XVII
Tori
“W hat time do you call this?” Dr. Wright asks before I’ve even completely walked into his office.
I don’t answer. Not because I think he knows exactly what time it is, but because I’ve sprinted the entire way, and I’m still trying to catch my breath.
As predicted, Syn waited until the last possible moment to walk into the dining hall, changed his mind about what he wanted to eat, and then seemed to chew each mouthful twenty times before swallowing.
After shutting the door, I shrug my jacket off. The office is warm, and I’m hot. When the professor doesn’t say anything, I move over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sit down.
Dr. Wright opens a drawer and pulls out an iPad before holding it out to me. “Add your biometrics to this.”
Instead of taking the offered device, I just stare blankly at him.
“Fingerprints and Face ID,” he clarifies. “This contains access to sensitive information, and believe it or not, I don’t allow just any student access.”
I take the device and do as he’s asked. Once finished, I lower the iPad to look at him.
He walks around to my side of the desk and sits in the other chair. He leans over and points at the screen. “This is the app to take attendance.” When he clicks on it, the app asks for my login credentials. “Sign up.”
As I create an account, the username populates, and I’m able to log in. The home screen shows a list schedule of all of Dr. Wright’s classes, including mine earlier today. I click on it, following it through to the attendance, but it’s already been completed.
“I will bring this device to every class. You’re not allowed to take it back to your room,” Dr. Wright says. “As well as taking attendance, you will need to monitor who asks questions and who answers them correctly. Every week, I will provide you with the topics of the following week’s classes, and it’s up to you to find the relevant information on social media. These need to be completed by Friday so I can review over the weekend. In addition, you use this app to grade any quizzes I give. Click that button, and it turns on the camera. Any questions?”
I shake my head.
“You wanted to know what the job is. That’s it.”
“Really?” I ask, wearily. “That’s all of it?”
Dr. Wright arches an eyebrow.
“I’m sick of playing games, so if there’s anything else you expect me to do, you need to tell me. I’m tired of being punished because I’m not a mind reader.” My words are sharp—sharper than I should ever use with a professor—but I’m exhausted.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t really need the job, because at the end of the day, I’m going to need to pay a lawyer, but if I don’t have to spend any extra time with this guy, I’ll be happier.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen warmth in the professor’s eyes, but somehow, as he straightens his back, he manages to stare at me with an even colder glare.
“As far as the current requirements go for being my T.A., that is all. If anything else is required, I will let you know. However, I’ve already been more than clear with my expectations of you in that house. Do I need to repeat those?”
“No.”
“Then what do you have?”
My grip on the iPad tightens. “I’ve barely been there a week.”
“And? Didn’t you say time was limited?”
“It is, and then you gave me this stupid job, which takes even more hours away from me,” I snap at him before I can stop myself.
“Which is why you need to move quickly when you’re in there,” he says, apparently oblivious to my irritation. “What exactly are you doing while you’re in there?”
The temptation to use the iPad to smack the professor on the head is enough for me to lean over and set it down on Dr. Wright’s desk, just out of reach.
The longer I’ve been trying to find answers, the more I’m realizing that the truth is buried deeply. The answer to who JP’s real killer is won’t be hanging on a wall in plain sight. Even when I was searching the bedrooms earlier, I wasn’t expecting to find any forgotten memo with all the details on it.
This isn’t the twentieth century. Everything is digital now.
I’ve only seen half of the rooms on each floor, and none have a bunch of filing cabinets in them with neatly labeled clues. I doubt the other half has them either.
“Or is it that you’ve found the evidence that proves your brother’s guilt, and you’re hiding it?”
My hands clench into fists. “My brother is innocent.”
“We’ll see.” Dr. Wright stares at me.
“The only time I’ve ever come across the name Lucy Barnes is when Arthur Willsberg said she was there that night.”
“She was your brother’s girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes. “Allegedly. Because Cole’s never mentioned her before.”
“Then I’d say it’s clear you don’t know your brother as well as you think you do.”
More and more frequently, I find my patience being tested. With Syn, I know I can’t react, but with Dr. Wright, I’m able to yell or storm off, rather than put up with the bullshit. Tempting as it is to do that now, I push my anger back and suck in a deep breath. “Who is Lucy Barnes?”
“Your brother’s second murder victim.”
I can feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands. “Let’s say I spent the afternoon sniffing glue and that I’m currently so out of my mind that I’m willing to accept that’s a possibility, explain to me how you—and only you, by the way—seems to know that he killed her, and why you haven’t gone to the police.”
Dr. Wright sits back in his chair before raising a leg so he can rest an ankle on his knee. Settling his hands in his laps, he looks at me like he’s about to tell me a bedtime story. “The last time I saw Lucy was on a Facetime call, about two weeks before she was murdered. I had a chat about her Thanksgiving plans, which included her going back to Cole’s parents so he could introduce his girlfriend to his family. The last time I heard from her, she was going to a college party with her boyfriend, and the very next day, he had been arrested for murder, and she hasn’t been seen since.”
The last Thanksgiving I had with Cole was his last year of high school. He mentioned something about going to James Keyingham for college and joining the Elite. I’d barely paid attention then and until coming here, I assumed the Elite was his way of saying he was going to be a student at the most prestigious college in the country.
