PRAISE FOR

  THE FINALISTS

  “When six students are trapped inside Hyde House, so, too, is the reader—helpless to escape until the final page is turned. The Finalists is a smart and compelling look at the dark underbelly of academia.”

  —Charlie Donlea, USA Today bestselling author of Twenty Years Later

  “And Then There Were None meets Knives Out in David Bell’s latest astonishing thriller. With Bell’s customary biting wit and razor-sharp social commentary, The Finalists will have you cackling one minute while racing through its short, propulsive chapters the next, desperate to find out whodunit. Utterly riveting, with intricate plot twists; Bell has crafted the summer’s most entertaining and masterful locked-room mystery. I couldn’t put it down!”

  —May Cobb, author of My Summer Darlings

  “I raced through The Finalists, which is not only a first-rate thriller but an insightful commentary on the challenges facing higher education. It is proof positive that David Bell is one of the best thriller writers working today.”

  —Alma Katsu, author of Red Widow

  “A locked-room mystery—literally—with six students vying for the ultimate prize; but who wants it badly enough to kill for? The Finalists by David Bell is a smart, highly entertaining mystery with red herrings galore and such perfect dialogue, you’ll feel like a fly on the wall in Hyde House. The characters will play tricks on your mind, the house will feel like it’s closing in, and the story will keep you guessing until the very end. Not to be missed!”

  —Hannah Mary McKinnon, international bestselling author of Never Coming Home

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF DAVID BELL

  “David Bell is a top-notch storyteller. . . . I flew through this twisting, riveting psychological thriller.”

  —Cristina Alger, New York Times bestselling author of Girls Like Us

  “A terrifically tense thriller . . . will keep you guessing until the very end.”

  —Riley Sager, New York Times bestselling author of Survive the Night

  “[A] suspenseful, page-turning thriller.”

  —HelloGiggles

  “A tale straight out of the psychological thriller territory blazed by the likes of Harlan Coben and Lisa Gardner.”

  —The Providence Journal

  “A compulsive, twisty, race-against-the-clock thriller . . . [a] smart and unrelenting page-turner!”

  —Lisa Unger, New York Times bestselling author of Confessions on the 7:45

  “Grabs you by the throat and never lets go . . . will keep you reading late into the night with a twist you’ll never see coming.”

  —Liv Constantine, bestselling author of The Last Mrs. Parrish

  “Sounds like Wonder Boys times Patricia Highsmith. Yes, please!”

  —CrimeReads

  “A dark, twisty journey . . . one of David Bell’s most unique and engrossing novels.”

  —Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author of My Lovely Wife

  “Only the diabolical mind of the talented storyteller David Bell could concoct this mind-bendingly twisty thriller! . . . Smart, audacious, and completely original.”

  —Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of The First to Lie

  “A tautly told, heart-pounding read . . . every character’s a suspect and no one can be trusted.”

  —Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of The Other Mrs.

  ALSO BY DAVID BELL

  Cemetery Girl

  The Hiding Place

  Never Come Back

  The Forgotten Girl

  Somebody I Used to Know

  Since She Went Away

  Bring Her Home

  Somebody’s Daughter

  Layover

  The Request

  Kill All Your Darlings

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2022 by David J. Bell

  Readers Guide copyright © 2022 by David J. Bell

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Bell, David, 1969 November 17– author.

  Title: The finalists / David Bell.

  Description: New York : Berkley, [2022]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021057351 (print) | LCCN 2021057352 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593198698 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593198704 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593198711 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PS3602.E64544 F56 2022 (print) | LCC PS3602.E64544 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057351

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057352

  Cover design and photo illustration by Eileen Carey

  Book design by Daniel Brount, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_6.0_140374773_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for the novels of David Bell

  Also by David Bell

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part 1: Morning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part 2: Midday

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Part 3: Afternoon

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Part 4: Aftermath

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Acknowledgments

  Readers Guide

  About the Author

  In memory of my father-in-law, R. Michael McCaffrey, 1942–2021

  PART 1

  MORNING

  1

  THE HOUSE SITS ON the far eastern edge of campus, nestled in the woods among the sycamores, the maples, and the white oaks, all older than the college. Older than Kentucky itself. To reach it by car, one must turn left off the main road that circles campus and onto Ezekiel Hyde Lane, a narrow, winding strip of asphalt that cuts through the trees, enters the clearing, and ends in the small parking lot on the side of Hyde House. On foot, the house can be reached by way of the numerous paths that cut through the trees and give the campus its natural beauty.

