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It features crimes past and present.
Fate came for Dottie Epstein a year before, in the form of a call to the principals office.
Credit: Heather Weston
It was not her first time there.
Dolores Epstein wasnt sent for any of the normal reasonsfighting, cheating, failing, absence.
Dolores, the principal would say.
Katherine Tegen Books
You cant go around acting like youre smarter than everyone else.
But I am, she would reply.
Not out of arrogance, but because it was true.
This time, Dottie wasnt sure what she had done.
There was no malicious intent.
It was usually to find something or just to see if it could be done.
When she reached the office, Mr. Phillips, the principal, was sitting at his massive desk.
There was someone else there as wella man with salt-and-pepper hair and a marvelous gray suit.
He sat off to the side, bathed in a striped beam of sunlight from the window blinds.
He was just like someone from the movies.
He actuallywassomeone from the movies, in a way.
Dolores, Mr. Phillips said.
This is Mr. Albert Ellingham.
Do you know who Mr. Ellingham is?
Of course she did.
Albert Ellingham owned American Steel, theNew York Evening Star, and Fantastic Pictures.
He was rich beyond measure.
He was the kind of person you might imagine would actuallybe on money.
Mr. Ellingham has something wonderful to tell you.
You are a very lucky girl.
Dottie had never seen anyone with a suntan in March before.
This, more than anything, was the most powerful sign of Mr. Ellinghams wealth.
He could have the sun itself.
Ive heard a lot about you, Dolores, he said.
Mr. Phillips has told me how very bright you are.
Fourteen years old and in eleventh grade.
Youve taught yourself Latin and Greek?
I understand you do translations?
Do you sometimes get bored here in school?
Dottie looked at the principal nervously, but he smiled and nodded encouragement.
Sometimes, Dottie said.
But its not the schools fault.
Both men chuckled at this, and Dottie relaxed a little.
Not much, but a little.
Ive started a school, Dolores, Mr. Ellingham went on.
I believe learning is a game, a wonderful game.
Mr. Phillips looked down at his desk blotter for a moment.
If he said learning was a game, it was a game.
Youll have no restrictions to your learning and access to whatever you need.
Wouldnt you like that?
Dottie liked that idea very much.
But she saw an immediate and inescapable problem.
My parents dont have any money, she said plainly.
Money should never stand in the way of learning, Mr. Ellingham said kindly.
My school is free.
You are there as my guest, if youll accept.
It sounded too good to be realbut it was true.
Albert Ellingham sent her a train ticket and fifty dollars in pocket money.
The school had a grand fountain that reminded her of the one in Central Park.
The brick and stone buildings were like something from a story.
Her room in Minerva House was large but cozy, with a fireplace (it wascoldup here).
The teachers were kind.
They had a proper science lab.
They learned botany in the greenhouse.
Mr. Ellingham lived on the campus with his wife, Iris, and his little daughter, Alice.
Sometimes, fancy cars came up the drive on weekends and people in marvelous clothes stepped out.
Dottie recognized at least two movie stars, a politician, and a famous singer.
Sometimes Mr. Ellinghams guests would walk the grounds, the beads on their dresses winking in the moonlight.
Even in New York, Dottie had never been so close to celebrity.
A champagne glass here, a satin shoe there.
Endless crushed cigarettes, feathers, beads, and other detritus of the rich and wonderful.
Dottie liked to collect these strange things she found and keep them in what she called her museum.
The best thing Dottie found was a silver lighter.
She flicked it on and off and was pleased by its smooth motion.
She was definitely going to turn the lighter inshe just wanted to hold on to it for a while.
Vermont was a different sort of placethis wasnt like climbing down fire escapes or up water pipes.
Dottie acclimated herself to the woods, to poking around the edges of the campus.
Thats how she found the tunnel on one of her first outings.
Instead of the thick, solid sound of earth, she stepped on something thin and metal.
She knew the drumlike sound immediatelyit was the same sound as a sidewalk hatch opening.
Dottie opened the hatch and found a set of clean concrete steps leading down into the ground.
She found herself in a dark brick tunnel, one that was dry and well maintained.
Her curiosity was piqued.
