Page 109 of Good Girls Lie

He takes a long swig, a few bites of his pizza. “First, let’s drop in on Ford, have a chat with her. She’s the one who interviewed Ashlyn, she knows the girl’s background. There will be official paperwork. We can figure this out pretty quick.”

“Thank you for listening, for believing me.”

He finishes the beer in one last huge gulp. “Oh, I believe you, Kate. I’m just preparing myself for the shit storm that’s going to be unleashed if you’re right.”

65

THE DUPLICITY

The drive to campus is only ten minutes. Tony says nothing on the way, which is fine with Kate. She’s lost in her own thoughts, too. But when they enter Marchburg’s heart, he points to a well-kept Victorian house done up in grays and whites with a matching side garage.

“That’s the old Westhaven place. You should see it inside. Chock-full of antiques, decorated to the hilt. There’s a Bentley in the garage, too, a perfectly preserved 1934. Belonged to one of the earlier headmistresses. Ford doesn’t live there, she stays on campus, but her mother stays when she comes to town. It’s a shame, big gorgeous old house like that standing empty most of the time. Makes me sad. But that’s what this town’s like. It’s all about the students. Most of the folks who grew up here have moved off to bigger towns and better lives.”

“Yeah, they’ve crowded into Charlottesville and are busy wreaking havoc for me instead of you. Uncle Tony, this is none of my business, but is there something up with you and the dean?”

He glances over, though his eyes are obscured by sunglasses. “If you’re asking if I’m compromised here, no. Ford and I saw each other for a while, off and on. Broke it off for good this summer.”

“May I ask why?”

He is silent for a few moments, then sighs. “She’s ambitious. Wants to get out of Marchburg, go to New York, be a big shot author. I’m almost twenty years her senior and not about to uproot my life. Timing’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t in the cards.”

The school looms on the horizon. Kate knows it’s beautiful, but there is something about it that unnerves her. All those windows, perfectly in line, the dormers watching the quad, jealously guarding the girls inside. The expansive grounds, the cottages, the arboretum. The rumors of tunnels, the very real specter of murder. She wouldn’t have enjoyed going here. The very air feels wrong, like a veil drifts between the school and the street, unseen and menacing.

They stop at the gates, which open inward with a deep, metallic shriek after Tony presses the intercom button and announces them. It’s a bit like entering a prison, only here, the inmates are upstanding teens with daddy issues. She’s shocked there aren’t cameras on every corner. Is that to protect the privacy of the daughters of the rich and famous? You’d think someplace like Goode would be running the most expensive, elaborate security money can buy. But they don’t. They use the gates, the redbrick wall, and a few security guards in golf carts to keep outsiders from ravaging their world.

What if they’ve let in someone who will ravage them from the inside?

Main Hall looks much like she’s seen it before: multicolor banners declare Odds and Evens weekend is coming, students scurry about without a care outside of getting to their next class on time. That’s another thing Kate would have hated, the uniforms, the robes. It’s all so formal, so fussy. So entirely unnecessary.

She follows Tony to the dean’s office. After a few small flirty greetings with the assistant stationed outside, he asks for her boss.

“She just finished up with a meeting. Hold on and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

It takes five, but Ford finally comes to the door, color high, a little breathless. “Tony? Anything new on Camille?”

“Hi, Ford. We need to have a quick talk. Alone.”

Is it Kate’s imagination, or does the dean pale when she hears Tony’s serious tone? What is this woman hiding? Kate hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the dean isn’t sharing all she knows about the night Camille Shannon died.

Face it, Wood. You’re looking for a disaster. Morbid much?

“Come on in. Can we get you some tea or coffee?”

“Not necessary,” Tony says. When the door is shut and they’re all arranged, he jumps in. “We’ve come across something of interest about one of your students. Ash Carlisle—Ashlyn Carr—specifically. Show her,” he says to Kate, and she pulls up the photo of the painting on her phone.

“This is from the Carrs’ estate. When the crime scene techs from Scotland Yard were combing the place, one took this shot. It’s an official portrait of the family. Do you see anything odd?”

Ford takes Kate’s phone and looks at the picture, squinting a bit. “That’s Ash.”

“Is it?”

“Well, it certainly looks like her. She’s younger, obviously. Why?”

“I don’t think it’s her. The shape of her face is off, her chin, her nose. They could be sisters, but I—”