  I step out of my car and look back up the road I just traveled, and it’s easy to believe the world doesn’t exist even though the rest of campus is just a third of a mile away. Standing on the Hyde House grounds can feel like standing in another century, which is exactly the way Ezekiel Hyde, the founder of the college and its first president, wanted it to stay.

  The sun is bright, and its rays hit the windows of Hyde House, reflecting the light, capturing the morning glow.

  Is
it weird to say the sight of that house still lifts my spirits?

  It’s eight fifteen, and I’m early. Which is good. I want to be here before the students. More than anything, I want to be here before Ezekiel Hyde’s great-great-great-great-grandson, Nicholas, arrives.

  I climb the portico steps to the Neo-Federal structure. Up close the brick is more weathered than I realized. I reach for the brass knob, which is tarnished. The heavy black door needs to be repainted. For years, the college’s board of trustees has wanted to renovate the house, but the money is never there. The college has a list of projects that never get done.

  I pull on the knob and, not surprisingly, find the door locked.

  I step off the right side of the portico, my shoes sinking into the soft soil, and press my face against the window. I’ve been in Hyde House many times for college events and know the layout well. I’m staring into the music room, the space where Major Hyde, his family, and subsequent generations of Hydes came to listen to recitals on the piano. The piano originally moved to the house by Major Hyde fell into disrepair and was sold in the 1990s, but a music stand remains along with a bust of Major Hyde’s favorite composer, Wagner.

  The sun warms the back of my neck. I wait on the lawn in front of the house. In the distance, the campus is quiet on a Saturday morning in April. The students sleep off the night before. Purple hyacinths bloom in the flower beds, and I catch their overwhelming scent. A robin chirps in a nearby tree.

  I want to call Rachel, apologize for our fight earlier. Money. We only fight about money. We have to decide whether to get new windows or a new roof, and we disagree about which is the higher priority. Our household is like the college—there’s never enough money to go around.

  But before I can hit the call button, the phone rings.

  “Shoot,” I say, then answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Troy. It’s Grace.”

  “Hey, Grace.” I try to keep my voice buoyant and not let any irritation show, even though my boss—the president of the college—is calling to check up on me. But she’s not just my boss—she’s my friend. She and Rachel belong to the same book club, and just last weekend Grace and her husband, Doug, came over to our house for drinks. “How are you on this fine morning?”

  “Is he there?” she asks. She cuts to the chase. Today is about business. On another day, we would talk about our kids—Grace’s oldest son, Michael, is in the same grade as my oldest daughter, Rebecca—but I know Grace has other things on her mind.

  “If by ‘he’ you mean Nicholas Hyde, then no, he isn’t here yet. No one is.”

  “Damn it. When did you talk to him last?”

  “It’s been about a month. And that was just a short e-mail.”

  “Yeah.” Grace sounds defeated. She never sounds defeated. “I can’t get ahold of him either. Did you know he left Kentucky and moved to California?”

  “He did? I thought he was still living in Lexington. He didn’t tell me.”

  “He’s lost both his parents in the last year. That’s a terrible blow for anyone. And I know he was close to his mother. Very close.”

  “Maybe that’s why he moved to California. His mom was his last real family tie here.”

  “I’m worried about this, Troy. He’s not connected to the college or to Kentucky the way the Hydes always have been. You know as well as I do his father would never have left us twisting in the wind.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’m worried too. Nicholas is pretty much the only living heir of Ezekiel Hyde. Certainly the only direct descendant. And he controls the estate.”

