Chapter Thirty-Seven
THIRTY-SEVEN
We’re in the Jeep. I’m driving, with Cecilia in the passenger seat and Maddox in the back.
He only has a two-hour pass, which means we can’t go far.
We aren’t actually going for brunch—we need more privacy than that.
I drive a few miles and then Maddox has me take a side road, where he spots a laneway leading to a small forest. The lane only goes up to the forest itself, for hikers to park and walk the trails.
We stop there. Then I get into the back seat with Maddox, which has Cecilia arching her brows, but I’ll feel more comfortable explaining with him beside me.
“Is it safe here?” I ask.
Cecilia’s gaze sharpens. “Are you concerned that someone’s listening?”
“We’re concerned about a lot of things right now,” Maddox says. “I’m going to take a look around. Make sure we weren’t followed.”
“All right,” Cecilia says, looking dubious.
“You coming, Chamberlain?”
Cecilia’s mouth opens, as if to say he doesn’t need me to go with him. Then she shuts it.
When we’re out of the Jeep, I murmur, “Did you see something?”
He shakes his head. “I was watching. No one followed us. I’m just covering all the bases.”
I squeeze his hand, and we pace along the road before getting back into the Jeep.
I sit up against Maddox, holding his hand for support.
“Can I ask a few questions about that list?” I say to Cecilia. “Those who would have inherited if I wasn’t found?”
Her expression says Not this again, but she plasters on her professional mask and says, “Of course.”
“The school is one of the benefactors, right?”
“Westdale? Yes. They’re on the list as…” She makes a face. “I can never say it right. Arachne spelled backward? And they think the societies are silly. Pot meet kettle.”
I’m surprised by how easily she answered that. I guess I figured I’d uncovered some deep secret, and the fact I haven’t makes me doubt my theory.
“The school would have gotten ten percent?” Maddox says.
Her gaze shifts between us. “The details of a will are supposed to be confidential, Lili.”
“They usually are,” I say, “but it’s not required, right?”
“Still…” She eases back. “Yes, Westdale was a recipient. If you think that’s unusual, just wait until you graduate from college and start getting the endless pleas for alumni donations. Chamberlains have gone to Westdale from the day the doors opened, and they’ve been its biggest donor.”
“I was looking into the history. It’s Ms. Dimitriou’s family who started Westdale.”
“Yep.” She relaxes more and I realize this also wasn’t a secret—there was just no reason for us to know our principal was more than a principal.
“Her ancestors saw an opportunity and went for it, and they’ve stayed in charge.
I’d say it’s a sweet setup, but that’d sound as if I’m accusing them of taking advantage.
They provide exactly what they promise, and the families are grateful.
It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. ”
“But they don’t send their own kids to Westdale.”
Her nose scrunches. “It would look bad, and I am well aware of how snotty that sounds. But I know—more than anyone—how wealthy families can treat the hired help. The family lawyers might have our own seven-figure bank accounts, but we’re still the help.
I would never have gone to Westdale without your mom insisting on it, and even then, there were whispers about special privileges.
As if she’d been allowed to bring her pet with her. ”
“That’s horrible.”
A faint smile. “I have a very thick skin, and the staff and most of the kids treated me like any other Westdale student. My parents warned me before I chose to go. But it explains why the administration doesn’t send their own kids there.
It would be awkward. From what I understand, they go to other private schools—very good ones. ”
“But it must chafe, hosting the Optima meetings while knowing they’ll never be part of the group. Always the hired help.”
Maddox frowns at me, but I know where I’m heading here.
Cecilia chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure they reap the benefit of hosting. Flies on the wall and all that. Their financial situation might not be anywhere near yours, but Ms. Dimitriou doesn’t run Westdale for the salary.”
“They have money,” I say. “More than they’d get from running the school, because the Optimas pay no attention to them when they’re talking business.”
“Insider trading,” Maddox murmurs. “They’d get tips on where to invest, everything from rising stocks to future hit movies to new technology.”
Cecilia motions zipping her lips. “I said nothing. But I’ll admit a little secret thrill, seeing Ms. Dimitriou pull up in a brand-new luxury sedan, knowing that the families of Westdale don’t even notice. Sometimes, it’s useful to be overlooked.”
I think back to the one time I saw Ms. Dimitriou arrive. She hadn’t been driving a luxury sedan or even a new car. Not anymore.
