Chapter Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
Theo and I usually do Sunday brunch at nine because it’s the earliest slot so it’s the quietest. That’s not the case today, because everyone who is there wants to talk about the gala, so we end up at a big table, answering questions.
“I saw pics of you and Theo at the Quartz,” Cecilia says when the video call connects.
“Damn, that was some outfit. And red-carpet poetry? That boy is working it.” She takes a deep breath.
“But you didn’t call to catch up. I could hope you’re calling for help with boy drama—I give the best advice—but I know that’s not it.
I also saw that Charles Dubois was there.
Was he an asshole to you?” A pause. “God, tell me he didn’t hit on you. ”
“He was wasted and temporarily mistook me for Mom. Theo sorted it.”
“Good, so this call isn’t about that, I take it. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just a concern.”
“Oh?”
I study her expression. It’s calm, but I don’t miss the tightness in her voice. She’s on high alert for “concerns.”
“Annette Donleavy,” I say.
She rocks back as that bomb lands.
“I’m going to call you back,” she says.
Thirty seconds later, a video call comes from an unknown number. I tentatively click, but it’s Cecilia.
“This line is more secure,” she says.
“You need a secure line to talk about Annette?”
She waves that off. “Just a lawyerly precaution.”
“I know about Annette. I also know about Jenna Moreno.”
A slow nod. “I wasn’t averse to you learning about Jenna. In fact, I recommended it to Maddox weeks ago. He wasn’t ready, but I’m glad you know.”
“Why?”
The question catches her off guard. “You two have become friends, and I thought you’d want—”
“That’s not the reason.”
She gives a sharp laugh. “You don’t give me an inch, do you, Lili?”
“I don’t give anyone an inch. If I seem to, it’s just not useful for me to confront them yet.”
“Fine. You’ve said you like solving mysteries, so maybe you could help him. Your next question will be whether I think there’s a mystery to be solved. I have no idea, but I believe Maddox needs answers.”
Nice answer. Also, the same one Theo gave.
“I think there’s more to your concern,” I say, “but we’ll get to that. For now, yes, I know about Jenna, and Maddox is going to share what he’s found. I might want to talk to you about that after I’ve processed it.”
“There isn’t much to process, Lili. But, yes, I’ll be home after two.”
“One quick question before we talk about Annette.”
She relaxes, as if I’ve given her time to prepare. “Shoot.”
“You said before you don’t know why my parents really left,” I say. “Could it have had anything to do with Annette’s death?”
A pause, and then, “Continue.”
Not the answer I expected, but when she says it, I almost smile. Typical lawyer. She’s going to find out what I know before responding.
“Annette died in March,” I say. “Single-vehicle accident. No witnesses. That’s always suspicious, but it also does happen, and I can come up with ten reasons why a Westdale student might sneak out and drive to Savannah along back roads.
If there’s an accident—teen driver who is either inexperienced or driving recklessly—on a road like that, it could be a single vehicle, no witnesses, the accident not found for hours. ”
“Yes.”
“Was it her car?”
A pause. “Annette didn’t have a car. It was your mom’s. An antique convertible.”
That gives me pause, but I push on. “Did Annette have a pass?”
“She did not. One of the guards was let go immediately after Annette’s death. It’s presumed he was fired for allowing her to leave without a pass.”
I focus on my breathing and try to sound casual. “Any chance Mom was driving?”
“Rose didn’t drive.”
“Mom had a car that she didn’t drive?”
“You also have a car that you don’t drive. It’s a rich-kid perk. She could drive, but she had no interest in it.”
That tracks, actually. We only ever had one vehicle, and it was mostly Dad who drove it.
I continue. “So someone could have been in the car with Annette, though if it was my mother, she would have been a passenger.”
“Yes, but if your mom went out with Annette, she’d have told me she was leaving the grounds. She always did, even when she was sneaking off with your dad.”
“What was up with my dad and Annette?”
Her frown is immediate and genuine. “Your dad and Annette?”
“Right. What was their connection?”
“Your mom? I mean, Annette knew they were dating.” Her frown deepens. “Are you thinking she told someone about your parents? She wouldn’t have. Annette kept her head down. She was a scholarship kid.”
“I thought Westdale didn’t do that.”
“They tried it for a while. Annette was one.”
“So my dad and Annette never had a thing?”
She stares and then bursts out laughing. “Definitely not. Your dad met your mom on, like, day three, and I don’t think either of them ever noticed anyone else after that. It was like something out of a book. I teased Rose mercilessly, of course.”
“If Annette was a scholarship kid, is it possible she knew my dad from before Westdale?”
