All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 20

"What?"

"You heard me. The board of trustees isn't happy with such teaching at Wilbourne. Now that Fred Dodd has retired and I found Nancy Wallison to replace him, the board is quite unanimous in its desire for academic consistency."

Ginny stood, feeling a little dizzy. "What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"Oh, come now, Ginny. You knew very well when you took this job that Wilbourne was a conservative school. We offered you a job to keep some diversity in our curriculum. But that was a priority of the old board of trustees. Now the board is less interested in promoting 'alternative' views."

"Look, Gregory, you are absolutely right. I took this position knowing that Wilbourne had a history of being conservative. I also knew that it had a history of academic freedom and a commitment to educational diversity. Being conservative, might I remind you, need not equal being small-minded or intolerant. It is only recently that the conservative movement in this country has been co-opted by Christian fundamentalists who have dictated how we must think and what we must believe."

Gregory was looking at her almost with pity. "Dear, dear Ginny. I think you ought to stick with religious theory and not get into politics."

"It's become hard to separate the two," she retorted.

"I'm not asking you to keep to any sort of line. Only that you submit to me a revised curriculm for next year."

Ginny was astonished. "Is this how it's going to be then? First, you personally intercede for a benefactor's granddaughter, who happens to be a student in my cla.s.s, and demand she be given preferential treatment..."

"The poor girl was sick, Ginny."

"It was her place to work that out with me, not yours!"

He shrugged. "In any event, I do appreciate your flexibility on that matter."

Ginny had agreed to give Sue Barlow an extension, but it had been against her better judgment. She had always liked Sue-thought she was smart-and indeed, a few days later, when she took the make-up test, the girl had aced it. How apologetic Sue had been about Gregory's involvement. Ginny didn't blame her. Gregory was, quite simply, an impossible p.r.i.c.k.

"I don't know," Ginny said, turning to leave Gregory's office. "I can't commit here and now to turn over my academic authority to the administation. Frankly, I'm too angry to even discuss it further with you.'

Gregory had smiled his infuriating weasel grin. "That's fine, Ginny. You think it over. Let's talk again by Friday, all right?"

He was threatening me, Ginny thought as she settled the groceries onto the counter. Ginny thought as she settled the groceries onto the counter. He was holding over my head the fact that I saw Bonnie on the night of her disappearance. He was holding over my head the fact that I saw Bonnie on the night of her disappearance.

So let him tell her family I saw her! I couldn't have prevented what happened! They could read about it in the police report anyway.

Still, Ginny knew she should put a call in to her lawyer. Not only about Bonnie-but about the tactics Gregory was using to control her teaching. Her contract guaranteed her academic freedom.

She was tired and all she wanted to do was put the groceries away, open a bottle of wine, and find a little bit of mellow before sleep. The wind was cold, whipping against the side of the house and cutting right through to her bones. Winter, it seemed, was going to make early inroads on autumn.

She noticed the red light on her answering machine was blinking. She hit the play b.u.t.ton as she put the groceries away.

Beeeeep. "Ginny, this is Angela. Just wanted to check in with you and see how the book's coming. I just got off the phone with Dan and he wants you to know they are really going to get behind this book-he really thinks this is going to be a big seller, that it's really going to push you over the top. They have plans to get you on almost all of the major television shows, and there's a possibility of a History Channel or A&E doc.u.mentary. So look. He was just wondering when he'd be able see a few chapters. I can't keep putting him off. You know I really hate to be a nag about this kind of thing, but I can't keep a.s.suring him that everything is going well when I haven't seen anything myself and you don't return my calls. So, please, please, please, Ginny, give me a call when you get this, no matter what time it is, okay? I'm a little worried. Is everything all right up there? Call me."

"Oh, Christ," Ginny said out loud, holding a jar of peanut b.u.t.ter in one hand and a bag of coffee beans in the other.

Angela Cohen had been her agent from the very beginning of her publishing career, back in the days when she was working on her Ph.D. at Harvard. Slogging her way through on her doctoral thesis, Ginny was advised to find a literary agent. "Publish or perish, my dear," her advisor, Dr. Guenther, a wise old professor with a heavy German accent, had told her. "If you already have have a contract to publish your thesis, it's kind of hard for them to deny you not only your letters, but a teaching position here. And I'm sure there are any number of respected academic publishers who would love to have a shot at publishing you." a contract to publish your thesis, it's kind of hard for them to deny you not only your letters, but a teaching position here. And I'm sure there are any number of respected academic publishers who would love to have a shot at publishing you."