She knew this sort of thing at oncethey were all over the city.
It was a speakeasy door.
The door was unlocked.
Nothing about this tunnel seemed very secure; it was just there to be explored.
The door opened to a room about eight foot square, with a high ceiling.
an entire library of alcohol.
There was a ladder built into one wall.
Dottie climbed it and opened the hatch at the top.
She found herself inside a small domed structure with a glass roof.
The floor was covered in fur rugs and cushions, several ashtrays, and a few errant champagne glasses.
The most perfect secret nook in all the world.
This would be her reading spot, she decided.
He was such a kind man and so full of fun.
Nothing could be safer.
Dottie decided that the weather lent itself to a mystery.
Sherlock Holmes would be perfect.
She had learned which times were best to go to the little dome.
It was a Monday afternoonno one from the big house would be there.
Mr. Ellingham had driven off that morning, and Mrs. Ellingham in the afternoon.
Dottie took the collection of Sherlock Holmes stories from the school library and set out for her secret place.
The view from inside the little glass dome that day was like being inside of a cloud.
Dottie stretched out on the floor, pulled the fur rug over her, and opened the book.
Soon she was lost on the streets of Londonthe game was afoot!
Dottie got so lost in her reading that she was taken unawares by a noise directly below her.
Someone was in the liquor room below and was climbing up the stairs.
Just stay on the floor.
She heard the groan of the hatch being lifted, thethunkas it fell back against the stone.
The person hoisted themselves into the dome and stood just a foot or so away from Dotties face.
She prayed they didnt step on her.
She pulled herself in tighter.
The person moved away from her and set something down on the floor.
She chanced another inch to get a better look.
There was a flashlight, binoculars, a length of rope, and something that glinted.
The glinting thing was handcuffs, sort of like the ones her uncle the police officer had.
A flashlight, binoculars, rope, and handcuffs?
A flush of adrenaline ran through her body, skyrocketing her heart rate.
Something was wrong here.
The person shuffled around the space for several minutes.
Then, there was a sudden quiet.
She would have heard someone leave down the hatch by her head.
Her breath came back hot against her face.
She had no idea what was happening, but it made her head light.
She began to count in her head.
Just a finger width.
Just a touch more.
No one was there in her line of sight.
She inched it up a bit more.
She was about to lift it when .
Hello, said a voice.
Dottie felt her heart pressing into the floor.
Dont be afraid, the voice said.
you’re able to come out.
There was no point in hiding now.
Dottie crawled out from under the blanket, clutching her book.
She looked at the visitor, and then to the objects on the floor.
Those are for the game, the person said.
The Ellinghams loved games.
They were always playing them with guestselaborate treasure hunts and puzzles.
Mr. Ellingham had filled the student houses with board games like Monopoly and sometimes even came down to play.
It could be a game.
Monopoly had strange pieces too.
What kind of game?
Its very complicated, the person said.
But its going to be a lot of fun.
I have to hide.
You were hiding in here too?
To read, Dottie said.
She held up the book and tried to keep her hands from shaking.
I love Sherlock Holmes.
Which story are you reading?
A Study in Scarlet.
Thats a good one.
Dont let me stop you.
The visitor got out a cigarette and lit it, then smoked it while watching her.
Dottie had seen this person before.
This was someone who might very well have been playing one of the Ellinghams elaborate games.
But Dottie was also a New York girl who had seen enough to know when something was off.
The look in the eye.
The tone in the voice.
Her uncle the cop always said to her, Trust your instincts, Dottie.
If you have a bad feeling about something or someone, you get out of there.
You go and you get me.
Dotties instincts told her to get out.
She opened her book and tried to focus on the words in front of her.
She always kept a bit of pencil up her sleeve for taking notes.
It wasnt much, but it was a way of making a note that maybe someone would understand if .
No one would understand, andifwas too terrifying to think of.
She shoved the pencil back into her sleeve.
She couldnt pretend to read anymore.
Her eyes couldnt track the words.
Everything in her shook.
I need to get this back to the library, she said.
I wont tell anyone youre here.
I hate it when people tell on me.
The person smiled at her, but it was a strange smile.
Pulled too far at the corners of the mouth.
