taps his chin in pretend thought. “I wonder if Alexis is the one telling everyone I’ve been leading Jill on all these years? Nah, that doesn’t sound like her.”

I glare at him.

“Jill and I are friends. I’ve told her repeatedly that I don’t want to be anything more,” Brent says. His eyes twinkle. “She
was
fine with it, except now she’s mad because she can tell I’m really into this other girl.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, although I can’t help feeling fluttering in my stomach. “What’s this other girl like?”

Brent smirks. “Petite. Brunette. Wicked smart and doesn’t take my shit.” His face widens with mock horror. “Oh my God! She’s my mother!”

I pick up my pace so he can’t see me grin as he tries to catch up with me. “Hey. I’ve been dying to talk to you. Let me help you again.” His voice becomes serious. “Someone threatening you isn’t a joke. If you’re not going to go to Harrow about it, I can help you find out who it was.”

We’re in the quad now, which isn’t as empty as the outer loop of campus. People are streaming in from the dining hall and athletic complex. Any one of them could be the person who threatened me.

“Fine,” I tell Brent. We part ways to go back to our dorms, but moments later he’s calling over his shoulder to me.

“I hope this means you’ll sit next to me in Brit lit again!”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t sit next to me!” I yell back.

He smiles at me before disappearing into his dorm. The same way he smiled at me when he first laid eyes on me in Harrow’s office. And just like that, I’m under the Brent Conroy spell again.

Guiltily, I think of Anthony. I remember how it felt to kiss him. I realize I want it to happen again.

Looks like I’m the one complicating things now.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

There’s finally an update in Isabella’s case.

The police found her cell phone.

All the news story says is that the phone was recovered at the city dump, and it’s been too long since the murder to determine how it got there. The killer erased Isabella’s call history before ditching the phone, but the phone company records show a number of calls between her and a disposable cell phone the night she was murdered.

By lunch on Monday, everyone has heard, and judging from the hush that’s fallen over the dining hall, you’d think it was the morning after Isabella was killed, all over again.

Everyone is quiet, their eyes fixed on food they’re not eating. Their faces are scared, as if the fact that the police found Isabella’s phone is a sobering reminder that her killer is still out there. But I know better now.

They’re scared for themselves. In theory, anyone here could have called her. Anyone could be the next target of the police’s questioning.

As soon as I get to Latin, I know something is wrong. I kind of have a knack for sensing these things. The day our cleaning lady found a bottle of vodka under my bed and told my parents, I just
knew
they were at home waiting to eat me alive. True story.

I can’t explain what feels wrong when I take my seat. We don’t have an exam today, and we’re not getting one back. Upton has her back to me. Lee is in his seat, biting his nails and looking as nonthreatening as he could possibly be.

Molly.

Why can’t I remember the last time I saw her? I definitely know she wasn’t in class on Friday, but it’s Monday now.

I think back to the weekend. I don’t remember seeing her in the dining hall. Or in the dorm. My legs jiggle beneath me.
Relax, Anne. She could just be sick. Or late.

Sick enough to be bedridden for over three days, though?

Upton’s voice is far away. Someone taps my shoulder, and I realize I’m supposed to pass my homework to the front. When Upton begins to hand out tonight’s homework, I raise my hand.

Upton nods to me, the area between her eyes pinching.

“Um. May I have an extra homework packet for Molly?” I ask.

I sense all eleven bodies in the room stiffen. Upton is short enough to click her nails against her desk while standing. I wait until I can’t take the sound anymore before saying, “Molly’s been out since Friday. I could bring her the homework.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Upton doesn’t look at me as she instructs everyone to turn to page 297. I stare around the room, searching for some sort of indication that Upton is acting bizarre. No one will look at me.

My gaze rests on Molly’s empty seat again. What if someone’s threatened her too? Or even worse? Upton is about ten minutes into her lecture when I can’t ignore the fear building in me any longer.

I stand up.

The silence in the room turns into confused murmuring as I pack up my things. This gets Upton’s attention. She turns away from the blackboard, the chalk nearly falling from her fingers as she sees me.

“I don’t believe I’ve excused anyone yet, Ms. Dowling.” Her voice is saccharine, but her eyes say
Leave this room and it’ll be the last thing you do.

“I need to be excused,” I say, just as sweetly, even though I’m trying not to shake.

I need to find out where Molly is. Even if she’s really just sick and in the dorm, I need to know. Now. Because I may have put her in danger by trying to get her to talk.

