The Secret History - Donna Tartt [156]
“Maybe we should leave campus for a while.”
Her pale, silvery glance skittered anxiously around my room. “Maybe,” she said. “Get dressed and we’ll decide what to do.”
I was in the bathroom scraping a quick razor over my face when Judy Poovey came in and rushed over so fast I cut my cheek. “Richard,” she said, her hand on my arm. “Have you heard?”
I touched my face and looked at the blood on my fingertips, then glanced at her, annoyed. “Heard what?”
“About Bunny,” she said, her voice hushed and her eyes wide.
I stared at her, not knowing what she was going to say.
“Jack Teitelbaum told me. Cloke was talking to him about it last night. I never heard of anybody just, like, vanishing. It’s too weird. And Jack was saying, well, if they haven’t found him by now.… I mean, I’m sure he’s all right and everything,” she said when she saw the way I was looking at her.
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“If you want to stop by or anything, I’ll be at home.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if you want to talk or something. I’m always there. Just stop by.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little too abruptly.
She looked up at me, her eyes large with compassion, with understanding of the solitude and incivility of grief. “It’ll be okay,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze, and then she left, pausing in the door for a sorrowful backwards glance.
Despite what Camilla had said, I was unprepared for the riot of activity outside. The parking lot was full and people from Hampden town were everywhere—factory workers mostly, from the looks of them, some with lunch boxes, others with children-beating the ground with sticks and making their way towards Mount Cataract in broad, straggling lines as students milled about and looked at them curiously. There were policemen, deputies, a state trooper or two; on the lawn, parked beside a couple of official-looking vehicles, was a remote radio-station hookup, a concessions truck, and a van from ActionNews Twelve.
“What are all these people doing here?” I said.
“Look,” she said. “Is that Francis?”
Far away, in the busy multitude, I saw a flash of red hair, the conspicuous line of muffled throat and black greatcoat. Camilla stuck up her hand and yelled to him.
He shouldered his way through a bunch of cafeteria workers who had come outside to see what was going on. He was smoking a cigarette; there was a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Hello,” he said. “Can you believe this?”
“What’s going on?”
“A treasure hunt.”
“What?”
“The Corcorans put up a big reward in the night. All the factories in Hampden are closed. Anybody want some coffee? I have a dollar.”
We picked our way to the concessions truck, through a sparse, gloomy gathering of janitors and maintenance men.
“Three coffees, two with milk, please,” said Francis to the fat woman behind the counter.
“No milk, just Cremora.”
“Well, then, just black, I guess.” He turned to us. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”
It was a late edition of the Hampden Examiner. In a column on the first page was a blurry, recent photograph of Bunny and under it this caption: POLICE, KIN, SEEK YOUTH, 24, MISSING IN HAMPDEN.
“Twenty-four?” I said, startled. The twins and I were twenty years old, and Henry and Francis were twenty-one.
“He failed a grade or two in elementary school,” said Camilla. “Ahh.”
Sunday afternoon Edmund Corcoran, a Hampden College student known to his family and friends as “Bunny,” attended a campus party which he apparently left some time in the middle of the afternoon in order to meet his girlfriend Marion Barnbridge of Rye, New York, also a student at Hampden. That was the last that anyone has seen of Bunny Corcoran.
The concerned Barnbridge, along with friends of Corcoran’s, yesterday alerted state and local police, who put out a Missing Persons Bulletin. Today the search begins in the Hampden area. The missing youth is described as
(See p. 5)
“Are you finished?” I asked Camilla.
“Yes. Turn the page.”
being six-feet, three inches tall, weighing 190 pounds, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes.