Good Girls Lie(55)
Damn it. Ivy Bound is explicitly prohibited from using poison ivy on the Swallows. The ruling was made three years ago when a Swallow’s mother threatened to sue the school because her daughter touched her eye with a poison-ivy-tainted hand and it swelled shut, necessitating a trip to the emergency room.
Oh, Becca Curtis, you are in so much trouble.
Ford herself suffered the indignity, as did many of the Swallows who followed her, but the school has cracked down on hazing, majorly cracked down, and things like this are not supposed to be going on.
She can’t disappear the bag, she’s going to have to let that play itself out. But she can help distract attention.
Tony and Kate are rifling through the desks and drawers now, of both girls. Ford puts up a hand. “Hold on. You can’t go through Ash Carlisle’s things. Only Camille’s. There are privacy concerns.”
Kate stops and looks at Ford, incredulous. “You’re joking. They’re teenagers. Students. And one of them is dead.”
“There’s still an expectation of privacy. Obviously, Camille has none, not anymore, but Ash does. Please keep your search limited to Camille’s things. Perhaps we should wait for your evidence team to do this?”
“I know how to toss a room, Ford,” Tony says without missing a beat. He opens the top dresser drawer, digs his hands in deep. “What have we here?”
He draws out an almost empty pint of Stolichnaya. Ford feels a sting of fury—damn that girl—followed by a teensy little prayer heavenward—sorry, Camille, but for heaven’s sake, vodka in your socks?
Tony keeps moving, though, tossing the rest of the dresser. “Where’s the roommate? I wanna talk to her.”
“I had her isolated. This is going to be a terrible shock to her, and she’s already suffered a great deal of loss. Her parents died recently, and to have this happen so soon after their deaths will certainly affect her tremendously.”
Again, that sly glance between uncle and niece. Ford wants to scream but keeps her temper in check.
“Just give us a few here, okay, Ford?” And to his niece, “Nothing’s leaping out at me. You?” He eases himself down on his knees to look under the dresser.
Kate is holding a notebook with a floral cover, leafing through. “Other than someone’s clearly been through this room already? She writes very pretty poems. Quite a few about death.”
Ford isn’t surprised. English is Camille’s best subject.
Kate flips a few more pages. “She didn’t care for her roommate, that’s for sure.”
“Ash? I didn’t know they weren’t getting along,” Ford says.
“Not getting along is an understatement. Looks like there was some serious bullying going on. ‘She made fun of me again today. She was sitting with the other bitches and looking over her shoulder at me with that stupid smug stare. Later, she told me how I would never get into Ivy Bound. Bitch.’ Lots more in that vein. ‘She was queen of the sewing circle again tonight. It’s like I don’t even exist anymore.’”
“May I see that?” Ford asks.
Kate hands it over, and Ford glances through, flipping pages, seeing phrases that shock her:
Stupid accent, dumb cunt, out of the room late again, should report her, she’s Becca’s bitch now. Bet the two of them are fucking. How else would she get on Becca’s good side so fast? I hate her. I hate them both.
She closes the cover gently. The vitriol is surprising, she’s always seen Camille as a gentle soul. Not this roiling mass of emotion, spilling hate into her diary.
Tony is on his back now, squirming on the floor, reaching under the dresser. “Thought I saw something...yep...hold on...just about got it... What’s this?”
He drags his arm back and is holding a white bag with a green sticker on the front. It looks like it’s come from the pharmacy in Marchburg, Ford has a few herself.
He opens the bag and out fall two pill bottles. They don’t have the Marchburg Pharmacy label. He reads the label aloud.
“Cytotec. Place two pills in each cheek and let dissolve fully. What is this?”
Ford snatches it away. “Let me see that.”
Camille’s name is on the bottle, along with instructions to take the pills forty-eight hours after returning home. Ford is unfamiliar with the drug name, but Kate isn’t.
“It’s a chemical abortifacient,” Kate says. “Dean Westhaven, were you aware that Camille recently had an abortion?”
43
THE INTERROGATION
The door to the attic office creaks open, and I raise my head blearily. I’ve fallen asleep in the chair; my neck is stiff. Becca is asleep opposite me, one leg pulled up, cheek resting on her knee. I’m filled with a rush of tenderness seeing her like this, so vulnerable, lips slightly open, face relaxed. She looks so young, so pretty. I belong to her now. I am her Swallow. She’s chosen me.
As if she knows she’s being watched, Becca’s eyes open and she looks at me like she’s happy to see me, and my stomach does a flip.
“Ladies?” Dean Westhaven’s voice is soft, regretful. She’s sorry to wake us. “Thank you for waiting for us here. I assume Dr. Asolo told you we lost a student tonight. Ash, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your roommate, Camille, has died. This is Sheriff Wood, and Detective Wood, his niece, from Charlottesville. They’re going to ask you some questions. Becca, if you’d please stay? I know you’ve been mentoring Ash and it would be helpful to have your support.”