6. Den of Vipers

6

T he mixer was even worse than I had imagined it would be.

I should have known after Lenny's tip-off about the donors being on the guest list. Conversation was stilted, and while drinks were being served and consumed en masse, I was far too nervous I would look at the wrong person in the wrong way to do much more than nursing the same flat glass of champagne I'd been served when I'd arrived over an hour earlier.

I adjusted my pantyhose in the knee-length dress I was wearing. It was black, thankfully conservative, despite being form-fitting, and conveniently the only dress I owned. I'd thrifted it during high school, for a funeral, and I was lucky it still fit over ten years later, thanks to the spandex and polyester blend.

I had hoped to lurk in a corner and gossip with Jolene during the event, but Winston continued to find things going awry that he tasked her with handling. Heaven forbid the donors ingest a lukewarm canapé.

I watched Jolene's frizzy, permed, blonde hair bob and weave amongst the guests as she hustled to put out whatever non-existent fire Winston had noticed. I'd offered to help her when I'd first arrived, but she'd refused, saying she'd get in trouble with the headmaster.

I was surprised she had decided to forgo her usual sweaters to wear instead a grape-colored, floor-length velour skirt with matching short-sleeve mock neck top, complete with a very large beaded necklace that I had a sneaking suspicion she had made herself.

I loved her and her quirky, yet dated style. I didn't even bother looking at her shoes, knowing she only owned one hideous pair of black chunky mules. She was a lost cause in the fashion department—not that I wasn't in my own way, but I adored her just as she was.

Watching the room full of elites over the rim of my champagne glass as I feigned another sip was like watching a secret dance in which nobody knew the moves they were supposed to make, only those that others should be making.

The faculty fawned over the donors with overly enthusiastic laughter and suggestive touches. The whole thing felt so pretentious.

I didn't want to be paraded around to impress donors. I wanted to teach and return to my little hovel.

I didn't want to act like Montgomery was some bastion of civility when I could see the tendrils of corruption winding through every piece of the institution.

I didn't want to pretend that a student hadn't gone missing and that everyone in the room was complicit in preventing his disappearance from being properly investigated.

My cheeks strained to maintain the fake smile plastered across my face. It was disingenuous, like everything else at Montgomery.

I felt someone watching me from across the room. My gaze bounced around until I was able to see Milton Cox shift his attention off me the second he realized I had spotted him. He was a combination of all the worst stereotypes of men who worked in IT. Greasy hair, wireframe glasses too large for his face, an unfortunate sense of fashion that rivaled Jolene's, body odor, and socially awkward to the extreme.

Jolene had long harbored a crush on him, and had he not given me the ick immediately upon meeting him, I might have encouraged her to pursue something. Milton gave off "nice guy" vibes in which he did and said all the right things, but they lacked sincerity, as if he was expecting praise or a reward for treating women like they were equals.

"I thought they didn't allow students into the mixer."

Startled from my thoughts, I didn't have to glance up to recognize the low, seductive tone of Montgomery's resident cougar, the art teacher, Serena Lawrence. Once a model in her youth—which she found the most ingenious and obscure ways to bring up in any conversation—as with most women over a certain age, she had been discarded by the men who had previously doted over her and had taken to focusing on a younger set of gentlemen. Or at least that's what she'd told me.

I didn't judge her for wanting to date younger men, being hypersexual (her words), or being very open about her latest conquests. What I did judge her for was the fact that it was painfully obvious she didn't like me. I toyed with the idea that she was threatened by me, but if anything, it was simply my youth, something which neither of us had any control over.

She was gorgeous, despite the sour disposition. Wearing a deep green cocktail dress that snuggly fit every curve of her body, perfectly manicured nails, and a bright red lip that matched the sole of her stilettos, she always looked stunning. If she hadn't made up her mind so quickly to target me so outwardly, I thought there might have been a world in which we could have been friendly. I found her commentary on our chauvinistic male colleagues quite entertaining.

Still, she relied on the same few jabs to try to get under my skin. Her favorite being my small stature. At four foot, eleven inches, I was mistaken for a student more often than I would have liked. My height was a bit of a sore spot for me, admittedly, but there wasn't anything I could do to change it.

"Nice to see you too, Serena." I sighed, not wanting to give her any more ammunition.

"How's my favorite little misanthrope doing this evening?"

I rolled my eyes, not deigning to respond.

"Have you seen the new English teacher? Fucking gorgeous." Serena leaned in closer. "How long do you think it'll take for me to get to know him a little better?"

I scoffed. "You know very well there is a strict non-fraternization policy at Montgomery. If Winston or Jones get a whiff of you fucking him, they'll fire you."

Serena replied with a tinkling laugh, clearly amused by my assertion. "If that were true, I would have been let go a long time ago. Discretion is the key. As long as the men don't see you as a threat, they won't do anything drastic."

She leaned down further; the wine on her breath was heavy. "Worth it for the fun, don't you think?"

"Do I strike you as someone who has fun?" I deadpanned.

Serena cackled at that.

I'd known that Serena had slept with a fair amount of the male staff. Even if she hadn't regaled me with the stories herself, the suggestive glances they'd throw her way, especially at an event like this, when they were a few drinks deep, made it pretty clear they were considering requesting her company again. I tried not to focus on the fact that all of them were married, Serena included.