It had seemed a bit premature, but Ginny had learned early in her collegiate career to listen to faculty members giving advice. She'd bought a book on literary agents, typed up a synopsis of the book, and sent it out to twenty nonfiction agents. She honestly thought nothing would come of it. When Dr. Guenther asked her about it, she could just shrug and say, "I tried."

She was never sure how Angela Cohen came across her query letter, but she had, and she was not only interested in representing Ginny-she was excited and enthusiastic. "This book has best seller best seller written all over it," Angela had enthused over the phone after reading a few sample chapters. "I just love how you take on the guys who started the early Christian Church-it's just great, and it's going to be controversial, it'll get all the fundamentalists' panties in a twist for sure." written all over it," Angela had enthused over the phone after reading a few sample chapters. "I just love how you take on the guys who started the early Christian Church-it's just great, and it's going to be controversial, it'll get all the fundamentalists' panties in a twist for sure."

"That's a good thing?" Ginny had asked, worried.

"Honey, controversy sells books like you would not believe." Angela had told her. "Ginny, you and I could do good things together, trust me on this, okay?"

And over lunch at a sw.a.n.k bistro in central Manhattan a few weeks later, Ginny took the plunge and signed a letter of agreement for Angela to represent her.

The last thing in the world she expected was for Angela to get her a six-figure contract with a major publisher in New York. But that's what she did. The Sacred Feminine The Sacred Feminine earned her not only the Ph.D. she had coveted for so long, not only a teaching position at Harvard, but also one h.e.l.l of a lot of money. Suddenly, Ginny was in demand for talk shows and speaking engagements all over the country. Scuttleb.u.t.t around the faculty was that tenure was a given, and sure enough, it came through...but Angela and the publisher were already pushing Ginny on a second book. "I never meant to be an author," she'd protested to Angela. "I want to be a teacher." earned her not only the Ph.D. she had coveted for so long, not only a teaching position at Harvard, but also one h.e.l.l of a lot of money. Suddenly, Ginny was in demand for talk shows and speaking engagements all over the country. Scuttleb.u.t.t around the faculty was that tenure was a given, and sure enough, it came through...but Angela and the publisher were already pushing Ginny on a second book. "I never meant to be an author," she'd protested to Angela. "I want to be a teacher."

"Publish or perish, dear, you know it as well as I do." Angela was insistent, and as much as she hated to admit it, Ginny knew she was right.

For her next book, she decided to do a study of sightings of the Virgin Mary...but after getting started on the research and visiting a few of the places where shrines now stood-as well as a trip to Los Zapatos, Mexico-she stalled out on the book. She went on to write other books, but then Eric got sick, and her marriage crumbled, and Ginny, depressed and desolate, had finally fled to the wilderness of Lebanon, still unable to finish the book she had been working at on and off for twenty years.

Dan Rosen, her editor, was very understanding. "Ginny, after all you've been through, the last thing I want to do is push you to finish something that you aren't ready to finish." The Sacred Feminine The Sacred Feminine was still selling well for them, and Ginny knew she remained an a.s.set to the company. "Take your time," Dan told her. "Just keep me posted on your progress." He extended the deadline for her, and would extend it again two more times. Now the third extended deadline was coming up in March of next year, and Ginny had written little more than she had when she'd gotten the first extension. was still selling well for them, and Ginny knew she remained an a.s.set to the company. "Take your time," Dan told her. "Just keep me posted on your progress." He extended the deadline for her, and would extend it again two more times. Now the third extended deadline was coming up in March of next year, and Ginny had written little more than she had when she'd gotten the first extension.

She walked into the living room, pulling off her sweater and throwing it across the sofa as she turned her computer on. "d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n!"

Ever since Eric got sick, nothing has gone right.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Ginny knew she was making excuses, yet again using Eric's death as a scapegoat. Failing to finish the book was her own fault. Eric had been dead for two years now. She'd blown off the deadline, asked for more time, and played on the sympathies of her agent and her editor. She couldn't play that card anymore. The truth was, she didn't have the slightest idea how to write the d.a.m.ned book. Sometimes she considered just paying the advance back and washing her hands of the whole mess. There was no shame in just being a college professor.

