Free The Finishing School by Michele Martinez Page B

all sported an identical look. Long hair, long limbs, beautiful faces with bored, careless expressions. Melanie and Ray-Ray followed the gazellelike creatures up the ice-slicked steps and into the lobby.
    The space was dominated by a tall Christmas tree decorated with ornaments of scarlet and gold, which, judging from various banners hung around the room, were also the school colors. A plump, middle-aged woman in a dark dress sat behind the reception desk.
    “Good morning,” the receptionist said in a British accent, looking them up and down. “Are you here for an admissions tour?”
    “No, we have an appointment with Patricia Andover, the headmistress, regarding a legal matter,” Melanie said.
    “Ah, very good.” The woman appeared relieved, and judging by the crew of skinny blond moms parading through the reception area with furs tossed casually over their gym clothes, Melanie understood why. She and Ray-Ray hardly fit the profile for membership in the Holbrooke parent body.
    “So Mrs. Andover is expecting you?” the receptionist asked.
    “Yes. Assistant U.S. Attorney Melanie Vargas and DEA Special Agent Raymond Wong.” Melanie flashed her creds and nodded at Ray-Ray, who did the same.
    “Very well, then. Have a seat, why don’t you, and I’ll let her know you’ve arrived. She should be back from chapel by now.”
    “Chapel?”
    “Every morning she leads the girls in prayer and announcements in the old chapel. It’s a Holbrooke tradition, but perhaps a bit more solemn than usual this morning.”
    “Of course. Thank you.”
    Melanie and Ray-Ray took seats on a chintz-upholstered bench across from the reception desk. Portraits of former Holbrooke headmistresses lined the walls, the ladies’ attire varying by decade. As a rule they were severe-looking but attractive, with steely expressions, of middle age. Above the portraits, beneath a heavy crown molding, the school motto repeated around the room in gold script intertwined with green vines: PULCHRITUDO VERITAS EST.
    “Huh,” Melanie said.
    “What?” Ray-Ray asked.
    “Holbrooke’s motto. ‘Beauty is truth.’ I think it’s from Keats.”
    “Oh.” He nodded, obviously uninterested.
    “You know what we should do?”
    “What?”
    “Get a list of the faculty and staff and run criminal-history checks. Just to cover our bases. Who knows? Maybe somebody has a narcotics record.”
    “Sure thing. No problem.”
    The receptionist put down her phone and looked at Melanie. “Mrs. Andover will see you now.”
     
     
    THE HEADMISTRESS OF HOLBROOKE was a petite, handsome woman in her forties, meticulously groomed, with a helmet of highlighted honey blond hair. Clad in a trim skirt that showcased her excellent legs, a cashmere twinset, Hermès scarf, and pearls, she radiated a cold, almost Stepford-like perfection. She also received them with the school’s lawyer standing beside her, which struck Melanie as more than a little defensive. Was Holbrooke worried about something?
    “This is a delicate situation, so I wanted my adviser present,” Patricia Andover explained. She took a seat behind a dainty inlaid-wood desk and indicated that Melanie and Ray-Ray should sit opposite her. A tiny Yorkshire terrier that had been resting on a plaid dog bed leaped up and settled into her lap.
    The headmistress put her nose right up to the dog’s and spoke to it as if it were a baby. “We have guests, Vuitton. Mommy needs impeccable behavior, yes, yes I do,” she said. Then she turned to Melanie with a studied smile, her glance seeming to note every imperfection, every hair out of place, and calculate the value of Melanie’s clothing and jewelry in the process.
    “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea, Pellegrino?” she asked.
    “Thank you, but no. This shouldn’t take long. We need some basic information and assistance in conducting searches, and then we’ll be out of your way,” Melanie replied.
    “This is a shocking tragedy for our community.