“Is this really what you wanted to talk to me about, kiddo?” Cecilia asks.
“No,” I lie. “It’s about the stuff I’ve been investigating. Did you find out more about Louis Ralston?” I ask. “From 1956?”
“I was going to talk to you about that this morning. He was hospitalized in May of that year for alcohol poisoning. A few of the students had a bedroom bash, and they said he’d brought a bottle. They thought he went back to his room, but he was found in the yard, unconscious.”
“And he had to drop out of the Optima race?”
“Yes.”
“Was it scotch? The bottle he brought to the party?”
She frowns. “Actually yes. Eighteen-year-old single malt whisky.”
Maddox and I exchange a look. He’s remembered that piece I reconstructed from the burned page in the secret room. Likes single malt whiskey.
“Guys?” Cecilia says.
I shake my head, putting that aside and ask, “What did Jenna initially contact you about?”
Cecilia sighs. “Like I’ve told Maddox, it was a personal matter.”
“So you lied to him,” I say flatly.
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“Jenna wanted information on a police incident. An attack in a bar. Another Westdale student—a friend of hers—was queer-bashed.”
Her mouth tightens, and I think she’s going to deny it, and maybe she’d be right.
But after a moment, she says, “Yes. Fine. Calling it a ‘personal matter’ is a stretch, but I considered it one. Jenna was concerned about a friend, and she wanted more information. It had nothing to do with Jenna’s death.
” She lifts her hands. “Before you try to say that she tracked down that student’s attacker and was killed for it, I did consider and investigate that possibility.
There was absolutely no evidence of that. ”
“Why did she contact you specifically?”
“I’ve done work for Westdale, as you know. Her society’s Dux asked me to speak to her. He said she had questions, and he wanted to help. He may have had a crush, and I’m a sucker for that. I gave him a card and said to have her call. She wanted to know more about an attack on a student.”
“Taylor,” I say.
“Yes. I presume you know what happened to them?”
“We do.”
“Well, Jenna was understandably upset and wanted more. I talked to a contact with the Savannah police and got everything I could. I assured her that, as far as I could tell, the police were legitimately investigating. That was it. She took the information and must have been satisfied because I heard nothing else from her.”
“Did you know Taylor was the front-runner for Optima that year?”
Her brow furrows. “No. Is that why Jenna was interested? She thought something was up with a nonbinary kid being knocked out of the race?”
“Did you know Theo was removed from the race?”
“You mean Taylor?”
I shake my head. “Theo. He and I were the primary contenders, until he was very briefly accused of attacking Isolde, and then the Optimas didn’t want him. I think Cosmo was behind that, though he swears he wasn’t.”
She doesn’t answer, just seems to be thinking.
I continue, “Annette Donleavy. Also in the running. Until she wasn’t.”
Her eyes lock on mine, anger rising. “Keep going.”
I do. I lay out everything including the part about my mom and her own investigations.
When I finish, she’s very quiet. Then she says, her voice low, “I knew Rose was up to something. But she wouldn’t tell me, and it pissed me off. We were best friends and she—”
A deep inhale, and Cecilia looks from me to Maddox. “It can be tough when your bestie falls in love. You’re waiting for the drift, anticipating it, braced for it. Something was up and your father knew and I didn’t, and that hurt. I reacted badly.”
“She didn’t tell you because she wasn’t sure.”
Cecilia shakes her head. “No, she didn’t tell me because she was protecting me.
Before she left, we had a weird conversation.
She begged me never to run for Optima. I thought she meant that she was being forced to run, after Annette died, and she didn’t want to compete with me.
That maybe, since our friendship was on rocky ground, she thought I might take revenge by running against her.
That stung. Then she left Westdale, and I realized she was telling me not to run after she dropped out. ”
“Optima is the ultimate old boys’ club, right?
” I say. “That’s why it was started. Back in the early days of Westdale, everyone who attended came from an ‘old boys’ club’ family.
Rich, powerful, and mostly white. Westdale was the next level up for these families.
An even more exclusive club. But it still wasn’t exclusive enough. ”
“So they come up with the idea of the Optimas,” Maddox says, working it out with me. “The best of the best of the best.”
“The ultimate inner-circle networking. It starts being men-only—that’s why they gave the female students a pointless little society.
But the Liliths didn’t stand for that. They forced their way in, and eventually that was fine because they were still from those old families.
They were still valuable members of the Optimas. ”