“Anne. Sit down.” Upton’s face says she’s not playing anymore.

But I never was. I hold her gaze, aware of the way the room has tensed, as if Upton and I are pit bulls waiting to rip each other’s throats out.

She doesn’t call after me as I leave the room.

*   *   *

The halls of Amherst are so quiet, I feel a totally inappropriate urge to scream. On the door at the end of the hall, pink wooden blocks spell out
MOLLY.

It’s the same type of corner room Sebastian has. A single room.

“Molly,” I call into the crack. “Are you in there?”

No response. I peek under the threshold, but the lights are off. “Molly!” I pound on the door this time. “MOLLY.”

A door opens across the hall, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. It’s only Emma, the second-floor RA. “Anne? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Where’s Molly?” I demand. “Is she okay?”

Emma shrugs. “Probably.”

“What do you mean, ‘probably’? Aren’t you her RA?”

“Not anymore,” Emma says. “I got a call this morning that she wouldn’t be back.”

I freeze. “A call from who?”

“From the dean, obviously.” Emma sounds mega-annoyed now. “If you need to talk to Molly, why don’t you call her or something?”

Black spots swim before my eyes. Suddenly I’m back on my floor, talking to Darlene, and it’s Isabella who’s missing. My chest cavity is shrinking. This can’t be happening again.

Anyone could have called Emma, pretending to be Tierney. Molly could be dead, and who would notice?

I push past Emma. I don’t know where I’m going until I get there.

The administration building.

My heart hammers as I ascend the spiral staircase. Portraits of presidents and senators stare back at me from the walls, almost accusingly.

I practically freeze when I get to the second floor. Dr. Harrow’s office looks empty. So does Tierney’s; her receptionist is even missing. I tiptoe down the hall and around the corner. At the end of the hall, there’s a conference room. I crane my neck to see through the pane on the door.

I can only see the tops of heads, but I’d recognize that ugly L’Oréal shade of copper hair anywhere. Tierney. I stretch to see who else is sitting at the table with her, but the door creaks open. I freeze and press myself against the wall. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong—minus the cutting-class part—but I still don’t want to be seen lurking around the administrator’s offices. Luckily, the footsteps stop in the middle of the hall. There are two sets of them.

“We had an agreement,” a low voice snaps. It takes me a second to place it.

It’s Dr. Harrow’s.

“You broke our agreement the second you dragged Lanie into this,” a second male voice responds. “You greedy bastard.”

I swallow, feeling the back of my neck begin to perspire.

“I’d watch who you’re calling a bastard,” Harrow growls. “Unless you want a murder investigation tied to your presidential campaign.”

And without looking around the corner, that’s how I know who the man is.

Senator Westbrook.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

Blackmail.

It’s the only explanation for Dr. Harrow’s threat:
Unless you want a murder investigation tied to your presidential campaign.

I run out of the administration building so fast, I forget why I went there in the first place—to ask Dr. Harrow what happened to Molly.

I thought I could trust him over Dean Snaggletooth. Now it sounds as if he knows something about Isabella’s death—something that could be tied back to Senator Westbrook.

The tape.
I want to kick myself for not realizing it sooner. If Dr. Harrow has a copy of the tape Isabella made, he could be blackmailing Alexis’s father with it. That sure would explain the “historic” gift the senator made to the school.

There’s nothing more historic than your daughter completely fucking up your career.

But why would Alexis kill Isabella if her father was taking care of the situation? And who’s Lanie?

I really need to get my hands on that video and see for myself if it’s worth killing over. But first, I have to make sure Molly is okay.

I get back to Amherst as people are trickling in from class. I head straight to my room and compose an e-mail.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
Where are you?

Molly,

Are you okay? Emma said you’re not coming back. What happened? Did they threaten you? Please e-mail me back.

Anne

*   *   *

Dinnertime rolls around without a response from Molly. The only thing that gets my mind off of her is the way everyone in the dining hall is staring at me with a mix of fear and awe. Apparently walking out of Upton’s class has elevated me from someone to be feared to a somewhat legendary status, according to my friends.

“I heard you almost slapped the Botox right off Upton’s face,” Brent says with glee as I choose a seat.

Everyone glances from me to Brent, as if it’s news to them that we’re on speaking terms again.

“It wasn’t like that,” I say to no one in particular.

“You’re my hero.” Murali sidles up next to me. “I dropped Latin freshman year because Upton is such a C U Next—”