  “And they’ve been giving us less and less every year. For the last decade. And it’s been coming to us later and later every year, which makes it harder to budget and plan. Is it too early for a drink?”

  “A bit. But if you want to get one tonight, you know our patio bar is always open to you and Doug.”

  A car comes down the main road and turns onto Ezekiel Hyde Lane. It makes the slow, winding run in my direction and pulls up and parks next to mine. An older model with a dent in the fender. A middle-aged man steps out, trim and tall. He wears a dark suit with a white shirt and a thin black tie.

  “The students are starting to arrive. I think this is—”

  “Troy,” Grace says, “remember what we talked about.”

  I know right away what she means. The 100 More Initiative I’ve been working on for the past two years.

  “I think it’s fantastic you want to increase the number of minority and first-time students at the college. That’s why we promoted you to this position. It’s not just because you’re my friend and a nice guy. It’s to raise money. But we’ve been falling short. You’ve been falling short. The Hydes are giving less, so we need to raise more from other sources. And the board is—”

  “Nicholas promised us the money for One Hundred More. Two million dollars. We shook hands on it.”

  “Do you know how much a handshake is worth?” Grace asks. “Don’t let him leave without getting a real commitment. Okay?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “I’m sorry, Troy. You know I am, but I don’t have to remind you of what’s at stake. For the college or for you personally.”

  “I get it, Grace. We’ll toast our success tonight, have a drink around the fire.”

  The man in the dark suit comes my way, almost marching. Back straight as a flagpole. A chin made of granite. His heels clack off the pavement, and his hair is cut close to his head.

  “Grace, the students are—”

  “Wait, Troy. There’s one more—”

  The man reaches me, extends his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that I’m on the phone.

  “Vice President Gaines, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m James Stephenson. Retired, United States Army. Thank you for the opportunity to compete for this scholarship, sir.”

  We shake. My hand feels like it’s been slammed between two bricks.

  “Sir, I know no Black student—indeed, no student of color—has ever won the Hyde Scholarship. I’m intent on being the first, and I want to thank you for the chance.”

  “Well, it’s not me. It’s the Hyde family and their board—”

  “Sir, I was wondering if I could express some concerns to you before we begin—”

  “Troy, are you there?” Grace asks.

  “Just a minute, Grace. Can we speak in a moment, Mr. Stephenson?”

  “Call me Captain Stephenson, sir.”

  “Okay, Captain Stephenson. Can we speak in a moment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He remains in front of me, hands folded behind his back. Parade rest. His shoes are so polished and clean, they reflect the sky like the windows of Hyde House.

  I hold up my index finger. “Just one moment.”

  I walk fifteen feet away and switch the phone to my other ear. “Okay, Grace, I’m back. But you don’t have to tell me again that I’ve missed my fundraising quotas two years in a row. I’m well aware—”

  “No, Troy, not that. Something else. Something about the scholarship process today. I’m afraid we have a situation brewing there. And you need to be ready for it.”

  2

  BEFORE I ASK GRACE what is going on—and before she is able to tell me—two campus police cruisers turn off the main road and come down Ezekiel Hyde Lane. They stop at the boundary of the grounds of Hyde House, a couple of hundred feet from where I stand.

  Two officers step out of each cruiser, and a cool wave of relief passes through me.

  “Grace, don’t worry about it. The campus police are here, and I see Chief. He’ll let us in now. Problem solved.”

  “Troy, that’s not it.”

  The four police officers open the trunks of the two cars and pull wooden sawhorses out. They stand them up across the entrance to the Hyde House grounds, creating a barricade that shuts off vehicle traffic. Even Captain Stephenson has turned away from staring at me and fixed his eyes on the activities of the police.

  “What’s going on, Grace? The cops are making some kind of perimeter at the edge of the lawn. They’ve never done that before.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Troy.” Grace speaks to me in the way I speak to my daughters when they are slow to understand something. “We’ve received word there are going to be protests during the process today. A number of students are going to gather, so I notified the campus police. We want them to keep the protestors back as far as possible.”