That is, if she kept her job now that Gregory was making things difficult for her.

But what else was there? All her hopes for the book were fizzling. I couldn't even get Bernadette deSalis to talk to me, I couldn't even get Bernadette deSalis to talk to me, Ginny thought, staring at her computer screen, her face reflected in the monitor. Ginny thought, staring at her computer screen, her face reflected in the monitor.

In the month or so since Gayle Honeycutt had dropped that bomb on her-a local visitation, complete with stigmata-Ginny had gotten nowhere with the girl or her family. Whenever Ginny called, Mrs. deSalis hung up on her. Thanks to Gayle's f.u.c.king article, Mrs. deSalis considered Ginny "anti-Christian," and wanted nothing to do with her. She'd tried stopping by, but usually only found one of the deSalis boys at home, and they'd just grumble that they "didn't know nothing." Once, she'd lucked into Mr. deSalis, who Gayle had thought her best bet. The poor man's eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

"I've researched these kinds of cases, Mr. deSalis," Ginny had pleaded. "Maybe I can be of some help."

The man had just sighed. "I knew word would get out. I'm sorry, Dr. Marshall. I refuse to let my daughter become a freak in the eyes of the town."

"She's not that at all," Ginny said. "If I could just talk with her..."

"My wife won't allow it," Pierre deSalis told her. He seemed so tired, as if all his life force was spent. "And what my wife says goes-at least concerning Bernadette."

Ginny felt that if she could just get in to meet Bernadette deSalis, she might find some new motivation, some new inspiration, to restart her book. But what avenue was left open to her? She couldn't exactly barge into their house-or wherever the girl was being kept-and demand Bernadette talk to her.

Bernadette, Ginny kept thinking. Ginny kept thinking. Just like at Lourdes. Just like at Lourdes.

She stood, turning away from her computer and pouring herself a gla.s.s of wine. A leave of absence, she thought to herself. That's what I need. There's no way I can continue here under Gregory's threats to control my cla.s.ses. Maybe that's the handwriting on the wall. Get out of here now-go back to Hammond and finish my book.

A semester off would be just enough time for her lawyers to build a case against Gregory for breach of contract.

She took a sip of wine. Could she do it? Really walk away from teaching? What choice was Gregory leaving her?

She had just about decided to call Angela and talk it through with her when her doorbell rang. Odd Odd, Ginny thought. I never have visitors here I never have visitors here.

Probably a salesman, or a Jehovah's Witness, she told herself, setting her gla.s.s down on the counter and heading toward the door. she told herself, setting her gla.s.s down on the counter and heading toward the door.

But when she opened it, the man she saw standing there was someone she recognized...from very long ago...

"Dr. Marshall?"

She looked at him, trying to place his face. He was Latino, with dark black hair shot through with streaks of gray, and he seemed a little stocky, though it could have just been the heavy gray overcoat he had b.u.t.toned up the front. He wore black slacks over black leather hiking boots, and his big almond-shaped eyes were warm and soft.

"Yes?" Ginny asked. "May I help you?"

"You do not remember me," he said, and smiled. "But then, I should not expect you to after so many years. And we only knew each other so very briefly."

His English was lightly accented, and he spoke it perfectly in cadence. There was something about the smile-and then it hit her. Ginny's jaw dropped.

"Father Ortiz? From Los Zapatos?"

"Ah, you do remember. I am glad. May I come in? I would like so much to speak with you."

"Yes, of course," Ginny said, stepping aside as he entered. I certainly never thought I'd see him again. I certainly never thought I'd see him again.

"Thank you for receiving me unexpectedly," he was saying. "I wanted to call but your number is not listed, and I did not want to wait to reach you tomorrow at the college."

Ginny couldn't imagine what caused his urgency. "Sit down, Father," she said. "May I get you anything?"

He removed his coat and draped it over a reclining chair. "No, thank you," he said as he sat down. "It is good to see you, Dr. Marshall. The years have been very good to you."

Ginny blushed, running a finger through her hair. "Oh, please, you're far too kind." She sat down opposite him on the sofa. "Now, for heaven's sake, tell me what you are doing here in Lebanon."

He stared off over her shoulder for a moment. "Dr. Marshall-"

"Please. Ginny."

