Good Girls Lie(68)
Ford looks at Ash now, sitting meekly by Becca’s side. “You are not to blame, not in the least, but we encourage you to share with your teachers, share with your student leadership, share with me. Anything and everything. In the spirit of this, we will accept anonymous insights this week. And you may feel free to leave concerns with me as well as with your head girl, Becca Curtis.”
There are murmurs at this. The Honor Code model is sacrosanct; Goode has always insisted that the accuser and the accused meet face-to-face. Anonymity is discouraged. But no more. Ford will not have this happen again. Too much is going on behind her back.
“Yesterday morning Camille received a summons. None of the seniors we’ve spoken with know who sent the request for her to go to the Commons. If any one of you has knowledge of this, please, I urge you, come forward. We need to determine what might have sent Camille over the...”
Gasps echo through the chapel, and Ford kicks herself. She was about to say edge, a Freudian slip unintended and ill-advised. She’s had no sleep, she is stressed and upset. It’s okay, she tells herself, everyone makes mistakes. Get through this.
“Classes are canceled today, and counselors will be on campus to talk with you. I encourage you to be open with them. To lose a friend is a terrible thing, and you are right to be sad and confused, even if you weren’t close to Camille. We are all affected by this damaged young woman’s terrible choice. Suicide is a difficult topic, sometimes even a taboo topic, but here at Goode, where we strive to shine a light on all things, we will not be handling this any differently. All doors are open. All discussions are welcome and encouraged.
“Some of you may be contacted by the sheriff’s office to answer questions about Camille’s past few weeks. I encourage you to comply with all requests, and I will be available to sit in on any conversations you might be uncomfortable having alone.”
Whispers surge through the chapel. When the speculation dies down, she continues.
“Some of you will want to attend the funeral. Her family has requested the funeral be family only, but any student wishing to attend may petition me and I will pass along your names. A memorial service will be held for Camille here, in the chapel, at a later date.”
Ford feels a tear start in her eye and takes a deep breath, willing it away. She will not break down in front of them. They need to see her strong, today of all days.
“Remember your classmate, Camille. Remember a kind, sweet girl, with a bright future ahead. Reverend Morton will lead us in a blessing now.”
She steps aside and the chaplain takes the pulpit. Reverend Morton—ancient, white haired, well loved—speaks a few words on comfort and the impermanence of life, then leads them in a nondenominational prayer for peace. This is a secular campus, after all.
Ford has a list the length of her arm to deal with today—most generated by her mother. The action items include drafting press releases, calls to alumni, donors, parents, and at lunchtime, an emergency board meeting. Not to mention the sheriff will be back to harangue her, she’s sure of it.
No one wants her to make the same mistakes Jude Westhaven did when the murder occurred a decade ago. Goode needs to keep its sparkling reputation intact. To that end, Jude has both informed the alumni association the meeting for today is canceled and arranged for a phone call with a crisis management team out of DC, lawyers who advise people thrust into the spotlight, usually presidential and judicial nominees. Untried candidates for political office. Newly named CEOs.
They’re not supposed to have to talk to young headmistresses about how to make sure their schools don’t fall apart.
Chin up. If she handles all this right, Goode can weather the storm. The loss of a student—any student—is a tragedy, yes. But she will pull them through this. She refuses to let the school look bad.
Finding the missing key to the bell tower is paramount. When Ford walked the sheriff down to retrieve it, it wasn’t in her safe. Embarrassing. She looks negligent for that alone. Worse, she has no idea how long it’s been gone. It could be a day, it could be ten years. She hasn’t been in the bell tower, ever. She can’t remember the last time she looked in the safe for the key. The ones in the security office are intact, so there’s no question—the key used to open the bell tower and allow Camille out into the darkened sky was Ford’s. She is responsible.
Solve the mystery of the missing key, first and foremost. A wrongful death lawsuit will hinge on this.
But if she can prove who got young Camille pregnant, she will be ten steps ahead. She has a sense that the pregnancy is the tie that binds all of this together.
Convocation is breaking up now. Ford takes note of where the players are in this little drama.
Ash is following Becca out the great wooden doors, rubbing her stomach and looking at the ground. They are heading toward the arboretum.
Camille’s BFFs, Vanessa and Piper, are moving toward the dining hall with the rest of the girls.
Let them eat. Fortify their tiny bodies. She’s going to do the same. A shower. Some toast. Strong coffee. Then she’ll summon them, start the interviews, try to get some answers.
51
THE TURN
Jude is waiting for Ford in her cabin. She’s impeccably turned out this morning in a cloud-gray cashmere twinset and dark wash designer skinny jeans, black mules with a white block heel. She’s made a fresh pot of coffee; the cabin is suffused with the aromatic scent. It smells of home. Safety. Comfort.