He’d spent the following Thanksgiving in prison.
But he never mentioned a girlfriend.
“So you think he somehow had the time to go to the Inaugural Ball, kill both Lucy and JP, but only have time to hide Lucy’s body? And that somehow that evidence is hidden in Denali House with the Elite, because… they are covering it up?” Saying it out loud makes it sound even crazier. “Syn’s family was pushing for the death penalty. Don’t you think a double homicide would have helped that?”
“You seem to think the Elite—a society that both JP and Syn are a part of—is responsible for JP’s death and not your brother,” Dr. Wright says, in a tone that implies he thinks I’m twelve.
“Actually, I thought Cole was taking the blame for someone. That someone could be Lucy, and the reason she’s gone missing is because she’s in hiding. Maybe you want to try looking in Mexico or some South American country where there are no extradition laws.”
In an instant, Dr. Wright is gripping each arm of my chair, his face inches from mine. “Lucy would never kill anyone.”
“And neither would Cole.” My heart is pounding so hard, it’s echoing in my ears, but somehow, my voice is calm.
Dr. Wright glares at me, and I can see a vein pulsing at his temple. Then he stands upright, shoving the chair as he does. It rolls backwards into the bookcase behind. “Get out,” he snarls.
“With pleasure.” I get to my feet and grab my jacket, but I pause before leaving. “I’m going to find evidence that my brother is protecting the real murderer—Lucy Barnes.”
As I shut the door behind me, something slams against it.
“You know what gets me?” Penny asks.
While I’m sitting back against her pile of hot pink pillows, she’s lying on her stomach and her laptop is in front of her. After leaving Dr. Wright’s office, I went back to the house to make sure Syn had nothing planned for me, grabbed my laptop, and went straight to Penny’s room.
“That there hasn’t been a Netflix documentary series on this yet.”
“Let’s put a proposal together and send it off to Netflix then,” I mutter. Ranting at Penny hasn’t made me feel any better.
“No, I’m serious.” Penny pushes herself upright and crosses her legs in front of her. “Look at who JP’s father is. Rich, powerful. If everything had gone to plan, JP would be president someday, but now that falls on Syn. And JP was hot. Everyone is always sympathetic to a good-looking victim. Your brother is hot, and so are you. I mean, look at Ted Bundy. He was hot. And then they had Zac Efron playing him, and everyone wanted to bone the serial killer.”
I frown, rubbing my temple. “I can’t wait to see where you’re going with this, Penny.”
Penny waves her hand as though there’s a mosquito buzzing around her face. “There’s murder, mystery, money, and mother-fucking hot people. The four M’s to a great show. But nope. Nothing.”
“The whole thing was barely reported,” I say with a shrug. “Hence why I’m here. If I can’t find a detailed news report, how on earth would Netflix hear about this story, unless I send in a suggestion. Which might be what I need to get people to stand up and question things too, but I’m sure the Keyingham’s would squash a show before it even got to the mailroom.”
“Exactly.” As I roll my eyes, Penny leans forward, resting her wrists on her knees. “No, hear me out.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re on to something with that Lucy Barnes woman being the murder suspect. What if she’s the one who killed JP, and your brother confessed to keep her safe, and she’s in hiding. In Cuba.”
“Sipping a mojito while smoking a cigar?” I close the laptop lid with a sigh and set it aside. “That’s pretty much what I’ve already said.”
“Yes, but what if she was the one that took that video of JP, and she was blackmailing him, and then something went wrong and boom, JP is dead.” She tilts her head. “Headwound. Probably wasn’t a boom, but more of a bang.”
Frowning, I lean over to the far side of the bed and pick up her mug, before sniffing it. “Did you make your hot chocolate with water or vodka?”
Penny’s mouth drops open. “Rude.”
I set the cup back down and then sit upright. “Much as it pains me to say this, that’s a motive that could theoretically work for my brother, too. The fact that I know him and that he wanted to be the damn Attorney General makes it impossible to believe it could happen, but also, that he could date someone like that too. But let’s say she did do it, and he didn’t—or did—know about it, what does this have to do with Netflix?”
“Because the second there’s a show, the truth about JP, his sexuality, and his kinks? That’s all being aired. Not only will the Keyinghams not want their name tarnished, but they also bumped Syn into the replacement presidential path.”
I’m about to point out that this is starting to venture into crazy, and there are more missing pieces than there are loose connections, but Penny leaps off the bed and starts pacing her room.
“No, but think about it, because it makes sense.”
“Does it?” I’m not sure Penny even hears my question.
“Say the Keyinghams knew that Cole didn’t do it, but he took the blame. They push the whole thing through the courts, just to get him in prison, and everything wrapped up. Hell, they were probably hoping for a death sentence, and then the secret goes to the grave. But maybe they do know about Lucy. If she had that video, she could have used it to blackmail them, and then they paid her an obscene amount of money to disappear. Arthur knew something was up, and suddenly, he’s kicked out of school.”
I don’t know if it’s because it sounds so crazy, or because it’s not just the best theory I’ve heard so far… but it’s starting to make sense.
And while I know Penny is my friend and only trying to help, the possibility that it’s true is making me feel even worse.
Lost.
Hopeless.
If there’s even a hint of truth to it, how on earth am I going to find Lucy Barnes?