But Serena was right. For someone like her, who knew how to play the game, she would never be punished for any impropriety, as long as she kept things under wraps. Me, on the other hand, I constantly felt I was walking on the razor's edge. I was lucky that Winston was too lazy to try and find a more reputable history teacher to replace me over the summer. But I had no doubt that if he'd gotten a whiff of someone more well-esteemed who might be interested, I would have been quickly ousted.

So I did what I'd always done: I kept my head down, did the work, and gave them no reason to look my way.

"Serena, darling!" Winston called to her from across the room. "Come introduce yourself to Doctor Bryant, one of our new donors."

"Duty calls," she preened, giving a dainty wave of her fingers to the well-appointed older gentleman next to the headmaster. "Have fun ."

I rolled my eyes.

I continued to watch the various groups ebb and flow from the comfort of my solitary corner. I was a bit jealous of the Deputy Headmistress, Marilyn Jones, as she commanded the authority Winston could only hope to achieve, but was relegated to dutifully occupying donor's wives.

Her short silver hair was neatly coiffed, as usual. She opted for impeccably tailored dark-hued pantsuits, with patterned silk blouses, and always wore heels. I didn't know how she managed to walk around in them for the entire school day, but I aspired to be her.

She had been indifferent toward me since I'd joined Montgomery, but it was a pleasant indifference, and the same attitude with which she graced the rest of the faculty, so I didn't mind. Jones was much stricter than Winston, always taking on the difficult tasks that he didn't want to handle. The faculty that wasn't afraid of her resented her, but I only saw her as doing her job.

Idly, I wondered if I could find some sort of angle to weasel my way into her charms. I would have loved to be mentored by someone like her. She was no-nonsense, and saw the school for what it was, but still found a way to tolerate the limitations of the institution. However, Marilyn Jones didn't strike me as someone who had the time or the desire to take on a mentorship.

"Nice to see you, Miss Price. Still skulking around by yourself, as usual."

I looked up to regard the bespectacled English teacher and newspaper advisor, Kenneth Banks. He had always been slightly awkward around me, but I noticed more and more that he was awkward around many of the staff. At some point during the evening, he had lost his sport coat, revealing his signature striped suspenders.

"Did you have a nice summer, Kenneth?" I ignored the jab. I had been open to being friendly with my colleagues when I had first started at Montgomery, but they had quickly shunned me. I wasn't a glutton for punishment and had decided early on to keep to myself instead of trying over and over again to get in their good graces.

They could sense I was different from them, and didn't want me. And I refused to change myself to bend to their petty whims. Besides, the things they would have wanted me to change (my age, my gender, my income level, I could go on), were things I could do nothing about.

"Oh, you know, summers at the Cape can be terribly dull, but I suppose it beats being here." He took a sip of the amber liquid in his lowball glass.

I bit my cheek, trying not to scowl at the thought of how someone like Kenneth Banks had no idea how privileged of a life he led. As I mentally scrolled through the appropriate topics I could divert to in order to change the subject, a thought occurred to me.

"Do you remember Daniel Graham?" I dared not make eye contact, afraid I would give away the depth of my interest.

Still, I could feel Banks raising an eyebrow next to me. "Yes, I remember Daniel," he replied in a low tone, not wanting to chance being overheard.

"Do you know what articles he was working on before the school year ended?"

"I told the police everything I knew. I have nothing to hide." He was immediately defensive.

I couldn't have that.

Peering up at Banks, I waited for him to look down and make eye contact with me. "I'm not implying anything," I stated sincerely.

His shoulders noticeably relaxed at the confession.

"I've been bothered by his disappearance. I don't think he's a runaway like the police have decided." I probably shouldn't have been so open with Banks, but he may have known Daniel the best of anyone on the faculty.

Banks sighed. "I don't believe so either. Daniel was a true journalist. He kept his investigative work very secret. He probably knew that if I found out ahead of time, I would have discouraged him, but when a student comes to you with a well-written exposé, it's much more difficult to ignore."

"How much shit did you get in for publishing the article he wrote last year on the rising use of amphetamines amongst the student body?"

"Enough." Banks snorted.

That was an understatement. Jolene had confided in me that the headmaster had almost fired him, and it was only Banks apologizing to a couple of donors who took particular offense that had turned the tides. I wondered if Banks held any resentment toward Daniel for having to grovel as a result of the article. Then again, he had likely known it would get him into hot water, and he let it go to press anyway.

Realizing that I had already pressed my luck with getting any information out of Banks about Daniel, I decided to move on to another area of interest. "Have you met your new counterpart? I haven't seen him here yet."

Banks nodded. "He said he'd be late. He's young. You'll like him."

"What? Just because he's young?" I snorted at the implication.

"No, because he's almost as curious as you." Banks chuckled. "I still don't know why Jenkins decided to retire so suddenly. He joked about being interred in his office."

"Why do you think he left?"

Banks glared at me. "I couldn't fathom a guess. And he stopped joining me for golf, so I suppose I'll never know."

That was odd. The two English teachers had always been very tight, from what I could observe. But it sounded like Jenkins had dropped off the face of the earth.

"Speak of the devil…" Banks nodded toward the man striding toward us, a determined look set upon his handsome face and a glint of mischief in his piercing blue-grey eyes.