Spiking the Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

original building, now overshadowed by additional wings.
    Gemma parked her car in a visitors’ bay and got out. Groups of girls in the distinctive light blue, green and mauve tartan of the school uniform chatted in groups and, as she mounted the steps towards the main door with its ‘Office’ sign, she could hear someone practising piano scales very fast, up and down, the major scale followed by the minor and melodic minor. If only I could play like that, Gemma thought. She’d done no practice this week and Mrs Snellgrove would give that disappointed little smile and shake her de Beauvoir-scarfed head. Attending to more business started working its magic, her thoughts quickly switching from Steve and the curiosity arising from the phone call of a dying woman.
    At the office, a woman with a pure white elf lock peered at the ID Gemma showed through the sliding window.
    ‘Gemma Lincoln. Here to see Miss de Berigny. She’s expecting me.’
    The elf lock beckoned to a passing senior girl. ‘Tiffany,’ she said. ‘Please take Ms Lincoln to Miss de Berigny’s office.’
    Tiffany didn’t look thrilled at this, but she nodded and Gemma followed the willowy teenager up the grand staircase to the second floor.
    ‘What’s on the next floor?’ Gemma asked, noticing the staircase rose to yet another level.
    ‘Dormitories,’ said Tiffany. ‘For the country boarders.’
    Gemma followed Tiffany along the hall, past other offices and rooms. The piano scales sounded much closer now.
    ‘Someone’s a good pianist,’ said Gemma, as much to break the silence as anything else.
    Tiffany flashed her a look. ‘Claudia’s good at everything,’ she said in a voice edged with anger. ‘Some people have all the luck.’
    They turned a corner and her guide indicated a door on Gemma’s right. Before Gemma could thank her, the girl had darted back round the corner and vanished. Gemma knocked on the door.
    ‘Come in,’ said a high-pitched voice. ‘Just push it.’
    Gemma did so and found herself in a large, bright north-facing room where two tall French windows overlooked the driveway and the dark green masses of fig trees. The principal advanced, her hand outstretched in welcome, a wide red smile showing perfect white teeth, dark hair glossy in a French roll.
    ‘Miss Lincoln. Beatrice de Berigny. Thank you so much for agreeing to come.’
    The two women shook hands, and Gemma sat in the proffered leather chair. After the gothic, incense-filled Reynolds place, this room with its well-appointed academic furnishings seemed another universe. Yet something was stirring Gemma’s instincts in a negative way.
    Miss de Berigny smoothed her black skirt over her knees as she sat on the other side of the colonial cedar desk, laptop in front of her. With slightly too much ivory foundation, dark red lipstick and pencilled eyes, Madame de Berigny’s face had more than a suggestion of a mask, thought Gemma.
    ‘I’ve been told you’re the right person for this job,’ the principal was saying, shrewd eyes glittering under the almost invisible brows. In the gaps between her words, distant chromatic minor scales reached impossible velocity. ‘Detective Sergeant Angie McDonald recommended you,’ Miss de Berigny continued. ‘You know her?’
    ‘For many years,’ Gemma said. ‘We worked together when I was in the police service.’
    ‘You are no doubt aware of the dreadful incident that befell our school last year. The disappearance,’ she could barely say the word, ‘of one of our most promising students.’ She hesitated. ‘It is still unsolved. Although the police claim everything possible is being done.’
    Gemma recalled reading about Netherleigh Park in the newspapers and nodded. She remembered it didn’t seem likely the girl had run away. Her bank accounts had remained untouched.
    ‘As you can imagine, it’s had a very bad effect on the school,’ Beatrice de Berigny was saying. ‘Far worse, in fact, than I would have thought