Now she wondered. Everybody did suspect. They suspected even now, when they wouldn’t talk about it, because Michael was dead. Mark DeAvecca might even know, if Michael had talked to him. Alice had no idea if he had or not. She knew Mark was dangerous to her, but that was not the way in which he was dangerous.
Everything was dangerous to her really. She knew that. She knew that they would not be able to stay at this school after what would happen in the next week or so. Everything was already out of hand. She didn’t care if they stayed here or not. It wasn’t the school she needed, and it wasn’t her position as the headmaster’s wife she needed to preserve.
She did think, however, that since there was no hope for it on any level, there was no need for her to go to see Mark DeAvecca in the hospital. They’d be gone whether she did or not, and she had never been able to stand that kid for longer than it took to shake his hand at official functions.
2
Edith Braxner had decided, in a rush of irritation at herself and exasperation at the campus, that there was one thing and only one thing that mattered, and that was doing what she had an obligation to do. The rumors around school this morning were as thick as poison gas. Mark DeAvecca had taken a drug overdose. Mark DeAvecca had been the victim of an attempted murder. The papers had been silent this morning, but then they would be. Whatever had happened had happened yesterday evening and not really been resolved until late at night. That much Edith had managed to pick up in the cafeteria at breakfast. The local news had been silent this morning, too, but she knew that would not last long. There was another piece of information she’d managedto pick up in the cafeteria, and that was the fact that Mark’s mother was already here and Mark’s father was on the way. They weren’t Madonna or the Backstreet Boys, but they brought publicity with them wherever they went. It would take a little time to jump-start it, that was all. This was Tuesday. By Thursday it would all be everywhere. The only question was the nature of what would be out. Michael Feyre’s suicide would be out, of course, but it was impossible to tell what the media would say about Mark. That was because the one person who would know what had really happened, besides Peter Makepeace, was not at breakfast at all, in spite of the fact that all faculty were required to take their meals in the cafeteria with the students. Edith had gotten to breakfast with the first opening of the doors because she did so every day, and then she had waited until the breakfast hour was over, in order to catch Cherie and feel her out. There had been no Cherie. There had been no Sheldon either. Edith had been reduced to listening politely while James Hallwood unleashed a tedious meta-analysis of everything from Windsor’s policy of having students call their teachers by their first names to Mark DeAvecca’s failings as a Member of the Windsor Community.
Edith understood, exactly, the importance of making sure that every student and faculty member was a Member of the Windsor Community, and she understood as well why so many people here thought Mark DeAvecca wasn’t one and could never be one. At the moment, however, this was not a topic she was interested in. She was back in her apartment in Lytton House, and she knew that if she stayed here she would learn nothing she could count on about what was going on. She would learn nothing in her office, either, because she was sure that Cherie had no intention of occupying hers. Edith had brought her tote bag full of work to breakfast. She left it on her desk without bothering to repack it and started back out again. She hadn’t even bothered to unbutton her coat.
Out on the quad, it was mostly quiet. Students had not taken this opportunity to catch up on their classwork. Theywere all staying up late and sleeping in. There had been very few of them this morning at breakfast. Edith went down the diagonal path that would have taken her to Barrett if she’d followed it long enough. Then she turned at the center crossing and went down to Hayes. It looked no livelier than any other House, although surely the students there must have witnessed whatever had happened to Mark in the night. Edith didn’t believe they’d all slept through it.
She got to the backdoor of Hayes and let herself in. Every faculty member knew the codes to get into every House. Edith was sure that every student knew them, too. She looked around the back hall and caught a fleeting glimpse of Sheldon at the door to his own apartment. He shut it quickly as soon as he saw her, which didn’t surprise her at all. From what she’d heard in the cafeteria—assuming she could trust any of it, which she thought she could, especially where it concerned Sheldon—he was about to be in a great deal of trouble. Sheldon hadn’t ever quite been a Member of the Windsor Community either. He’d just been better at hiding it and more difficult to get rid of than a student.