Chapter 5
5
Founded by nineteenth-century industrialist robber baron-turned-transcendentalist, Horace V. Beckford, Beckford College's campus in Beckford, Connecticut, was laid out in two huge blocks.
At the corner of the most northern block at the end of Lawton Road was the Beckford College president's residence and grounds. Surrounded by an antique wrought iron fence, the gothic two-story mansion constructed of red brick and clapboard was on the National Register of Historic Places and was the actual former home of Horace V. Beckford himself.
And tonight, on the other side of its wrought iron gates, parked before its historic wraparound porch, for some strange reason was a gazillion-dollar Rolls-Royce SUV from New York.
"I knew it," whispered Olivia from where she was crouched in the dark of the women's softball field across Lawton Road.
Olivia looked up and down Lawton. She was surprised that campus security dork Travers wasn't around. If it involved anyone important, Travers was there with bells on. His brown nose was like a heat-seeking missile.
Coast still clear, Olivia took out her phone to take a picture of the luxury vehicle that was very curiously visiting the president's house in the middle of the night when she realized how fruitless the move would be since she couldn't see the license plate from where she was. If she didn't get a shot of the New York plate, what would be the dang point? She considered hopping the field's short chain-link fence and crossing Lawton, getting closer maybe.
But no , she thought as she surveyed the thick hedges along the house's wrought iron fencing on both sides. The hedges were in the way. There was no way she'd be able to get an angle.
Oh, well. At least she'd made a stab at it.
She was past the softball field coming up the stairs for the soccer field, heading back to her dorm, when she suddenly remembered something.
Or maybe the night actually isn't over after all , she thought as she started jogging, and then flat out running, across the field to get back to her room.