Her heart slowed and thudded in her head, and she felt like time was going very slowly.
She had read many stories in which death was present as a charactera palpable force in the room.
There was such a force in the room now, a silent visitor in the space.
I have to go, she said, her voice thick.
She started to move toward the hatch, and the person moved that way as well.
They were like players on a chessboard, working things out to an inevitable end.
You know I cant let you leave, the person said.
I wish I could.
you’re free to, Dottie said.
Im good at keeping secrets.
She clutched her Sherlock Holmes.
Nothing bad could happen when she was holding Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock would save her.
c’mon, she said.
Im so sorry, the visitor said with what sounded like genuine sadness.
There was exactly one move left in the game, and Dottie knew it was a bad one.
But when you have no spaces left on the board you do what you have to do.
She lunged for the hatch opening.
She reached out blindly.
Her fingers slipped along the rungs of the ladder but she couldnt get purchase.
The floor met her with a terrible finality.
She had a pulsing moment of consciousness when she landed.
There was an ache that was almost sweet and something warm pooled around her.
The person was coming down the ladder.
She tried to move, to slide along the floor, but there was no use.
I wish you hadnt come here, the visitor said.
When the darkness came for Dottie, it was quick and it was total.
No one called it Mount Morgan, though.
Unlike the mountains around it, which attracted skiers and vacationers, Mount Hatchet was largely undeveloped and wooded.
In 1928, when Albert Ellingham came upon it, people avoided the Big Ax.
No roads, no matter how rough, went that way.
The woods were too thick, the river too deep.
There were too many falling rocks.
It was too wild and strange.
The air here was clean, the birdsong pure.
There was nothing to distract students from their purpose.
Ellingham purchased a massive plot at three times the asking price.
It took a few years to dynamite enough flat space to build the school.
Rough roads were cut.
The telephone company ran wires and put in a few pay phones along the way.
And it wasnt just any home either.
Albert Ellingham wanted to live in his experiment, in his seat of learning.
The grounds were full of statuary.
The property was crisscrossed with pathways that made no real sense.
Then there were the tunnels, the fake windows, the doors to nowhere .
all the little architectural jokes that amused Albert Ellingham to no end and made his parties infamously entertaining.
Schools may be famous for many things: academics, graduates, sports teams.
They are not supposed to be famous for murders.
1
The moose is a lie, Stevie Bell said.
Stevie pointed out the window of the coach.
Stevie indicated a sign that simply read MOOSE.
Weve passed five of those.
Thats a lot of promises.
They also promised falling rocks.
Where are my falling rocks?
Im a strong believer in truth in advertising, Stevie said.
This resulted in a long pause.
It wasnt every day you moved away from home to go to boarding school, after all.
YOU WILL BE FORCED TO LEAVE THEM AT THE ROADSIDE GATE.
NO EXCEPTIONS WILL BE MADE.
There was nothing nefarious in thisthe reason was well explained.
The campus had not been designed for lots of cars.
There was only a single road in, and there was no place to park.
To get in or out, you rode in the Ellingham coach.
An older, silver-haired man was at the wheel.
and Sit where you want.
No one else in there.
Look, her mom said quietly, if you change your mind .
Stevie gripped the side of her seat.
Im not going to change my mind.
her mother said, and then she stopped saying it.
This was another well-trod conversation.
The morning was full of greatest hits and little new material.
Sensing that the conversation had come to its natural end, she put in her earbuds.
Her mom touched her as she went to hit play on her podcast.
Maybe this isnt the time to be listening to those creepy murder stories, she said.
True crime, Stevie replied before she could stop herself.
Making the correction made her sound pedantic.
Also, no fighting.
Stevie pulled out the earbud jack and coiled the cord.
Have you heard from your friend?
Janelle, Stevie corrected her.
She texted and said she was on her way to the airport.
Thats good, her mom said.
It will be good for you to have some friends.
Be nice, Stevie.
Dont say you already have friends.
You have lots of friends.
That didnt matter now.
The future was here, up in the misty mountains.
So Janelle is interested in what again?
Engineering, Stevie said.
A skeptical silence followed.
And that Nate boy is a writer?
