“Woefully optimistic, as usual,” he said. “Although I suppose you do have a point.”
She laughed. “Listen, I really appreciate this, Dillon. Was it hard getting into the—”
“Shh! Don’t say it,” Dillon hissed. “No, it wasn’t difficult. Give me a little credit, please. Did you get the file?”
“Hang on.” Genevieve opened her laptop and waited for the screen to load—an image of downtown Pinewood at sunset—and then she clicked into her browser and brought up her email. The file was there.
“Got it,” she said.
“Good. Now print it, delete it, and clear your browser.”
“You mean the message isn’t programmed to self-destruct?” she joked.
“Funny,” he said.
Genevieve clicked print and winced as her ancient Canon PIXMA thunked into life. She rose and padded over to the corner of her room where the noisy machine was spitting out paper. “You know, you could have just texted the info.” Genevieve yanked the sheets off the paper tray and flipped through to the Ls.
“Yeah, well, in this case, a phone call’s better.”
“Nothing in writing, eh?” Genevieve said distractedly as her eyes scanned the listings. Her heart fell. There was no listing yet for Miss Love, which Genevieve supposed made sense, seeing as how she was brand new to the roster.
She turned to the next page and zeroed in on the Ps. Sure enough, there was Eloise Pierce, at the top of the third page.
“Notice anything strange?” Dillon asked.
Genevieve was staring at Ms. Pierce’s information, her mind racing. The address was fewer than three blocks from her house! The substitute lived in the Sunrise apartments off Bryant Lane, a fifty-five plus complex behind Haley Park. Genevieve glanced at the time; it was only eight thirty p.m. She realized Dillon had asked her a question.
“Yeah, hey, I really really appreciate the file, and I’ll expect you at Sweet Dreams tomorrow for a triple scoop,” Genevieve said in a rush, “but right now I have to go.”
“But—”
“Sorry, bye!” Genevieve ended the call, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door.
CHAPTER SIX
A GRIM DISCOVERY
Sunrise senior apartments were small units in a pair of nondescript three-story buildings painted in various shades of brown. The buildings formed an L shape—number 124 was in the center of the complex on ground level. Genevieve pulled up and cut the engine, then sat for a moment staring at the apartment with a sudden sense of foreboding. It was so dark, so quiet. Too quiet.
All of her apprehensions from the past several days descended on her at once, like a shadow over the moon. Unnerved, Genevieve hastily stepped out of the car, and then remembered she had told no one she was coming here. She pulled out her phone to text Brandon, then decided against it. It was getting late. She didn’t know what to say. And anyway, she was just being silly. With fresh resolve, Genevieve walked briskly up to apartment number 124.
She rapped her knuckles softly on the door, but somehow knew there would be no answer. “Ms. Pierce?” she said, and the sound of her voice in the stillness of the night spooked her further.
This is ridiculous, she thought. Get a hold of yourself.
She knocked again, firmly. “Ms. Pierce, it’s Genevieve Winterland, your student at Pinewood High. Please, open up. I would like to apologize for yesterday.”
Nothing. Genevieve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked around, hardly believing what she was about to do. Then she grasped the doorknob and turned it. Locked. Of course it’s locked. The woman obviously lives alone, do you think she’d just leave her front door unlocked, even in a safe little town like Pinewood?
Not so safe lately, according to my dad, she thought, and then pushed the thought away. Before she could change her mind, she withdrew her wallet from her purse and found an expired gift card. She slipped the card between the door frame and the jamb, wiggled it down the strike plate, and heard the latch give way with a snap.
Genevieve froze, suddenly sure that someone was watching her. She glanced to the side and thought she saw movement in a window across the lot.
It didn’t matter now; she pushed open the door, her throat locked in suspense, and entered the house.
“Ms. Pierce?” she called. Her voice came out as a squeak. All the lights were off, the room she stood in too dark to see anything but shapes of furniture—a sofa, a rocking chair. Genevieve checked the wall for a switch, but before she had a chance to flick it on, the room flooded with light.
For a moment she was disoriented, until she heard the grinding sound of tires turning on pavement. She’d been standing near the front window and the headlights temporarily blinded her. Her mouth dry, heart pounding, she darted aside then flattened herself against the wall. The car idled a moment, and then the engine cut off smoothly and the world, and Genevieve, were once again left in darkness.
After what seemed an unbearable amount of time, she heard the car door open and then slam shut. She swallowed as footsteps approached from the walkway, hoping against hope they were not headed for 124. The footsteps grew louder, then slowed. Genevieve was trying to prepare for what she would say—but she knew it was no use. Ms. Pierce would call the police and have her arrested for breaking and entering.
Could she sneak through the living room and out a back entrance? Was there even a back entrance? But she was already out of time. Ms. Pierce had reached the doorstep, and Genevieve needed to act now, otherwise the substitute would notice the unlocked door and call for help, or worse, she would walk in, flip the light switch, see Genevieve standing in her living room, and scream.
Genevieve flipped on the lights and said loudly, “Ms. Pierce? Please don’t scream! It’s Genevieve Winterland; I’m not dangerous!”
From the other side of the door a thoroughly perplexed voice, way too deep to belong to the substitute, said, “Miss Winterland?”
Her jaw dropped. She flung open the door. “Mr. Mattison?”
They stood looking at each other in confusion and disbelief. The principal was dressed in jeans and a thick gray sweater; Genevieve had never seen him without a tie.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, his face quickly morphing from confusion to incredulity to sternness. “I am assuming, from your statement, that you were not invited. Hence, you entered this property illegally.”
Genevieve flushed but stood firm. “I was concerned,” she said, “and with good reason. First, Miss Love disappears, and now Ms. Pierce.”
Mr. Mattison sighed and rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Miss Winterland,” he said in a gentler tone, “I understand and appreciate your concern. You’re a very thoughtful young lady. But I’m afraid your imagination is a bit overblown.”
Genevieve drew breath to speak, but Mr. Mattison held his hand up sharply. “I, too, am curious as to why I’ve been unable to reach our esteemed substitute teacher, but not so much that I’d risk arrest for breaking and entering into her apartment. It’s very likely that Ms. Pierce simply does not wish to be disturbed and that she has chosen to finally retire, which she certainly deserves to do. I came here merely to leave a note, since she hasn’t been answering her phone and her voicemail appears to be full.”
