“I found these files shoved in his pillowcase,” I said, relaying all the details of my trip to Gideon’s room.

“What do you think Non Mortuus means?” I said, flipping through Cassandra’s file. “Or Basium Mortis? The tie. It has something to do with the tie.”

But Nathaniel ignored my questions. “You actually went through his stuff?” he said in disbelief.

I blinked. Had he not heard me? “Benjamin was murdered,” I said quietly. “And Cassandra is dead. I don’t know how, but she’s definitely dead and the school is covering it up. And now Eleanor’s gone. She could be dead too. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Nathaniel shrank back in his seat. “Of course it does. But how exactly do you think Gideon is involved? Do you think he killed Eleanor?”

“I don’t know. Why else would he steal her file? And I did see him lurking around the girls’ dorm.”

“Lots of people hang out outside the dorms. That doesn’t mean he killed someone.”

I sighed. “I know... And he never would have killed Cassandra. They were friends. Or Benjamin. I mean, why would he do that? And there’s definitely no connection between him and my parents....” It was hopeless.

“Maybe he has the files for the same reason you wanted them. To know.”

He had a point.

“So what are you going to do?” Nathaniel probed when I didn’t respond.

“I have to tell someone,” I said, gathering the papers and stuffing them back in the files. “I have to tell Mrs. Lynch. Or a professor. Or someone.”

“Renée,” Nathaniel said, pulling me back. “You can’t. First of all, why do you think Mrs. Lynch would believe that you didn’t steal these files yourself?”

“Because I didn’t. I found them in Gideon’s room.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said. “But it doesn’t look good. What are you going to tell her, that you snuck into Gideon’s room, went through his things, and found these hidden in his pillowcase? She’s going to think you’re lying. And even if she does believe you, you’ll still be in trouble.”

My shoulders dropped. He was right. Minnie’s drawing of Cassandra’s burial flashed through my mind. What had actually happened the night Cassandra died? If we couldn’t hold another séance, there was only one other person I could go to.

“Renée? Hello? Earth to Renée.”

I shook myself out of my thoughts and looked at Nathaniel. Shoving the files back between the two books, I grabbed my bag. “I have to go.”

That evening after dinner, I lingered around the showers in the boys’ dorm until almost everyone had cleared out of the bathrooms. I brushed my teeth slowly, waiting for Minnie Roberts to show up; I knew from the state of her hair that she took showers at night. The bathroom was filled with steam, which fogged up the mirrors around the edges and condensed into droplets on the faucets and door handles. A few remaining girls came and went like ghosts, their presence heard but not seen—the toilet flushing, the faucet running, the stall door creaking on its hinges. But Minnie never showed. Giving up, I hopped into a shower stall and turned on the water.

I was just about to rinse the bubbles from my hair when I heard the sound of a showerhead turn on across from me. The swish of a curtain. And then a voice, talking to no one.

I peeked out, my head lathered in shampoo. The curtain across from me was only half closed, and a skinny silhouette hovered behind it. I leaned out to get a better look.

Minnie Roberts was standing under the shower in her bathing suit. If it were anyone else, the bathing suit would have been weird, but Minnie was already so eccentric that I wasn’t surprised. Everyone said she was a hypochondriac and a germophobe. The water beat down on her, pushing her hair across her face. Every so often her body pulsed forward with the change in water pressure.

Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and waited until I heard her turn the water off, followed by the sound of her feet padding against the tile floor. “Wait,” I said.

Minnie gave me a frightened look, her eyes darting around the room to make sure no one was watching, as if she didn’t want to be seen talking to me. She was wrapped in a towel, her skin red from the hot water.

“Can I ask you something?”

Minnie seemed caught off guard by my request. “I... um … I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she said, turning away.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I called after her. That made her stop.

“Well thanks,” she said, almost sarcastically.

“I also don’t think you were lying last year.”

She hesitated, and without warning, gathered her things and was about to leave the bathroom when I called out to her.

“What do you know about Cassandra Millet?”

She froze. “I don’t know anything,” she said quickly, her back to me. “I should go.”

“No, wait!”

Minnie didn’t move.

“I need to find Eleanor. She’s still out there somewhere. Please, help me.”

She turned and stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and fear. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I think Eleanor’s disappearance has something to do with Cassandra Millet. With her death.”

“Her death?” she said slowly, trying to figure out if I was mocking her.

I looked her in the eyes. They were dull and haunted, with the steady gaze of a person on the brink of madness. “I believe you,” I said.

Her lip quivered, and I thought she might cry. Hugging her clothes tightly to her body, she let out a sigh of relief. “Come with me.”

Minnie’s room was at the opposite end of our floor, and was, to my surprise, exceedingly normal. It felt like a cozy country bedroom, with a quilted comforter, a leafy plant hanging by the window, and prints of Renoir’s ballerinas on the wall. Minnie hung up her towel and sat on the edge of her bed. A row of satin ballet flats lay at the foot of her fireplace.

“Do you dance?” I asked. She was so clumsy at school, always dropping her tray in the lunchroom or tripping up the stairs in Horace, that I could hardly picture her balancing on one toe.

Minnie laughed nervously. “No, I... I just draw them.”

The other side of the room was empty, the desk barren, the mattress naked.