Page 67 of Where Secrets Lie

Savannah turned white, and for an instant he thought she was going to lash out. Instead, her eyes filled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “She was my sister. I loved her.”

Hez felt like a jerk. Of course Savannah loved Jess and couldn’t be coldly rational about her, especially while she was still reeling from Jess’s murder. He shouldn’t have assumed that Savannah would connect the dots about Jess’s involvement in the smuggling—and having Nora do it for her at the funeral must have been a slap in the face.

“I apologize for not telling you about the evidence against Jess.” He stepped forward and took Savannah in his arms. “You were an incredible sister. I know this is hard, and I’m sorry for making it harder.” He rested his head on top of her hair and held her close, hoping to heal some of the pain she was feeling.

She buried her face in his chest and clung to him as sobs shook her. All the love in the world couldn’t hold back her torrent of grief.

***

Savannah’s eyes burned from fatigue and grief as she approached her office door. Her father had been no comfort at the funeral. He showed up at the last minute and hadn’t gone to the interment, claiming he had work to do. When he left she’d breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to deal with him. She wanted to focus her attention on Simon, who was aspale as a wraith and just as silent. He hadn’t been able to focus in school yesterday, and the principal suggested he take today off. Savannah had left him sitting in the library by a window, watching Boo Radley glide through the turgid water of Tupelo Pond.

She greeted her assistant’s sympathetic “Good morning” with a watery smile. “Do we have a lot on the schedule?”

“Not a busy morning, Ms. Webster.”

Savannah nodded and went into her office. The click of the door shutting behind her steadied her resolve to do what she could for TGU. A small bag was in the middle of her desk beside a hot peppermint mocha. She picked up the bag to read the tag.Here’s a happy to tell you I love you. Nora.The Deep South term for “gift” was usually something personal meant to bring happiness to the recipient, and Savannah smiled at her friend’s thoughtfulness. The funeral had at least cleared the air and mended their friendship.

She settled in her chair and untied the pink ribbon before she lifted out a chocolate eclair and a silver bracelet. The bracelet’s construction of small round beads and longer pieces puzzled her until she read the note in Nora’s bold writing.

The bracelet spells out “best friend” in Morse code. Anytime you need me, I’ll be by your side. I’m sorry I let other things come between us. I brought an eclair instead of a beignet to save you from a powdered sugar apocalypse on your blouse because I love you.

Savannah sniffled and swallowed past the thickness in her throat. Nora’s friendship was something she never wanted to run the risk of losing again. She fastened the bracelet around her wrist and took a sip of the peppermint mocha beforereading her morning reports. Her happy feelings vanished as the bad news began to pour in.

Almost a quarter of the incoming class had withdrawn and asked for their deposits back. She couldn’t return their money because the university was in bankruptcy and funds were locked. Even Jane had called asking if she should transfer Will to Ole Miss, something he didn’t want to do. Ed was scoping out places to go too. He’d asked Hez for a letter of recommendation for a potential employer yesterday. One of the incoming students was already threatening to start a class action lawsuit, and the student’s father was a well-known attorney. Hundreds of students had already applied to transfer. She’d also heard most of the top faculty had begun circulating their résumés—and who could blame them? They all needed paychecks.

She rubbed her forehead. The situation had seemed overwhelming before this terrible list.

The door burst open, and Simon rushed in with a smile she hadn’t seen in days. “Aunt Savannah, Boo Radley has a girlfriend! The students are calling her Pika. Get it? Together their names sound like peekaboo.” He reached her desk and held out his phone. “I took pictures.”

Her heart warmed as she scrolled through his pictures of the two gators bumped up against each other. He’d taken a video, and when it played, she heard Boo Radley bellowing his mating call while he slapped the water. She handed back Simon’s phone. “I love these, Simon! Boo isn’t alone any longer. Maybe he’ll quit taunting Marley.”

“Maybe. I’m going to go take more pictures.”

She smiled as she watched him race back the way he’dcome, slamming the door behind him. At least something had momentarily lifted him out of his funk. She reached for her keyboard and mouse to check social media posts. Students would be all over the gator courtship. She pulled up the TGU account and chuckled at another cute picture of Pika and Boo.

She scanned the entries and spotted her name. There were dozens of ugly posts about her. Those who were trying to be kind said she was in over her head, which she knew to be true. But nasty posts far outweighed the nicer ones. Several accused her of being corrupt or criminally incompetent. One of the posts said she should be arrested, and it had over a thousand likes.

Maybe it was true. She’d stepped into a job she knew little about during the most crucial time in the university’s history. What had she been thinking?

Her door flew open, and her father stepped into view without a warning from her assistant. He stopped in front of her desk and glared at her. “I’ve only delayed this until after your sister’s funeral, but I can’t wait any longer. This bankruptcy completely blindsided the board. We have serious concerns about letting you continue as president and are thinking about replacing you.” He pointed his finger at her. “You’ve put the university in grave peril, Savannah. I’m very disappointed in you personally as well. My trust payments have plummeted, thanks to Hez and Jess’s spurious claims, and now they’ve stopped altogether. That’s completely unacceptable. I’m yourfather. I thought you’d look out for me.” He glared at her when she didn’t answer. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

She sank against the chair’s back. He wanted her to blame all this on Jess, but she couldn’t. Shouldn’t she have known hersister had something planned? Shouldn’t they all have seen this coming? This was all Savannah’s fault because she’d allowed her love for Jess to blind her.

When she didn’t answer, her father said, “The board is meeting on Monday to decide on a course of action.” Then he wheeled on his black leather shoes and stomped out the door.

Savannah buried her face in her hands. She’d failed everyone—Jess most of all. If only Savannah had realized the depth of her sister’s hatred. Not one of her decisions had been right since she first brought her desk into this grand room. Maybe she should resign without waiting to be fired. The social media haters had the same opinion as her father. Maybe an experienced crisis manager could save the university.

She lifted her head and turned to look out the window at the azaleas blooming in her garden. The problem was her father and the board wouldn’t pick a good manager. They wanted their interests protected and would do whatever they could to ensure that happened. Her father wanted to keep his precious trust-fund dollars flowing into his pocket. None of them cared about TGU and its students and faculty.

What was she going to do? She closed her eyes and prayed for guidance, but the only response was a roar from Boo Radley.

Chapter 37

Hez hoped Savannah’s day was going better than his, but he doubted it. Missing that clause in the contract had added to the stress she faced on every side, and it seemed he couldn’t fix it now. He’d spent the whole morning and part of the afternoon trying to come up with a coherent strategy for oral argument tomorrow. He’d failed. In the past few days he had collected nuggets of useful evidence, but forging them into a winning case wasn’t easy. He spun slowly in his chair, surveying the documents spread out on the floor of his home office. All the puzzle pieces were here, but how did they fit together?

A pulsing ache radiated from his left temple, reminding him that his head hadn’t fully healed. Could that be hurting his analytical abilities? Would he even know if it was? And what if he never fully recovered? Craniotomy patients often didn’t get back to 100 percent of their preoperative functioning. What would it be like to be stuck at 90 percent forever? Could he still practice law? Would he even want to, knowing that he could miss something crucial at any time—just like he missed the trap in the Hornbrook loan documents?

The front door rattled. He jumped to his feet, holding onto the back of his chair to steady himself against the head rush.

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