“I found these files shoved in his pillowcase,” I said, relaying all the details of my trip to Gideon’s room.
“What do you think Non Mortuus means?” I said, flipping through Cassandra’s file. “Or Basium Mortis? The tie. It has something to do with the tie.”
But Nathaniel ignored my questions. “You actually went through his stuff?” he said in disbelief.
I blinked. Had he not heard me? “Benjamin was murdered,” I said quietly. “And Cassandra is dead. I don’t know how, but she’s definitely dead and the school is covering it up. And now Eleanor’s gone. She could be dead too. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Nathaniel shrank back in his seat. “Of course it does. But how exactly do you think Gideon is involved? Do you think he killed Eleanor?”
“I don’t know. Why else would he steal her file? And I did see him lurking around the girls’ dorm.”
“Lots of people hang out outside the dorms. That doesn’t mean he killed someone.”
I sighed. “I know... And he never would have killed Cassandra. They were friends. Or Benjamin. I mean, why would he do that? And there’s definitely no connection between him and my parents....” It was hopeless.
“Maybe he has the files for the same reason you wanted them. To know.”
He had a point.
“So what are you going to do?” Nathaniel probed when I didn’t respond.
“I have to tell someone,” I said, gathering the papers and stuffing them back in the files. “I have to tell Mrs. Lynch. Or a professor. Or someone.”
“Renée,” Nathaniel said, pulling me back. “You can’t. First of all, why do you think Mrs. Lynch would believe that you didn’t steal these files yourself?”
“Because I didn’t. I found them in Gideon’s room.”
“I know,” Nathaniel said. “But it doesn’t look good. What are you going to tell her, that you snuck into Gideon’s room, went through his things, and found these hidden in his pillowcase? She’s going to think you’re lying. And even if she does believe you, you’ll still be in trouble.”
My shoulders dropped. He was right. Minnie’s drawing of Cassandra’s burial flashed through my mind. What had actually happened the night Cassandra died? If we couldn’t hold another séance, there was only one other person I could go to.
“Renée? Hello? Earth to Renée.”
I shook myself out of my thoughts and looked at Nathaniel. Shoving the files back between the two books, I grabbed my bag. “I have to go.”
That evening after dinner, I lingered around the showers in the boys’ dorm until almost everyone had cleared out of the bathrooms. I brushed my teeth slowly, waiting for Minnie Roberts to show up; I knew from the state of her hair that she took showers at night. The bathroom was filled with steam, which fogged up the mirrors around the edges and condensed into droplets on the faucets and door handles. A few remaining girls came and went like ghosts, their presence heard but not seen—the toilet flushing, the faucet running, the stall door creaking on its hinges. But Minnie never showed. Giving up, I hopped into a shower stall and turned on the water.
I was just about to rinse the bubbles from my hair when I heard the sound of a showerhead turn on across from me. The swish of a curtain. And then a voice, talking to no one.
I peeked out, my head lathered in shampoo. The curtain across from me was only half closed, and a skinny silhouette hovered behind it. I leaned out to get a better look.
Minnie Roberts was standing under the shower in her bathing suit. If it were anyone else, the bathing suit would have been weird, but Minnie was already so eccentric that I wasn’t surprised. Everyone said she was a hypochondriac and a germophobe. The water beat down on her, pushing her hair across her face. Every so often her body pulsed forward with the change in water pressure.
Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and waited until I heard her turn the water off, followed by the sound of her feet padding against the tile floor. “Wait,” I said.
Minnie gave me a frightened look, her eyes darting around the room to make sure no one was watching, as if she didn’t want to be seen talking to me. She was wrapped in a towel, her skin red from the hot water.
“Can I ask you something?”
Minnie seemed caught off guard by my request. “I... um … I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she said, turning away.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I called after her. That made her stop.
“Well thanks,” she said, almost sarcastically.
“I also don’t think you were lying last year.”
She hesitated, and without warning, gathered her things and was about to leave the bathroom when I called out to her.
“What do you know about Cassandra Millet?”
She froze. “I don’t know anything,” she said quickly, her back to me. “I should go.”
“No, wait!”
Minnie didn’t move.
“I need to find Eleanor. She’s still out there somewhere. Please, help me.”
She turned and stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and fear. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because I think Eleanor’s disappearance has something to do with Cassandra Millet. With her death.”
“Her death?” she said slowly, trying to figure out if I was mocking her.
I looked her in the eyes. They were dull and haunted, with the steady gaze of a person on the brink of madness. “I believe you,” I said.
Her lip quivered, and I thought she might cry. Hugging her clothes tightly to her body, she let out a sigh of relief. “Come with me.”
Minnie’s room was at the opposite end of our floor, and was, to my surprise, exceedingly normal. It felt like a cozy country bedroom, with a quilted comforter, a leafy plant hanging by the window, and prints of Renoir’s ballerinas on the wall. Minnie hung up her towel and sat on the edge of her bed. A row of satin ballet flats lay at the foot of her fireplace.