"Ginny." Father Ortiz smiled again. "I will start by apologizing to you for not saying an appropriate good-bye to you in Los Zapatos. The archbishop was very insistent that the girls and I get to Mexico City immediately."

"No need to apologize, Father." Ginny laughed again. "I certainly understood-the nosy American researcher was hardly a priority, especially when the archbishop calls."

He shifted in his seat. "I have, you know, followed your career with great interest-and a little pride, I must confess-since then. I have read your books, and they are very interesting." He made a short laugh. "Of course, the official Church position is that you are a heretic, but I know many of my fellow brethren in the Church have read and debated your works."

"Well, that's all I ever wanted. To bring about discussion."

He leaned forward, winking at her. "And you needn't worry, Ginny. I am not here to convert you or lecture you-unless of course you want to recant and come back into the embrace of Mother Church? No?" He laughed again as Ginny sat back in her chair, a tight smile on her face. "I thought not, but it never hurts to ask, as you say in this country."

Ginny's smile turned warm. "But none of this explains why you are here tonight, Father, or what was so important it couldn't wait until the morning."

He studied her for a few moments. "Why did you never publish the book you were working on in Los Zapatos?"

It was Ginny's turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm still working on it." She glanced over at her computer, then back at Father Ortiz. "Funny you should ask about it. I've been sitting here tonight trying to figure out how to move forward on it."

"I've always anxiously awaited that particular book, Dr.-er, Ginny."

Ginny found his gaze and held it. "Why did you come here, Father?"

He cleared his throat. "I understand you have been trying to see Bernadette deSalis?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "And how did you know that?"

He laughed. "Ah, G.o.d knows everything-and perhaps He whispered it to me? No?" He made a bridge of his fingers. "I am acquainted with the deSalis family. I was brought in when the local bishop learned of her experience. And so I have interviewed her extensively."

"You've moved up pretty far in the church hierarchy from your humble days in Los Zapatos, Father. You're here to investigate the sighting."

He nodded. "I suppose some consider me now an expert. But it is you, Ginny, who are the real expert. You would be doing me a huge favor if you interviewed Bernadette, and compared her story to those of other girls you have studied."

"I don't understand," Ginny replied. "In Los Zapatos, you wouldn't let me anywhere near the girls who saw the Virgin. And now, you're offering to let me interview Bernadette." She leaned back in her chair. "Come on, Father, what gives?"

"Suffice it to say, Ginny, that Mother Church has her reasons." He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Will you come?"

"Well, of course I'd like to interview her. Is it true she also has the stigmata?"

Father Ortiz nodded. "There is much to discuss when you come."

"Terrific. When?"

The priest rose from his chair. "I will call tomorrow and make the arrangements. I wanted our first meeting to be in person. I wanted to see for myself if you were still the good, honest woman I met in Los Zapatos." He smiled. "Thank you, Ginny."

Ginny walked him to the door. "Thank you, you, Father." Father."

He turned to look at her, and his face was grave. "Save your thanks for after you have spoken to Bernadette, Ginny. You may not be so grateful after you hear what she has to say."

What he meant, she didn't understand-but it didn't matter. Somehow, the fates had intervened and given her a second chance on the book. She watched Father Ortiz walk down the stairs into the night, then picked up the phone to call Angela.

This could justify another extension, she thought, refilling her gla.s.s of wine. she thought, refilling her gla.s.s of wine.

30.

Tish Lewis had become very good at hearing things in the dark.

She had learned to discern voices, even at a great distance, from somewhere far off in this place where she was being held. The voices drifted through cracks in the wall, seeped in through the floorboards above her head. Tish had determined she was in a bas.e.m.e.nt, and from the voices she heard, she believed she was still on the Wilbourne campus.

That's Dean Gregory's voice, Tish had realized a few days earlier. Tish had realized a few days earlier. And that's his wife. And that's the nurse from the infirmary, Poppy Cochrane... And that's his wife. And that's the nurse from the infirmary, Poppy Cochrane...

They were chanting. Exactly what what they were chanting, Tish couldn't make out. But it was some kind of ritual. The same kind of ritual during which she'd heard her roommate Joelle scream some time before. they were chanting, Tish couldn't make out. But it was some kind of ritual. The same kind of ritual during which she'd heard her roommate Joelle scream some time before.

They killed her, Tish thought. Tish thought.

Dean Gregory and the others killed Joelle.

Even worse.