The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(69)

I did speak to someone else in the family when I was writing the book, and I seem to remember they said that Francis may have gone to France right before the war, and that she lived in Paris and had a daughter. I’ll see if I can find out more. You have me curious now.

How wonderful that you are at Ellingham Academy. It seems like a magical place!

Sincerely,

Ann Abbott

Well, it was something. The Francis trail wasn’t completely cold.

“Did you lose something?” Pix asked from the other side of the lab station. Mudge gave nothing away as he glanced down at Stevie. She slid the phone under her bag and reappeared with the probe.

“I’ll get you a fresh one,” Pix said, taking it. “Always use clean instruments, even in things like this. Work clean.”

Mudge continued with the incision.

“This here . . .” Mudge poked into the eye, showing her a bit of filmy substance. “The retina. Here’s where the nerve bundles attach. And anything that hits directly where the nerve bundle attaches is the blind spot. The one place where all the information goes in, you can’t actually see anything.”

He put his hands on his hips for a moment, then scratched behind his ear with his gloved hand.

“Some people,” he said, “want the Country Bear Jamboree to go. It’s not a ride. It doesn’t have a movie. But that’s not the point. I think if you get rid of the Country Bear Jamboree, you get rid of the heart and soul of Disney World. It’s not about the money. It’s about the bears.”

As they walked out of class, Stevie hoped that she might see David sitting there, as he had been that one day in his stupid sunglasses. But the bench was empty except for a bird. Her plan had been to go back to her room and sit in her warren of takeout containers and books until the heat death of the sun, or at least until she had a better idea.

She had a better idea. Or, at least, an idea. What had Mudge just said? “It’s not about the money?” The money. Fenton believed in the money. No one serious believed in the money. The money was fool’s gold, a rumor—the kind of thing flat-Earthers believed, or people who were convinced that the moon landing was fake. There was no Ellingham treasure to be had.

However. Fenton was serious. Maybe Fenton was a little off. Fenton had problems. But Fenton did know the material. She wouldn’t fall for that so easily.

And . . . Stevie found herself walking toward the Great House . . . something she had heard . . . what was it? Something about money. Somebody had just said something about money. Who was it? She flipped back through her mind, rewinding conversations. Money.

There. She found it. When Jenny Quinn approached their table in the cafeteria. She said the school was about to expand. Expansions cost money. Money could come from anywhere, of course. A donor. Maybe Edward King. But this sounded like a lot of money. Like, a major-inheritance-freed-up kind of money.

What if it was real? What if they were counting down to getting the Alice money? What if finding Alice was worth the fortune of a lifetime? Several lifetimes?

As this possibility spun in her brain, she noticed that Larry was coming out of the Great House and approaching in her direction. Then she realized he was walking right toward her, as if this was not an accident. His face was grave.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he said to Stevie. “Walk with me a little.”

He was wearing his red-and-black-checked flannel coat over his uniform. He motioned for her to walk around the back path, the one that led to the empty playing fields and the trees that blocked the river. They were starting to shed leaves, leaving jagged holes in their curtain. Larry was silent until they were about halfway into the field.

“Today is my last day here,” he said.

Stevie stopped cold.

“What?”

“My office is packed. After this, I’m going home. I won’t be back on campus. They have someone else coming in.”

Stevie felt like she had just taken a blow to the stomach.

“Why?” she said.

“My job is to keep everyone here safe. Two dead. That’s not keeping people safe. Which is why I have to go.”

“You can’t do that,” Stevie said. “They can’t. This isn’t your decision, is it?”

“It’s the right one,” he said. “No matter who made it.”

“But this isn’t your fault,” she said. “What happened to Hayes, what happened to Ellie . . .”

“Happened on my watch. Now listen . . . don’t worry about me.”

“We can start a protest!” Stevie said. “We can organize . . .”

“Stevie,” he said. “Listen. I need you to pay attention.”

Stevie gulped and became quiet, huddled in her red vinyl coat.

“I want you to be careful,” he said. “Don’t go off on your own on any investigations. It’s over. Leave it.”

“Investigations?” she said.

“Not the Ellingham stuff. I mean with Hayes, Ellie, all of that.”

There was a steady, warning look in his eye.

“What do you mean?” she said. “They were . . .”

“Accidents,” he said.

The wind snapped around them, coming up into Stevie’s coat.

“You’re saying they weren’t,” she said.