Good Girls Lie(56)

Becca smiles. “Absolutely, Dean. I’m happy to help.”

They’re being so kind. It strikes me, as I so desperately wished only weeks ago, I have found a new life, new friends. A new support system, one based on healthy boundaries and mutual respect. Yes, my roommate is dead, yes, I’ve been tortured tonight, but look at what I’ve gained. Look at Becca, eyes shining. Look at the dean, smiling encouragingly. Pity and love. These are confusing emotions for me, but I’ll take them.

But the other two, the strange man and the young, crow-eyed woman, looking at me with matching dark, unfathomable eyes, make me nervous. The juxtaposition of the two emotions is too much. Tears prick my eyes. I blink hard against them, but one wells up and runs down my cheek.

“Oh, my poor duck.” Dean Westhaven pats my hand. “We’ll get you through this. Just answer a few questions and we’ll get you back to bed. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Becca places her hand on my other arm, which throbs. “You’ve got this.”

Buoyed on both sides, I nod to the strangers, and the interrogation begins.

The sheriff kicks us off with a platitude so insincere I wonder how many times he’s said it over the years: “I’m very sorry for your loss, young lady.”

“Erm, thank you.”

“You were close to your roommate?”

“Not particularly. I mean, we were friends, but she was closer with our suitemates. They’ve known her longer.”

“You’re British,” the female detective says.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. I’m only surprised. I didn’t realize.”

“I’m from Oxford.”

The sheriff tries again. “You and Camille weren’t getting along?”

“I didn’t say that. We got along fine. She was closer with our suitemates, that’s all.”

“If she were upset, she wouldn’t confide in you?”

“No, sir. Probably not. Definitely not, actually. She cries herself to sleep every night, and when I ask what’s wrong she blows me off.”

The sheriff and the detective exchange a glance.

“Has she been sick recently?”

“Like, a cold? No. She had some...female problems. When term started.” I mumble this last bit and look at the ground, mortified.

“Ah. So, she did confide in you about the abortion. When—”

“What?” My head whips up. “What are you talking about?”

Becca squeezes my arm tightly.

Dean Westhaven snaps to. “Oh, dear. I think we should stop it right here, Tony.”

Tony is the sheriff, I surmise. “Camille had an abortion? I mean, it makes sense, she was hurting and feverish and said it was her time of the month.”

The sheriff ignores the dean, just crosses his arms. “When was this?”

“The first week of classes. She left the room and I found her crying in the bathroom, with Vanessa. They told me to get out, so I did.”

“Vanessa is one of their suitemates,” Westhaven supplies.

“Do you know who her boyfriend is?”

“No. She has a crush on her stepbrother. Had.”

“Remind me not to tell you my secrets,” Becca says softly, chiding, but I shake her off.

“It was hardly a secret. Camille told everyone at dinner, several times. I’m not betraying a confidence. I wouldn’t do that.”

“When did you see Camille last?”

“Around ten. She received a summons to the attics.”

Becca squeezes my arm again and this time, I do stop. Becca addresses the adults.

“Sometimes, when we take an interest in a student from our sister class, we invite them to join us in the Commons, a study room, to get to know them better. As the dean will tell you, mentorship is encouraged at Goode. I did so with Ash early in term. But we don’t know who gave the summons for Camille. It came in the usual method, left anonymously for the waitrons to deliver.”

“Is that how you choose who to invite to your secret societies?” the sheriff asks.

Becca shoots a glance at Westhaven. “Mentorship is different. I can’t comment on the societies, naturally. That’s a question for the dean.”

Spoken like a true politician. After what I’ve seen tonight, I realize Becca holds multitudes of secrets.

The sheriff seems satisfied, but the detective isn’t buying it. “And you, Ash? How did you find Becca’s mentoring? What sorts of things did she mentor you on?”

The slight emphasis on the word contains any number of meanings, and I don’t like where this is heading. “I’m sorry, but this has nothing to do with Camille. I feel simply terrible that she’s dead, but you’re going to get to know her much better through Vanessa and Piper. We weren’t close.”

“You recently lost your parents, did you not?”

“Tony,” Westhaven warns.

I push away the panic. “It’s okay, Dean. Yes, sir. I did.”

“How terrible for you. I am so sorry. Why are you so far away from home? Who’s paying your tuition?”

“Dean Westhaven was kind enough to allow me to come here despite my personal tragedy. As for the rest, I don’t think that’s any of your business. And it has nothing to do with why my roommate committed suicide.”