The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(58)

“I had to follow him. I thought he might . . . I don’t know.”

“Did you find anything besides this, aside from . . . ?”

Larry held up the fragment of garbage bag. Stevie shook her head.

“There was . . . a smell.”

“The first time you experience that, you never forget it. You can get used to it, to dealing with it, but it’s hard.”

“Did she just get stuck down there?” Stevie asked. “When she left the Great House that night?”

“That would be my guess,” Larry said. “We tracked up to the other end of the passage. We had no idea it was there. Goes to a hatch in the Great House basement floor that blends in with the other stones. She went in, something blocked her way out.”

Stevie’s mind immediately went to the Edgar Allan Poe story, “The Cask of Amontillado,” about a murderer who lures his victim down to a vault, who is then shackled to the wall and bricked in. The horror of it was too much. Stevie inhaled the cool, clean air greedily. The smell was still there, molecules of it, clinging to the inside of her nose, her skin, her mind.

“What do I do?” Stevie said. “Do you have to tell the police I was there?”

Larry put his hand on his leg and tapped one finger. Then he inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh.

“Nate?” he asked.

“Nate didn’t go down,” Stevie said.

“He’s not as stupid as the two of you.”

“He told us not to go. He stayed at the top in case something happened.”

“Definitely not as stupid,” Larry said. “All right. This is about finding and reporting an accident victim. Technically, it sounds like David was the one who found her. You can’t report something you didn’t see.” This was wrong, but Stevie made no correction. “If anything changes, then you step forward. You do it at once. You don’t go in any tunnel here ever again, for any reason. You follow every rule down to the letter.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Don’t thank me. This isn’t about thanks. It sounds like you tried to follow someone who was doing something stupid, even if that meant doing something stupid yourself. I know enough about David Eastman to know he would jump in without looking. He’ll be all right, no matter what happens. I think you know why.”

Out of all the things that had happened, this was the one that made Stevie freeze.

“You’ve met his father,” Larry said. It wasn’t a question.

Stevie nodded.

“And his father played a role in you coming back?”

“He told you?” Stevie asked.

“No one needed to tell me,” he said. “That wasn’t a tough one to work out. The sudden change of heart, your parents work for the man, the sudden flight back, the fact that there are no flights back at that time of night and that you probably wouldn’t fly anyway . . .”

Stevie let out a loud exhale.

“What did he give you?” Larry asked.

“A ride.”

“What else?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“What did he want from you?”

“Just . . . to be here. Because of David. I just wanted to come back.”

She wasn’t sure if she was saying this to Larry or herself. Larry let out a low noise.

“It’s not you,” he said. “Edward King is a son of a bitch and his son is a piece of work. . . .”

She got the sense that there was a lot more he could have said, but unlike a suspect who starts talking and can’t stop, Larry shut the valve.

“So Edward King gave you a chance to come back if you kept an eye on David. Now things become clearer.”

“David doesn’t know,” she said.

“Well, I’m not going to tell him that. This whole thing . . .”

He shook his head and cut himself off again.

“Could I see him, though?” she said. “He did just find his friend’s body.”

Larry let out a long sigh.

“He’s at the library,” he said. “They took him over there because there are too many people in the Great House. I’ll take you over, because of what happened tonight. But you need to remember, it’s not your job to protect David Eastman. I feel bad for the kid, I do. But it is not your job. Do you understand?”

“I know.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think you do. Don’t follow someone into the dark, Stevie. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”

Stevie wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but the general idea was clear enough.





16


THERE WAS A THICK, FECUND SMELL OF DROPPING LEAVES THAT NIGHT as Stevie and Larry made their way over to the library. Why was Ellingham always at its richest at times like this, heavy with the smell of earth and air, extreme in light and shade? Why did the Great House loom higher with its orange lit windows, where the party was wrapping up and the school still unaware that another of its company had been lost?

What was the problem with this place? Maybe Nate had a point, she thought, her footsteps hard and clear on the path. It was called Mount Hatchet. Maybe that was a sign. Don’t go there. Don’t blow a chunk of the face of this place and build your empire.