PROSECUTION: That call was identified as being from Mrs. Rose Peabody, and she was a friend of Mrs. Ellingham.

MF: Yes, there was nothing really new about that call. Now, the next call, that was incoming from another telephone booth, which was odd. This was at 8:47. This was a telephone by the gasoline station as you go out on Route Two. Do you know the one? That call was to Mr. Mackenzie’s line. Now, this was the same strange voice as the first call, I’m sure of it. Very rough. I stayed on long enough to hear Mr. Mackenzie pick it up. There was another call at 9:50 to Mrs. Ellingham’s line, the same number from New York City, Mrs. Peabody, and it went unanswered. I went off duty at midnight and I called Mr. Mackenzie to tell him so and I read off the information to him.

PROSECUTION: Those were the only calls?

MF: Yes.

PROSECUTION: Coming in, going out, even between the buildings?

MF: Some days the Ellingham lines are very busy, but the evenings are generally quieter, and I think Mr. Ellingham was in town that day, so his phones were quieter. So it wasn’t that odd.

PROSECUTION: The voice you heard. Could you identify it if you heard it again?

MF: I . . . think I could? I might. It was a strange voice. There was something wrong with it.

PROSECUTION: Something wrong?

MF: I can’t explain it.

PROSECUTION: But you think you would know it?

MF: I think I might?

PROSECUTION: Your Honor, I’d like to ask the defendant, Mr. Anton Vorachek, to read something out loud.

DEFENSE: Objection, Your Honor.

JUDGE LADSKY: I’ll allow it.

PROSECUTION: Mr. Vorachek, I’ve written something on this piece of paper. I’d just like you to read it in your normal speaking voice.

ANTON VORACHEK: I am not an actor. I won’t be in your play.

JUDGE LADSKY: You are out of order, Mr. . . .

ANTON VORACHEK: This court is a farce! You are all puppets of the capitalist state!

JUDGE LADSKY: Mr. Vorachek! I am on the verge of having you removed from the courtroom.

PROSECUTION: Your Honor, that may be enough for my purposes. Miss Fields, you’ve just heard Mr. Vorachek’s voice. Was that the voice you heard?

MF: Oh, voices are strange. You hear so many of them down the lines and you pick up little things and you think you can pick them apart, but then they all go back together again. I just got the feeling that this person . . . didn’t want to be understood? It was such a terrible night. I didn’t know that then, of course, but after. But . . . yes. I think, maybe yes.

PROSECUTION: No further questions, Your Honor.

Stevie knew better than to say, “What about it?” She looked to Fenton for a clue as to where this was going.

“She says that there were no other calls from nine fifty to midnight,” Fenton said. “And Miss Nelson says that she found out about the kidnapping in the morning. So, I did a little checking.”

There was a pile of yellow legal pads on the corner of the desk. She sorted through the stack until she got the one she wanted.

“I told you I had some new information,” Fenton said. “I talked to a lot of people. I got some very interesting, very important information. One of the people I found was Gertie van Coevorden. Gertie van Coevorden was—”

“A student from Minerva,” she said.

“Right. A very rich one, one who liked to talk about that night to anyone who would listen. I interviewed her and recorded it and transcribed it. Here’s what she said: ‘It was a terrible night, so foggy. We were all of us gathered in the common room. We were all such good friends in Minerva, and we cared about each other so much. Dottie hadn’t come home and we were all so worried about her. Dottie was one of my dearest friends. Something was wrong, and I kept saying to Miss Nelson, our housemistress, that someone should be looking for her. I was thinking about doing it myself, but then the phone rang upstairs. Miss Nelson went to answer it. It was right before ten in the evening because there was a radio program we liked to listen to that came on at ten o’clock. But Miss Nelson made us all go to bed, and she started acting very strange.’”

Fenton looked up from the pad.

“There’s no mention of connecting a phone call at ten o’clock,” Fenton said. “So then I look again at what Margo Fields actually says. Prosecution: Coming in, going out, even between the buildings? And Margo Fields doesn’t say, yeah, that’s right. She says something totally different. She says, ‘Some days the Ellingham lines are very busy, but the evenings are generally quieter, and I think Mr. Ellingham was in town that day, so his phones were quieter. So it wasn’t that odd.’ Which is not actually an answer. So what do we have?”

“A discrepancy,” Stevie said. “Gertie van Coevorden says that there was a call and the records say there wasn’t.”

“And we have a telephone operator who is being evasive on the stand. She isn’t lying if she moves around the topic. So, which story is correct, do you think? Gertie van Coevorden with her phone call, or the evasive phone operator?”

Stevie sat back and spun this around in her mind.

“Why didn’t anyone notice what Gertie said about a phone call before?” she asked.

Fenton smiled and tapped a finger alongside her nose.

“Exactly the right question. Because no one ever asked her. They seem to have gone to great lengths not to ask anyone in Minerva House about phone calls. And Gertie van Coevorden did not strike me as being one of the nation’s great thinkers. I don’t think she noticed that the phone call was missing, from the accounts of things. But I did.”

“So what does it mean? Someone called Minerva? That makes sense—they’d be looking for Dottie.”

“Right again,” Fenton said. “So why does the record of this phone call not exist? The answer is in the building plan of Ellingham Academy.”

She went to the wall of black-and-white photos of the house and grounds.

“You know there are tunnels up there, right? You’ve been in the most famous one. But there are others. Many have been partially earthed in or sealed for safety—but the whole point of secret tunnels was that they were secret. Personal use. According to Gertie, there was a tunnel in Minerva.”

“In Minerva?” Stevie said. “I live in Minerva.”

“Any word of a tunnel there?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard.”

“Gertie was convinced of it. She said another student found it, that she had seen this student disappear and reappear.”

“Where does it go?”

“If my guess is right, it goes to somewhere on the other side of the campus, somewhere secluded, sort of over here.”

She got up and pointed to the area down near the cafeteria and the gym.

“So, if we find this tunnel,” Stevie said, “where does it get us?”

“I have a little theory,” Fenton said. “If I can prove the tunnel exists, my theory is more likely.”

“What’s the theory?” Stevie said.

“For me to know. But if I’m right, and this book turns out the way I think it will, you’ll have been a part of it. There’s your assignment. See about that tunnel. Scout around.”

Stevie decided not to mention that tunneling was kind of frowned upon. Best to leave that alone. She had just been given an official assignment.

Hunter was sitting in the living room as they walked out, petting a big orange cat on his lap.

“All done?” he said. “You need a ride, or . . .”

“Leave her alone,” Fenton snapped. “They have a coach.”

Fenton sneezed, then yanked a copy of her book off a pile of what looked like old copies.

“Here,” she said. “For you.”

Stevie had one already, and this one had yellowed edges, but she accepted it. Fenton went off to the kitchen, their exchange finished.

“I just meant if you needed one,” Hunter said. “Sorry. She’s . . . abrupt.”

“No, it’s fine,” Stevie said. “They don’t let people come up to campus, anyway.”

“Oh, right.” His cheeks flushed a bit. “Yeah. Stupid. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said.

“Look,” he said. “Is it weird if I give you my phone number? Just since you’re working with my aunt and . . .”

He looked toward the kitchen, where Fenton was humming loudly.

“. . . you may, you may want it. Or. You may not.”

“Sure,” Stevie said, offering her phone.

She wasn’t sure why he was giving her his number—whether it was the smile he had given her before, or the erratic nature of Fenton that suggested that something was not quite right with this whole arrangement. It was a phone number in any case, someone else to connect with.

It wasn’t the worst feeling.

13