Chapter Thirty-Four
The following day, Isla was glad she was used to walking as she headed toward the guard station at the front gates.
She needed to get to town, and knowing no rideshare would be allowed beyond the gates, she would meet them there.
She was walking down the tree-lined road that she’d ridden up on the day before when suddenly she wasn’t alone anymore.
A car slowed beside her and stopped when she did.
“Myles,” she said with surprise, ignoring the annoying little flutter in her stomach when the window rolled down and she saw him behind the wheel this time. No driver, his own personal car.
He asked casually, “What are you doing?”
She told him her plan, and then she heard the door unlock. She looked at him questioningly.
“The walk to the gate is over half a mile. You should have just asked for a driver. Dad instructed everyone to help you with what you need.”
She wished she had known that before she’d started this trek.
“I can take you into town,” Myles offered. She couldn’t tell if the offer was genuine or because of the directive from his father. Plus, she was planning to visit Eden’s high school friend Sara. She didn’t need Myles knowing what she was up to.
“Or not,” he said when her reply was taking too long.
She got in, saying, “I’ll take the ride to the guard station. I’ll order an Uber from there so I don’t take up your time. I know you’re busy.”
“Did I say I was busy?” he said through clenched teeth. She’d annoyed him again. She didn’t know how to be around him.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, deciding silence was her best bet. They remained that way until they got to the gates and pulled up behind an idling car, one from their fleet.
“You can use that car to get around since riding with me must be unbearable,” Myles said gruffly, his eyes ahead of him.
“That’s not what I meant!”
It didn’t matter. “The guards have the keys.” When shock and confusion kept her in her seat, he prompted, “If you don’t mind”—the doors unlocked, and he still looked ahead—“I’m rather busy.”
Eden’s high school friend was next on Isla’s list of interviewees.
Sara’s house was blue, like Becca had said, very cute and modest, with a neatly trimmed yard and a welcome sign featuring a mini wooden replica of the larger house hanging on the door.
A small red Mazda was parked in the driveway.
Isla knocked, and after a moment, a woman with eyes similar to Becca’s and auburn hair pulled back in a low ponytail answered.
She was wearing an oversize UVA sweatshirt, leggings, and a pair of thick furry socks.
“Can I help you?” she asked cautiously, looking Isla over.
Isla was presentable and hoped she looked pleasant looking and approachable in dark denim jeans and a light, airy white shirt to stave off the summerlike heat.
She had a tan messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and it held the equipment she’d picked up from her post office box at the local USPS office.
She had a mic; a small video camera in case she couldn’t use her phone; her laptop, which was also connected to Rey and which he could access at any time so they could transfer information virtually undetected; notebooks and pens; and a pair of Ray-Ban Meta smart glasses (compliments of Rey, of course) that looked like dark, oversize sunglasses but had two tiny cameras embedded on either side of the lenses.
“The GlimpZi glasses are better, in my opinion,” Rey had said the other night when she’d checked in.
“But the camera is right in the middle and really obvious at first glance. They’re also chunky looking, so I think you’re better off with the next step down, especially if you’re using them in a crowd. Less noticeable.”
“Okay,” Isla had replied, not really caring either way. She did what she was told. She only planned to use them in public settings and not during one-on-ones. That would make the interviewee uncomfortable.
She introduced herself. “Your aunt Becca at Mabel’s may have called you about my coming over to chat?”
Sara was biting her upper lip as Isla spoke. “She did. Said you’re interviewing about the Corrigans.”
“That’s right. It’s a project about Mr. Corrigan, actually, for an award he’s receiving. I’m trying to get various perspectives about him so I can portray him accurately and thoroughly. I heard you knew one of his daughters, Edie, pretty well in high school?”
Sara’s face softened at the mention of her old friend, and she stepped back, pulling the door open with her, and gestured for Isla to enter.
They sat opposite each other in two armchairs in Sara’s cozy living room, in front of her large bay windows with sunlight streaming through, bathing the room in a warm glow.
Sara self-consciously patted her hair when she settled into her seat after accepting Isla’s refusal of any hot or cold beverages. “Will you be recording? Is it video or audio? I don’t think I’m camera ready.”