“Do you dance?” I asked. She was so clumsy at school, always dropping her tray in the lunchroom or tripping up the stairs in Horace, that I could hardly picture her balancing on one toe.
Minnie laughed nervously. “No, I... I just draw them.”
The other side of the room was empty, the desk barren, the mattress naked.
“No one wanted to live with me,” Minnie said.
Minnie kept a cautious eye on me as I surveyed her room. Spread across the floor and the empty mattress were dozens of loose sketches, all black-and-white. The lines were sparse and drawn bluntly in charcoal, yet somehow the images were even more stunning than the subjects were in real life. In addition to the drawings of ballet slippers, there were also landscapes of Gottfried’s campus, and portraits —beautiful portraits—of an old woman, a young girl, an old man, and one of Minnie herself.
“Did you draw these?” I asked.
Minnie nodded.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “When everyone tells you you’re crazy, after a while you start to believe it too. Drawing helps me...remember...that I’m not.”
“I know the feeling.” Was I crazy to think that my parents’ death was a murder? That there was more to Dante than he was letting on? I didn’t have anything like drawing to remind me that I was sane.
“You got into Horticulture, right?”
I nodded.
“What’s it like? My dad wanted me to get into that class, but I didn’t pass the test. He was so angry when he saw my schedule; I thought he was going to break something. I’m not even old enough to be tapped, but I guess he could tell from my classes that I wouldn’t be. Our family has been at Gottfried for centuries, and we’ve always been on the Board of Monitors. Whatever gene that was, I definitely didn’t inherit it.”
I didn’t understand why Horticulture had anything to do with the Board of Monitors, or why her father would be so upset that she didn’t get into the class. “It’s okay,” I said, trying to play it down. “We learn a lot about ecosys
tems and soil and burying things and stuff. Otherwise, nothing too interesting.”
When I mentioned burials, Minnie tensed up. “Burying things?”
“Just bulbs, flowers, you know. But now we’re learning more about the different species of plants.”
Minnie gazed at her drawings. “I was sketching when I saw them,” she said, wringing out her wet hair. “It was at night. There are moonflowers that climb up the gates of the chapel, and I wanted to draw them while they were in bloom. So after dinner I walked over to the chapel with my sketchbook and pencils. On my way I saw Brandon Bell bringing Cassandra Millet to the headmistress’s office in Archebald Hall. Benjamin had just died from the heart attack, and I figured the headmistress just wanted to check up on her or ask her questions.
“When I got to the chapel, I sat on the grass and waited for the moonflowers to open. And they did. They were beautiful.” Minnie gazed at her feet and continued.
“Halfway through my drawing, I heard a noise. I hid behind a tree and waited. At first I thought it was an animal, but it turned out to be the Board of Monitors. There were five of them, each carrying shovels; the only person missing was Brandon Bell. They walked to the chapel and went inside. Normally I wouldn’t have followed them, but my dad always talked so much about the Board of Monitors, and I wanted to be one so badly. I thought maybe if I listened in on one of their meetings, I could figure out what it took to get nominated. So I followed them.
“I waited until they had all gone inside, then took off my shoes and snuck in before the doors closed. They were almost out of sight when I made it to the pews, and I just barely saw Ingrid Fromme, another junior Monitor, crawl through the hole behind a grate near the pulpit.”
“Wait,” I said. “They all climbed into a hole in the back of the church?”
Minnie nodded.
“I didn’t want to go in it at first, but then I figured if the Board of Monitors was using it, it must be okay. So I followed them. The opening was about two feet wide and tall, and it had a little stepladder going down. It was dark and dusty and I couldn’t see anything. After only a few feet I hit the ground, and it was sort of like a tunnel or a passageway or something. I didn’t bring my candle so I just ran my hands along the wall and walked toward their voices.
“I walked forever. They took a bunch of turns until I had no idea which direction they were headed. Finally, it emptied out on the other side of the wall, right on the edge of the woods. When their voices were far enough away, I climbed out and followed them. They were going to the Dead Forest.
“The headmistress and Brandon Bell came from the opposite direction. Brandon was holding someone. A scarf was wrapped around her face, but I recognized Cassandra’s hair. She was shaking; otherwise I would have thought she was dead. A handmade coffin was next to them.” Minnie swallowed. “And then they started digging while the headmistress gave them instructions.”
“Headmistress Von Laark? Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. After they were finished, Brandon picked Cassandra up and put her in the box. Then he did the weirdest thing. He put a coin on each of her eyes.”
“Coins?” Suddenly, all I could think of were my parents, and how their bodies were surrounded by coins.
Minnie nodded. “I could hear her whimpering when he covered the coffin with a plank of wood, but she didn’t move. Brandon hammered it shut with his spade, and they all lifted it and set it in the hole. They covered it with dirt, and that was the end of it.”
“Brandon? Brandon Bell as in Eleanor’s older brother?
As in the top Monitor? You’re saying he buried Cassandra Millet alive?”
“Not just him. All of them. And the headmistress. I tried to dig her up after they left, but it started to rain, and the soil was packed so tightly. I marked the area with a stick so I could find it again, but when I brought Professor Lumbar back, it had been washed away.”
