Eve noted them down.
“Parents?”
“Oh boy, oh boy.” She paused, blew out a long breath. “The only one I have personal knowledge of is Grant Farlow—and that’s because I taught his little boy, and knew his mother. He wasn’t in my class when this happened, but in fourth grade.”
On another sip of wine, Darcie stopped pacing around her cheerful, kid-friendly kitchen, and sat.
“They pulled him out of TAG, and I spoke to his mother because Deke was such a good student. She told me Grant had confessed to having a fling with the headmaster. It was over, they were going to counseling, but she wouldn’t have her son in the school.”
“You were friendly with the mother?”
“Yes. They ended up moving to Philadelphia—fresh start. We’ve lost touch except for the occasional e-mail, but I know the marriage didn’t make it. Grant’s not blameless, but this woman is a predator.”
“So there were others?”
“You hear, or heard. But again, I don’t have personal knowledge.”
“What can you tell me about Stephen Whitt?”
“I remember the name because it came up a lot when the group of us who’d formed got together. Bully, cheat, ringleader, and headmaster’s pet.”
“Her pet?”
“He could do no wrong, and he knew it. I didn’t interact with him, but others in the group did. His parents were big contributors—the money flowed in. And…”
“And?”
“Well, crap.” She took another drink. “I can’t confirm. It’s really speculation that the headmaster had a relationship with Stephen Whitt’s father. He wasn’t the only one, but that was the name in big lights before she transferred. And since the boy also transferred, a lot of us thought that capped it. But it’s really no better than gossip.”
Gossip added up, Eve thought as she expanded her notes.
And the name Whitt wouldn’t keep filling in blanks if it meant nothing.
She managed to contact Wyatt Yin in his home in Colorado. He looked at her with dark, soulful eyes.
“Yes, I heard the terrible news. I still keep in touch with some of the friends I made at TAG.”
“You left the academy about a year after Dr. Rufty came on as headmaster.”
“Yes, but not because of Dr. Rufty. He was a fine headmaster, dedicated, fair. It was … I never felt quite at home, not in New York, not at TAG. It was all too big, and at the same time, confining. I spent a summer here in Colorado teaching underprivileged kids, and found my place. I met my wife.” He smiled now. “It was meant. Here I am home.”
“Tell me about Lotte Grange.”
The smile faded. “TAG was my first experience with such an elevated private institution. She was my first experience with a headmaster.”
“Would you describe her as a fine headmaster, Mr. Yin? As dedicated and fair?”
“I would not. Again, I was very new, and only had the experience with her for some eighteen months. And again, I was not a good fit.”
“Tell me about Van Pierson.”
He sighed. “It was not his fault. You have, obviously, heard what happened all those years ago. I want you to understand, he wasn’t at fault.”
“Why is that?”
“We came on at the same time. Both very young, very new. Van and I taught the same grades and often spoke about our mutual students. He was a good teacher. I was working late, tutoring one of my students. This wasn’t encouraged, so I … you could say I did this on the down low?”
“All right.”