The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(68)

“Do you think your aunt was talking to Hayes or Ellie?”

“I don’t know. She could have been.”

If Fenton had been in communication with Hayes or Ellie . . .

Hayes made more sense. It was Hayes who’d had the idea to make the video. Hayes wanted to go into the tunnel. Hayes and his half-baked ideas. Fenton wanted people who would scout for her. Had she gone to Hayes first, and then when Hayes died, come to Stevie? Was she second fiddle to Hayes?

She had to ignore that for a second, because the thought was too irritating. Maybe Fenton had somehow convinced Hayes that he could make a huge fortune if he just went tunneling.

There was a noise behind them, and Germaine Batt appeared, headphones on. From outside appearances, she was just walking by on her way somewhere, but that felt unlikely to Stevie. She had the bad feeling that Germaine had heard every word, and that Stevie had just repaid the favor she owed.





19


“WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE ATTRACTION AT DISNEY WORLD?” MUDGE asked as he removed the rubbery band of muscle and fat from around a cow eyeball.

“I’ve never been there,” Stevie said.

Stevie was standing a few feet away in her lab apron, gripping her coffee in her nitrile-gloved hands. Mudge worked on the dissection tray. The smell of formaldehyde swelled inside Stevie’s nose.

It had been five days since Ellie. That’s how Stevie thought of it. This was the post-Ellie period. The police had finished with Minerva House. Ellie’s things were no longer there, and the only area of interest was the entrance to the tunnel under the steps. They had put a rough bracket over the panel with a very serious-looking lock—not something that could be picked with a pin. There were also three crisscrossing bits of police tape.

Things had, in that way they do, ground back to normalcy. There had been news stories, of course. But the general conclusion was that the Hayes matter had now reached its natural end. The person responsible, having done a bad thing, had gotten herself killed while making another bad decision. There was press for a day, but then the news cycle snuffed out the story when something else came along a few hours later. Parents had been called and soothed. And Edward King had worked his magic again, assuring Stevie’s parents that Ellie had gotten exactly what was coming to her and there was no further need for concern.

And David . . . he was there. He did not do morning screaming meditation or sleep on the roof. He continued going to class, but he never spoke to Stevie, not once. It was like she did not exist.

Sometimes, though, he just smiled at her. Smiled like he knew something about what existed inside of her, a great cosmic joke that he would never tell.

Stevie hid in her room a lot, coming out only for food and class and sometimes she wouldn’t even bother with the food. She claimed to be studying, and Janelle would bring her containers back from the cafeteria.

“You probably think mine would be the Haunted Mansion,” Mudge continued. “It’s not. I like the Haunted Mansion, but my favorite is the Country Bear Jamboree.”

“Once you remove the external tissue,” Pix said from the front of the room, “you can go ahead and make the incision into the cornea.”

“The thing about it . . .” Mudge set down the dissection scissors and reached for the scalpel. “Is that it doesn’t change. Ever. It’s been there since the opening day and some people think it’s boring, but . . .”

He made the incision expertly, cutting across the eye. Liquid seeped out onto the dissection tray.

“. . . it’s actually completely metal. The one bear sings this song about blood on the saddle. You should go. It’s great. But if you’re talking rides . . .”

“The aqueous humor is the liquid you see,” Pix said. “It helps give shape to the cornea. Now, you’re going to want to go through the sclera . . .”

“Ride-wise,” Mudge said, “I mean, people talk about Space Mountain a lot, but that’s not Disney at its best. That’s some midcentury space age bullshit. The best ride is Dumbo.”

“And what is the sclera, Stevie?” said Pix, who had come up alongside them.

“The white of the eye?” Stevie replied.

“It’s the protective outer coating. Move in a little bit. Dissection is hard at first, but you get used to it. Think of the things you may have to see if you become a detective.”

These were perhaps the only words that could move her. Stevie took a single step closer to the tray. It was true that she might have to get used to dissections in her chosen career, but this was different. This was a giant eye, and it was looking at her from Mudge’s hand as he sliced it in half in the same way some people might slice an apple.

“How have you been doing?” Mudge asked.

“With . . .”

“Ellie’s death. You need to make sure you’re practicing good self-care.” Mudge set the scalpel down and looked through the dissection kit for a probe. “Just so you know, I’m here if you want to talk to me about anything.”

Stevie stared up at her tall, black-clad lab partner in his blue plastic apron and his rubber gloves. It was hard to read the expression in his eyes because of his purple snake-eye pupils.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Just offering. It’s important to make sure people know that you’re open to discussion.”