The Next Killing. Rebecca Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ Nicole nodded she gave another, wider smile.

      She and Destiny chattered for the rest of the walk about something called Runescape and some science fiction author they were both addicted to. Nicole didn’t bother to feign interest because they didn’t seem to require it. She got into the long line with them and slowly picked out food that looked unobjectionable, all the while wondering how to politely escape when the decision was suddenly taken out of her hands.

      “Aren’t you Nicole Morel?” a girl’s voice, at once melodious and imperious, came from her left.

      Nicole nodded, turning, and then stopped short. The head girl was standing there. Nicole recognized her; she’d seen her from afar during the assembly and she’d seen her clustered with other prefects in the halls.

      “Hi,” the older girl said with a wide, lovely smile. “I’m Elizabeth Lincoln.”

      “Nicole Morel,” Nicole said and then blushed because the girl already knew that. Elizabeth laughed.

      “I know,” she said. “I’ve heard all about you.”

      She was tall and willowy with a small, yet defined bust and a waist that was somehow discernible even in the box pleat uniform skirt. Her hair was long and that lustrous shade of golden blond that most people couldn’t achieve without help. On her it looked natural. Her skin glowed, there was no other word for it. It wasn’t as if it was tan, precisely, but it had a honeyed undertone that made her look healthy, as opposed to sallow, which was Nicole’s own fate.

      “Would you like to join us for lunch?” Elizabeth pointed one manicured finger in the direction of a small cluster of girls. One of them caught Elizabeth’s eye and waved at her. Destiny looked from Nicole to Elizabeth and then whispered something to Carrie.

      “Sure,” Nicole said and followed her without thinking, only to turn back suddenly and wave at Destiny, who gave a little half-wave back.

      “You looked like you needed to be rescued,” Elizabeth said as she led the way through a maze of students to reach the table she’d indicated. Nicole laughed, noticing how they were being stared at by other girls.

      “This is Tiffany,” Elizabeth said, sliding in next to a pretty girl with long, caramel-colored curls and an infectious grin, “and this is Kristen.” She nodded across the table at a super-skinny girl with long black hair and catlike green eyes. She surveyed Nicole coolly for a second before smiling and patting the seat beside her.

      “Is it true you’re from Paris?” she said.

      Nicole nodded and Tiffany pronounced this “So cool!”

      They bombarded her with questions about her life in France and why she’d come to the United States. Nicole noticed that whenever Elizabeth spoke the other two didn’t interrupt her the way they did with each other.

      “How long have you known each other?” she said.

      “Kristen and I have known each other since grade school,” Elizabeth said, “and Tiffany joined us her freshman year at St. Ursula’s.”

      Tiffany nodded. “I was so glad to meet them,” she said, picking at the food on her plate. “You have no idea how glad I was—my roommate was just such a loser, a complete geek!”

      She made geek sound like a crime against nature. “You understand, though. Destiny Miller. Ugh!” She shuddered.

      “Or Carrie Bonanon,” Kristen added and they both gave a theatrical shudder that ended in laughter that was so infectious that Nicole couldn’t help join in.

      “You need to watch who you associate with,” Elizabeth said. “If you hang out with the weak people, people will think you’re weak.”

      “Don’t worry,” Kristen said. “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s too late to change your room assignment, but it doesn’t matter.”

      “So, did you shop much in Paris?” Tiffany asked. “I bought the prettiest scarf at a little shop on the Ile Saint-Louis.”

      At one point, a hush fell over the lunchroom. Nicole looked up and saw the headmistress standing on the faculty dais near the rear of the room. She was holding up her hands like a bird about to take flight, but the girls seemed to understand her gesture, for the conversation died away to a smattering of voices and urgent “ssh’s.”

      “This is just a reminder to our afternoon classes that the police are in the library and so it will remain closed for the rest of the day. If you are summoned to be questioned by the police, please leave your class promptly and report directly to the library. Likewise, when you are finished, you should return directly to class. There is nothing to be feared from the questioning—it is just routine. The inconvenience is unfortunate, but, as I told the police, St. Ursula girls can handle any challenge!”

      Spontaneous applause broke out and Tiffany rolled her eyes. Nicole stifled a giggle. Elizabeth frowned at them both and Tiffany touched a hand to her lips as if she were locking a door.

      “Do you think they’re going to call us?” Kristen said once Sister Rose had stepped down. She was eating a salad, but Nicole had only seen one forkful actually enter her mouth. She stirred the leaves with her fork. It made Nicole feel funny about taking a big bite out of the pizza she’d chosen. It smelled good. She settled for nibbling.

      “Of course they won’t call us,” Elizabeth said. “They want to talk to the witch’s friends.”

      Tiffany giggled. “That isn’t us!”

      “Obviously.” Elizabeth took a small bite from the grilled chicken breast she’d extricated from between two pieces of bread, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and mayonnaise.

      “Who are you talking about?” Nicole asked. “The girl who died?”

      “Morgan Wycoff,” Elizabeth said.

      “The campus witch,” Kristen added.

      “She was a loser,” Tiffany said. “Nobody liked her.”

      “She shouldn’t have been at St. Ursula’s at all,” Elizabeth said. “I personally gave her at least six demerits last semester. And she was suspended at least once. I mean, how many times does a person have to disrupt a place before someone puts a stop to it?”

      Nicole nodded along with the others, but she wondered privately if Morgan had been unhappy. She was glad that they didn’t know about how much trouble she’d gotten into during her last year of school in Paris. Maybe Morgan had lost someone in her family. Before Paul’s death, she’d been a harsh judge of the girls who’d skipped school or slept in class. She hadn’t understood that the root of apathy could often be depression.

      “I’m not criticizing Sister Rose,” Elizabeth said, “because she’s practically an institution herself.” The other girls nodded again.

      “She’s been here forever,” Tiffany said to Nicole. “She was headmistress when my mother was at St. Ursula’s.”

      “It’s not her fault,” Elizabeth said. “She had pressure from some of the teachers and from that girl’s mother. That was the only reason she was allowed to stay. My mother told me.”

      Kristen СКАЧАТЬ