The Oxford Inheritance by Ann A. McDonald

Author:Ann A. McDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-08T05:00:00+00:00

19

“IT DOESN’T SAY HOW SHE DIED.”

Cassie squinted at the screen with tired eyes. It was Sunday afternoon, and she and Elliot were the only people left in the archives room downstairs at the Radcliffe library. He was shelving returned books with a weary sigh while she painstakingly spooled through the microfiche of local newspaper stories from the month of Rose’s death.

“‘Police have called off the search for missing Raleigh undergraduate Rose Smith, following a three-day search by divers in the river Cherwell. Miss Smith’s coat and belongings were discovered by the bridge early Sunday morning, prompting the search.’” Cassie read aloud from the faded newsprint on the slide. “‘A spokesman said she was now presumed dead, and that nobody was being sought in connection with the death. It is not thought to be suspicious.’” She looked up. “What does that mean? She accidentally drowned?”

Elliot got down from the stepladder and joined her, his gaze scanning over the print. “No, she killed herself.”

Cassie shivered. “How do you know that?”

“It’s press policy not to report suicides,” Elliot said, going back to his task. “They think it’ll trigger copycats, or something, so it’s all coded and discreet. If it was an accidental death, they would have said so. In the absence of suspects, it can only mean one thing. She topped herself.” He caught himself, looking back at Cassie with panicked eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I forgot. I mean, I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay,” she told him, feeling a dull ache in her chest. “You didn’t mean it.” She swallowed the pain down, turning back to the screen. It had been days now since Evie’s funeral, a week that Cassie had survived only by throwing herself into this new task of digging up every last scrap of information on Rose Smith that she could find. She’d wanted distraction from her feelings of helpless guilt and shame, the low wooden beam she passed every morning in the living room, and the hushed whispers around college, but nothing she discovered had done anything to ease the nervous twist in her stomach and the terrible feeling she had that something was terribly, seriously wrong.

Rose had been the girl in the photograph with her mother, raising a chalice in a smiling toast. They were roommates, friends, teammates on the field-hockey squad, scattered through yearbooks and listings—but only until May of 1995.

That was the month Rose died. One week later, Cassie’s mother had left Oxford, packed up her things and fled: changed her name and never uttered one word about what she’d left behind.

Margaret. Rose. Evie. Another dead girl, another wretched suicide. Another life cut short, with no rhyme nor reason to the tragedy. It was too close to home for Cassie, with Evie’s things still sitting boxed around the attic, waiting to be delivered back home. And instead of giving her clarity and purpose, this newspaper report only raised another dozen questions.

“This is interesting.”

Cassie glanced over. Elliot was perched at a terminal now, scrolling through the internal library records.

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