Isla laid her bag on the carpeted floor next to her feet. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t have time to watch interviews for the article I’m writing on Mr. Corrigan, so notes will suffice. If you don’t mind.”
Sara didn’t mind. Still, she straightened her sweatshirt and pulled her ponytail through a hand to tame any strays. Isla noticed a stack of papers on the center table, a teacher’s planner notebook, and another notebook with Gradebook printed on it. She pointed, brightening.
“You’re a teacher.”
“Yes, seventh grade. Middle school, I know,” Sara added when Isla grimaced. Isla remembered how middle school had seemed especially hard when she’d had to endure it. She imagined it was ten times worse when you were a teacher and had to combat a hundred emotional teens on a daily basis.
Isla continued to make the nervous woman comfortable by discussing what Sara did best. “I thought grades were done electronically now?”
Sara followed where Isla was pointing. “They are, but my mentor teacher—she was an older lady—taught me to always have a backup. On the news the other day, I heard the grading system in an entire state was hacked and the state superintendent had to announce it to everyone. I don’t think grades were compromised, but if it ever happened in my district, or throughout Virginia, I have a hard copy right there.
I’m trying not to regrade a hundred twenty argumentative essays. ”
“Smart,” Isla said. “You’re a true hero, being a teacher. No, really, you are. It’s not easy at all, and more people on the outside looking in should realize and respect what you do for how little you get.”
Sara smiled, looking away bashfully, letting Isla pile on the compliments.
“But off my soapbox. As I was doing a preliminary walk-through of the Corrigan estate—massive, by the way—I realized there was one Corrigan unaccounted for, their eldest daughter, Edie.”
“Not their. His. Mrs. Corrigan isn’t Edie’s mother by a long shot, thank God.” She rolled her eyes as if Edie had dodged a bullet on that one, and Isla couldn’t have agreed more. “Her mother is Elise and lives in Daytona.”
Isla swallowed. Clearly Sara didn’t know that Elise was dead. Isla wanted to tell her, but that would mean blowing the little bit of cover she had. She wasn’t supposed to know anything. This was supposed to be fact-finding before she decided what to do with it all.
“Right. Mr. Corrigan’s daughter. Your aunt mentioned the two of you were pretty close?”
A tiny smile played on Sara’s lips as if she were remembering something pleasant. Isla hoped she was. Nothing but pleasant thoughts of Eden.
“Yeah, Edie and I were really close,” Sara began, her voice coated with a nostalgia that Isla could relate to.
Her own throat started to thicken and hurt from trying to keep her emotions at bay.
This woman had known Eden when she was a totally different person and lived a whole life Isla had known nothing about.
The two worlds clashing in this moment was proving to be more difficult than Isla had thought it would be. How much worse would it get?
Sara continued, and Isla pulled herself out of her own feelings to listen. “She had this light about her that drew everyone to her. Like, she was a really good person. Innocent and kind of naive, which was saying a lot for a Corrigan. They aren’t known for being innocent, kind, or naive.”
Isla could attest to that too.
“We were in theater club together, which was where she really shone. Before that, she was really quiet and low key. She was aware of her status and her name and didn’t want any fanfare, since she was at a regular public school and not at the private school all the country-club people on the hill send their kids to.
She just wanted to blend in and be regular. ”
Isla could see that too.
“But when she joined theater club, that’s where she couldn’t hide who she really was. She shone, and I’m not just blowing smoke, you know? She was really good. We also had English together the year and a half she attended—”
“Year and a half?”
“Well, she began attending our sophomore year. I guess she tried the private school for a year, hated it, and made her dad let her attend public. So she attended Jefferson High all of sophomore and half of junior year until she left in the middle. I remember British literature was her favorite, Shakespeare especially. She loved all his works. She even got me into theater and convinced our director, Mrs. Hall, to let us put on a production of Hamlet.” Sara shook her head.
“She was really into tragedies. That’s .
. . depressing. Right?” she said as if realizing it now for the first time, then laughed ruefully at her friend.
“You mentioned she left Jefferson High midway through her junior year. Did she tell you why she was leaving?”