“Nah. He was from Vermont, and she was from the West Coast. Seattle, I think. They did talk. They were both smart blue-collar kids heading to college. Zero romantic vibes. Trust me on that. If I’d seen them from Annette, we’d have had a chat.
If I’d seen them from your dad, I’d have kicked his ass.
That night, we believe Annette left to see a boy she met online. She’d talked about one.”
“So there was nothing between Dad and Annette?”
“Where is this coming from, girl? Holy shit, it wasn’t creepy drunk Uncle Charlie, was it?”
I think about the scorpion tail on Charles Dubois’s arm. And the scorpion beside the warning in that yearbook. And the scorpion in that secret room.
“What society was Theo’s uncle in?” I ask. “Janus?”
Her brow furrows in obvious confusion. Then she laughs. “Still figuring all that mythology nonsense out? Yeah, old white guys really like the Greeks and Romans. The societies are Apollo, Hephaestus, Mercury, and Lilith.”
“Is Janus a retired society then?” I ask.
“I don’t think there are any retired ones, though I’m certainly no expert in Westdale lore. As for Charlie, he was in Mercury. He didn’t inherit any of the family artistic talent. His plan was to go into business and support Bernard’s career that way, which I think is what he’s doing these days.”
“There’s a comment about Annette and my dad in the staff yearbook. My dad’s photo was defaced. I could see where it’d been cut out and pasted back in, with some stray pen marks.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” Cecilia says. “As you probably saw with Creeping Charlie, there was some hate after kids realized who Rose left with. Half the male students spent the next week blustering and whining. Most-eligible girl in school runs off with the gardener. It was kinda epic.”
“I bet. So Dad’s photo had to be replaced, and there were also two comments. They’d been covered up, but I scraped off the whiteout.”
She smiles. “Of course you did.”
“One said ‘Run, Nelson, run. Because if you ever show your face again?’ And that was it.”
“Couldn’t even think up a threat? Yeah, my money’s on Creeping Charlie for that.”
I make a noncommittal noise. Then I say, “The other said ‘Ask Will Nelson about Annette.’ ”
She stops, water bottle halfway to her lips. Her brows knit. “Ask your dad about Annette?”
“It wasn’t the same handwriting as the other message.”
“Huh.” She leans back, office chair tilting. “I don’t know what to say, Lili. If anyone was saying shit about your dad and Annette, it was just that: shit. Maybe a rumor?”
“About a romance?”
“Girl, you are hooked on romance, aren’t you? Anything I should know about in your own life? Maybe after that gala?”
I ignore her and continue. “What else would the note mean?” I stop. “Annette’s death?”
Cecilia throws up her hands. “Who knows. It was a message written by a seventeen-year-old. Don’t expect it to make sense. Someone threw out a wild and vague accusation, hoping to stir up shit, and all that happened was some poor staff member had to white it out.”
“Do you think Annette did die in a single-vehicle crash?”
“I do not know.”
“But combined with Jenna Moreno’s overdose, you believe it’s suspicious.” I pause. “Are there others?”
“Other students who’ve died at Westdale? Of course. It’s been around for a very long time. Also…”
Her voice lowers. “It’s a very high-stress situation.
Westdale kids are the best of the best, from parents with very high expectations.
No matter what they do to prevent it, the school loses someone to suicide every few years.
There have also been DUI deaths, alcohol-poisoning deaths, drug-use deaths.
Kids self-medicate for stress, the same as adults.
And for teens at Westdale, that stress starts much earlier. ”
I think of Theo, drinking at the gala, and Maddox with his edibles. Even I’d taken Maddox’s gummies to relax.
“You’ve dug into this,” I say. “Deaths at Westdale.”
“Yes.”
“Can I get the names of the deceased? Or do I need to find them myself?”
She sighs. “We’ll see. But we aren’t talking about students dropping like flies. Including suicide, the stats work out to one every four years, with higher numbers before there were mental health resources.” She checks her watch. “My parents and I are heading to church soon. Any other questions?”
“Your parents? Are you in Atlanta this weekend?”
“I am.”
I pause. “Does that have anything to do with me being in Atlanta this weekend?”
“Is that your question, girl? Because I really need to go.”
“Fine. Do you think the school is behind Annette’s or Jenna’s death?”
“The school?” She bursts out laughing and then erases it with a grimace.
“That was rude. You just looked so serious and…” She clears her throat.
“Do I fully believe the official versions of Annette’s and Jenna’s deaths?
I do not. But if either one is suspicious, it’s not Westdale you’d be looking at. ”
“They have covered it up.”
“No, they covered their asses.”
That’s exactly what Theo said about Jenna’s possibly forged pass. And it does make sense.
“So who would we be looking at?”
“That’s the problem, kiddo. I have no idea.”