“But why? Why would they do it?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure you heard about the day in the dining hall when I told everyone.”
I nodded.
“After that, I was called to the headmistress’s office. I was so scared; I thought she was going to kill me too. I called my parents, but they thought I was making it up, just like everyone else. I even wrote a will.” She went to her desk and pulled out a slip of paper from the back of the drawer. “See, I still have it.”
The Final Will and Testament of
Minnie Roberts, Age 14
Bequests
I leave my Japanese fighting fish to my cousin Jenny.
I leave my sketches to my parents.
I leave my clothes to my cousin Jenny.
I leave my ballet slippers to the Bethleson Children’s Hospital.
I leave my books to the Gottfried Copleston Library.
Final wishes
If you’re reading this, I will probably already be buried in the Dead Forest. Please find me.
Thank you for a beautiful life.
I blushed as I read it, feeling like I was violating her most private moments. “It’s perfect,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said, folding it into the drawer. “I also left a note explaining what I had seen that night, along with a sketch of the scene, which I drew afterward. Those were confiscated by the school.
“Anyway, when I went to the headmistress’s office, I thought I was going to die. But instead, she just told me that I was wrong. She hadn’t even been at Gottfried that night, and had witnesses to prove that she was actually in Europe. And then she gave me a week of detention for sneaking off campus after hours. Everyone said the same thing. That I made it up, that I was crazy. My parents sent me to a psychiatric ward for the summer.” Minnie gazed at her sketches. “The thing is, I spend most of my time watching things. I know what I saw. I’m not lying.”
She stared at me, her eyes watery and searching. I could tell that by now she wished she was wrong because the reality was even more disturbing to accept. “I believe you,” I said.
A symposium dinner was held at the end of the fall semester to celebrate the beginning of winter. In the tradition of Plato, it was a themed dinner designed to encourage discussion on various philosophical subjects. But the only thing people were interested in talking about was Eleanor.
The dining hall was filled with long rectangular tables, each covered in royal blue tablecloths that collected in folds on the ground. The feast was elaborate and distinctively New England, with buttered corn, poached gourds and candied yams, venison, quail, wild turkey, and Cornish hen, all roasted to a golden brown, along with blueberry cobbler, sugared fruits, and an elaborate array of desserts made from maple syrup. The professors were sitting at tables that lined the edges of the hall, forming a U around us. In the middle were the student tables, one for each grade, girls on one half, boys on the other. I was sandwiched between Emily Wurst and Amelia Song, a quiet girl who played the harp in the orchestra and kept to herself. Minnie Roberts was actually one of the few people I wanted to talk to, but it was impossible to ask her more about Cassandra in the dining hall, so I spent most of the dinner watching her push the food around on her plate. I tried to pretend I couldn’t see people staring at me, whispering my name and then Eleanor’s. Every so often I glanced around the room, hoping to see Dante, who told me he’d be there, but was only met with Nathaniel, who looked just as bored as I did on the other side of the table.
I pushed my fork off the table with my elbow. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I crouched down to pick it up and crawled under the table, letting the tablecloth fall behind me like a curtain.
Beneath it, the din of the dining hall was muted, and everything was dark and calm. I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the line of feet on either side of me, and then began to crawl to the door.
When I finally made it outside, I let out a sigh. The only thing I was sure of was that both Cassandra and Benjamin were dead, and that the school knew about Cassandra. That much I knew from th
e files. But was Minnie right? No, I thought. Impossible. Rubbing my temples, I turned to make my way back to the dormitory, when I saw one of the maintenance workers run up the path and into the dining hall.
Moments later, the door to the dining hall burst open and Headmistress Von Laark strode outside, her ivory cloak billowing behind her. I ducked behind a bush. Professor Bliss and Professor Starking pushed out of the dining hall on the heels of the headmistress, all staring out toward the dormitories.
In the distance I could barely make out a person carrying something down the pathway. I watched him through the leaves as he approached, until he was close enough for me to see his face.
Dante emerged from the night fog, cradling a body in his arms. I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the gasp that involuntarily escaped. It was Eleanor.
Her blond hair dangled just above the ground, blowing in the winter wind. She was unconscious and wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her body convulsing in sudden, violent jerks. I could see the quiet rise and fall of Dante’s breathing as he handed her to Professor Bliss and Professor Starking, who carried her to the nurses’ wing, her limp silhouette swaying back and forth like a hammock.
Dante glanced through the bushes in my direction, as if he knew I was there, and then turned his attention to Headmistress Von Laark, who was questioning him. He looked exhausted. Just behind him, a pair of maintenance workers approached.
“This young man has been lurking around here all week, trying to find the girl,” the older man said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “We had been trying to get into the basement for days, but the pipes kept freezing,” he continued, “so we couldn’t drain it. And then all of a sudden this young man emerged from the front of the girls’ dormitory, carrying the girl in his arms.”
The headmistress looked from the man to Dante. “Is this true?”