RM: Absolutely, considering the threats and the attempted bombing.

SA: Did you speak to your employer about this?

RM: I tried.

SA: You seem like a smart man, Mr. Mackenzie. Your instincts were always to reach out to law enforcement. You have your eyes open. Where do you feel Iris and Alice Ellingham and Dolores Epstein might be?

RM: Nowhere good. To be honest with you, I think . . .

SA: Yes?

RM: I hate to say the words, Agent Arnold. I think that letter was from the kidnappers and Truly Devious meant every word on that page. I think they’re dead. God help me, I think they’re all dead.

[Interview terminated 7:32 p.m.]

* * *

24

ONCE UPON A TIME, A YOUNG GIRL NAMED DOTTIE FROM NEW YORK City came to Ellingham Academy and ended up dead from a knock on the head.

Once upon another time, an actor from Florida came to Ellingham Academy and found out dry ice was not so nice.

Third time’s the charm. A girl from Pittsburgh came to Ellingham Academy and she wanted to see a dead body.

She got her wish.

That same girl snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and got to stay at Ellingham Academy, but then, worried that defeat might be hungry, promptly fed the victory right back to its gaping jaws. That girl had a taste of something she didn’t know that she wanted or needed, and she had messed it all up.

And life went on.

Ellingham mourned and was counseled. There was an informal memorial in the cupola on the green, where people left candles and pictures and a small zombie doll. There were letters and phone calls from Charles and the other members of the board. Security tightened. Everyone’s passes were checked and upgraded. Curfew became a real thing, and rooms were checked and grounds patrolled. It wasn’t that anyone forgot about Hayes’s death—the subject was constantly talked about—it was just something that had happened. It was part of reality.

Though the investigation was not yet formally closed, information was made available to reassure everyone. Hayes seemed to have died in an accident of his own making. Hayes, a person known to make videos in dark corners, took something that didn’t belong to him. His fingerprints were on Janelle’s ID and the golf cart used to move the dry ice, and a hand truck. This was, it was pretty clear to everyone, a case of Hayes really messing up. And he had stolen property as well. He had gone to great lengths to break rules, so his parents could hardly sue.

The common wisdom was that Hayes had gone into the tunnel to film something new for The End of It All. Hence going back alone. Hence the secret. He’d seen the dry ice, looked in the tunnel, and had an idea that put it all together. He just put it together very badly.

It was back to piles of books and anatomy labs and essays. Something called the Silent Party was scheduled—a dance with no sound or something. It was going to be in the Great House. That would pass as entertainment. Back to school. Because that was what Ellingham was, a school. Stevie tried to do this, but found her concentration was broken. She couldn’t finish her reading, couldn’t write her essays. The weather turned resolutely gray. Mountains are not kind when the season turns. The leaves on the trees started to turn gold and red at the tips and a few overachievers made the trip to the ground.

David did not talk to her.

He was over Stevie’s head, literally. She heard his steps, but that was about all she heard from him. He made himself scarce from the common room and the kitchen, and if he and Stevie crossed paths, he looked away.

She would open books, stare at a page, and realize she hadn’t taken anything in. Then she would read it again, the words slipping in the front door and out the back. There were essays to write that never got past the note stage. There was some leeway in all of this because of recent events, but the leeway was not going to go on forever.

None of this escaped the attention of Janelle, who finally hooked Stevie by the arm and pulled her into her room and sat her on the bed.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened with the two of you?” Janelle said.

“What?”

“You and David,” Janelle said.

Stevie blinked.

“Do you think we don’t know?” Janelle said. “Everyone knows. There is nothing in the world as obvious as the two of you. So what happened?”

“We made out,” Stevie said.

“Yeah, I got that. And then what?”

Shame is a terrible thing. Janelle would never go through Vi’s room. Sure, Vi wasn’t a lying weirdo, but even if she was, Janelle wouldn’t do that. Janelle had standards. Janelle was loyal. Whereas Stevie was a cretinous person who had no principles.

Janelle waited for a reply, and when she realized none was forthcoming, Stevie saw a light go out in her eyes.

This left Nate and Ellie.

Ellie’s reaction to Hayes’s death was to go maximum Ellie. Minerva was woken in the morning by the terrifying cries of Roota. When painted makeup appeared on the Minerva gargoyles and some of the statues, it was fairly obvious who the culprit was. There was more drinking and bathing and French poetry.

Which left Nate, and Nate had retreated to the misty mountains in his mind. He was always reading now, turning away from every conversation, frequently eating alone. Stevie found him in the dining hall at one of the small, high-top tables, his face buried in a copy of The Earthsea Trilogy and his fork working a plate of turkey meatballs and pasta.

Stevie pulled up a chair and slid over her tray of lasagna and salad with maple dressing, because she had given up fighting the maple syrup.

“Hey,” she said.

Nate peered out of his book.

“Hey,” he said.

She waited for him to put the book down. It took him a moment to get the hint. He put a napkin carefully between the pages as a bookmark. Nate didn’t press books facedown and ruin their spines.

“Talk to me about writing,” Stevie said.

“Why do you hate me?” he replied.

“Seriously. Tell me about it.”

“Tell you what?” he said. “You write. That’s it.”

“But how do you do it?” she said. “Do you just sit down and write? Do you have to plan first? Do you just write whatever comes into your head?”

“Is someone paying you to do this to me?”

“It’s just . . . remember that first day when we were talking about zombies? And Hayes had no idea what the Monroeville Mall was?”

“Yeah?”

“That was weird,” she said.

He waited for her to explain what she was saying, but she had no explanation. Nate returned to his book and meatballs.

“It’s like Truly Devious,” she said after a moment.

Nate looked up with tired eyes, but he still looked up.

“What about it?”

“The person they arrested for the Ellingham murders,” she said. “Anton Vorachek. He could never have written that letter. His English was too rough. Anyway, who announces they’re going to commit a murder?”

“Pretty much every serial killer,” Nate said.

“Very few serial killers do that,” Stevie corrected him. “The Zodiac was one of the only . . .”

“In movies,” he said. “In books.”

“Here’s another thing,” Stevie said, warming to the topic. “There’s an old mystery riddle. A man is found hanging in an empty room, locked from the inside. There is no chair, nothing for him to stand on. How did it happen?”