The Nate boy is a writer, Stevie confirmed.
These were the two other first years known to live in Stevies new dorm.
They didnt tell you about the second years.
Again, this was information that had circulated around the Bell kitchen table for weeksJanelle Franklin was from Chicago.
Stevie and Janelle were already in regular text communication.
So that was good.
The other first year in Minerva was Nate Fisher.
Nate said less and never replied to texts, but there was more to know about him.
Moonbright book two was supposedly in the works.
They were the kind of people Ellingham Academy accepted.
They sound like very impressive people, her dad said.
And you are too.
When she had first done it, Stevies parents didnt know she had applied to Ellingham at all.
Ellingham Academy wasnt the kind of place people like the Bells went to.
For almost a century, the school had been home to creative geniuses, radical thinkers, and innovators.
One simple sentence that drove every high-flying student frantic.
What did they want?
What were they looking for?
Just knock on the door.
Just knock on the door in the special, correct way they would not describe.
You just had to get in touch withsomething.
They looked for a spark.
The program was only two years long, just the junior and senior years of high school.
There were no tuition fees.
If you got in, it was free.
You just had to get in.
A girl and her parents studied their phones.
The girl was extremely petite, with dark, long hair.
She has nice hair, Stevies mom said.
The threat had been made in high emotion.
Mostly, though, Stevie just thought that it would look better short.
The pixie cut suited her, and it was easy to care for.
There were problems when she dyed it pink, and blue, and pink and blue.
But now it was back to normal, dusty blond and short.
The girls bags were loaded into the bottom of the coach, and she and her family got in.
The three of them were all dark haired and studious-looking, with large eyes framed by glasses.
They looked like a family of owls.
Polite, mumbled hellos were exchanged, and the girl and her family took their seats behind the Bells.
Stevie recognized the girl from the first-year guide, but didnt remember her name.
Her mom gave her a nudge, which Stevie tried to ignore.
The girl was again looking at her phone.
Stevie took a long breath through her nose.
But she was going to have to do it.
Hey, Stevie said.
The girl looked up.
The girl blinked slowly, logging this information.
Germaine Batt, she said.
Nothing else was offered.
Make friends, she whispered.
Few words are more chilling when put together thanmake friends.
The command to pair bond sent ice water through Stevies veins.
She wanted falling rocks.
But she knew what would happen if she didnt do the talkingher parents would.
And if her parents started, anything could happen.
Did you come far?
No, Germaine said, looking up from her phone.
We came from Pittsburgh.
Oh, Germaine said.
Stevie leaned back, looked at her mom, and shrugged.
Her mom gave her awell, you triedlook.
Up and up into the woods.
Close to the ground, there was a small maroon sign with gold letters: the Ellingham Academy entrance.
It was so inconspicuous that it seemed like the school was deliberately hiding.
The road they were now on was barely a road.
It would be charitable to call it a path.
What it was, in reality, was an artificial tear in the landscapea meandering scar in the forest.
The coach barreled over it.
The bridge shook violently, rumbling Stevies seat.
Then they went up again, at a gradient usually reserved for ski lifts and airplane takeoffs.
Nothing would stop the coach.
The shade from the trees darkened the path completely.
The branches scratched at the sides of the vehicle like dozens of fingernails.
The coach made grinding noises and seemed to be fighting its way up the ever-narrowing path.
but you never knew.
Those are strange angels, her mother said, craning to look.
Theyre not angels, Stevie said.
Theyre mythical creatures that ask you riddles before youre allowed to enter a place.
If you get it wrong, they eat you.
The Riddle of the Sphinx.
Not to be confused with Spanx, which is a sidearm in the holster of the diet-industrial complex.
Sometimes Stevie felt bad for her parents.
Their idea of what constitutedinterestingwas so limited.
They were never going to have as much fun as she did.
Germaine peered over at Stevie with large, luminous eyes.
Her expression was as unreadable as the sphinxes.
In that moment, a blanket of doubt dropped over everything in Stevies mind.
She should not have been admitted.
The letter came to the wrong house, the wrong Stevie.
It was a trick, a joke, a cosmic mistake.
None of this could be real.
