This was not a novel situation. A money crunch had happened at least two times during Anne’s tenure. “Consolidating the camps would save a lot of money,” Anne said, because that had been the rumor every time a pinch had been felt. She’d scored a direct hit, from the way Cassie’s face changed. Cassie was the younger administrator; she’d be the one to go if the camps combined.
“Not going to happen,” Cassie said.
Anne knew denial when she saw it. “What do you think I can do about this?”
“David and I are both on suspension until the money is tracked down. I’m sure David will come to see Greg. They’re thick as thieves. Maybe literally.”
“I’ve been here for three years, Holt for two,” Anne said. “It’s hard to see how either of us could be responsible.” But it’s not impossible, she thought. “What do you plan to do if you find David?”
Cassie didn’t answer. “I’ll find him. Are you telling me the truth? You haven’t seen him?”
“That’s what I said.” Why would Cassie expect Anne to tell the truth?
“What’s Greg’s new name?”
“Holt Halsey. Baseball coach.” Anne could see no need to keep the secret. She planned to make sure Cassie never told anyone.
“As soon as it’s dark we’re going to pay Coach Halsey a little visit,” Cassie said. She sat back on the couch and fell silent. But she stayed vigilant.
Anne had plenty to think about. She’d grown into her new identity. She’d become proficient in making her school the best it could be... though sometimes through very unconventional methods. She found it intolerable to believe she was on the brink of losing it all.
Anne was mapping out possible scenarios, imagining various contingencies, and (most important) planning an unannounced visit to Gary Pomeroy as soon as she could spare the time.
Assuming she had any left. Cassie was an emotional wreck, but she was also dangerous and capable.
It would be dark in less than an hour. Anne figured Cassie planned her move — whatever it was — for after dark. But that left an hour she’d have to spend in Cassie’s company. “Want to play cards?” Anne asked. “More to the point, do you want me to touch up your roots? Jesus, girl, go to a salon.”
“Shut up, Twyla.”
“Did you fly into Raleigh-Durham? Surely you didn’t drive all the way?” It was remotely possible Cassie had driven her personal vehicle all the way from Pennsylvania.
Cassie looked at her in stony silence.
It had been worth a try. Anne did not speak again, but she wasn’t idle. She had a lot to plan. A lot to lose. There were weapons here in her living room if she could reach them. She counted steps to each one. Each time she came up just a little short.
“That your family?” Cassie said, and Anne’s mind snapped to the present. Cassie waved her gun at the set of pictures on a narrow table against the wall. The table looked like a family heirloom, maybe passed down from the fifties.
“Yes,” Anne said.
“Your mom and dad?”
“Someone’s mom and dad.”
“Where’d they find the guy posing as your husband? He looks familiar.” Cassie was looking at a picture of Anne and her husband, standing in the fall woods, a golden retriever on a leash. His arm was around Anne’s shoulders. Both were smiling; maybe the dog was too.
“He’s in the acting pool.” Actors came in very handy in training exercises.
“Was the dog from the acting pool too?” Cassie tilted her head toward the framed picture.
“Waffle,” Anne said. “The cook’s dog.”
“How’d your husband die?”
“Skiing accident.” That had been Anne’s choice.
“Who’s the girl?”
Anne had a studio portrait of a young woman on the credenza in her office, so she’d picked an informal shot of the same woman to place in her home. The woman looked not unlike Anne, and she was wearing nurse’s scrubs and holding a plaque. (She’d been named nurse of the year.) “That’s my sister, Teresa,” Anne said. “She lives in San Diego.”
Cassie looked at Anne with a mixture of incredulity and distaste. She said, “At my job I can be who I am. I don’t have to fake a family. And no one underestimates me. How can you stand being here with civilians? Being less?”
“But I’m not less,” Anne said. Anne had never thought of herself as a ‘civilian,’ the instructors’ term for noncombatants. Anne was still a fighter and strategist. Her regime at the school was sure, focused, and covertly ruthless; very much Anne, no matter what name she was using. She could have told Cassie about the gradual improvement in the school grade-point average, the better win-to-loss ratio of the school teams. (Except girls’ volleyball, Anne remembered; she had to do something about Melissa Horvath, the volleyball coach.)
Anne locked away her concerns with Melissa Horvath. She might not be around to correct the volleyball coach. She couldn’t discount the danger of her situation.
Cassie was obviously pleased to have her former boss at her mercy. That came as no surprise to Anne; Cassie had always wanted to be top dog (or top bitch). She’d never been good at hiding that. She’d waited for the death of Dorcas Epperson, one cold night in a marsh. Then she’d seized her opportunity.
“Did you take care of Epperson?” Anne asked. It was a new possibility, one she hadn’t considered before.
“No,” Cassie said, outraged.
Anne thought, She means it. She wanted to get rid of me, but she didn’t plan the death that brought me down. Idiot.
Anne’s cell phone rang.
“You can get it,” Cassie said after a moment. “No cry for help, or you’re dead.”
Anne nodded. Moving slowly, she rose to go to the kitchen counter. She pulled her phone from her purse. There was a gun hidden not two feet away, and this might be as close as Anne would get to a weapon. But Cassie had stood and was facing Anne, on the watch.
“Hello,” Anne said. She’d seen the caller ID; she knew who it was.
“Are we still on for tonight?” Holt’s voice was cautious.
Anne had been expecting this call since the clock had read five-thirty.
Anne was never late.
“I’m so sorry, I have to cancel,” she said evenly. “I’ve had an unexpected visitor. I don’t get to see her often, so we plan to spend the evening catching up.”
After a moment’s silence, Holt said, “Okay. I’m sorry to miss our dinner.”
“Is it Holt?” Cassie mouthed.
Anne nodded.
“Tell him to come,” Cassie hissed.
“Why don’t you come over here?” Anne said obediently. “I’ve got plenty of salad, and some rolls. I’d love you to meet my friend.” Anne really enjoyed Cassie’s face when she said that.
“You sure you have enough lamb?” Holt asked. Anne never ate lamb.
“I’ve got enough lamb for all of us.”
“I’ll be right over,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Anne said sincerely. She ended the conversation. “He’s coming over,” she told Cassie.
“You two are on dinner terms?”
“Every now and then.” At least three nights a week, sometimes more.
“Are you bed buddies?”
“My business.”
Cassie could not control her face as well as Anne could. She reddened. Anne had a very faint memory of an instructor telling her that Cassie’d made a play for Holt when they were both at some planning session. That play had been spectacularly unsuccessful.
Even if Anne had not heard the rumor (she was surprised she remembered it, she hadn’t known Holt well at all), Cassie had clearly signaled that she had a history with him, at least in her own mind.