Page 8

8

Diem

W e used Weston’s printer to make hard copies of all the short stories we found on the laptop. Despite it not having color ink, we printed the photographs as well. After tucking the stack into the most recent notebook, I shoved it under my arm, hoping Delaney would allow us to take it.

Tallus followed me downstairs, reminding me twice to talk nicely to Weston’s mother and try not to pummel the father. I wasn’t altogether convinced the short composition depicting the incident by the river wasn’t Weston’s sorry excuse for a mystery story gone wrong, but Tallus seemed adamant, and I’d learned not to dismiss his hunches. As impulsive as he could be, he had an eye for detective work and wasn’t often wrong.

It meant looking further into Delaney’s theory that someone tried to kill her son— did , in essence, kill her son. The pros? More money in my pocket. The cons? More nights in the Stinky Pink Palace of Hell and figuring out how to sleep in the same bed as my boyfriend without suffering a panic attack.

I promised Delaney two nights. With luck, we would discover the missing piece to the puzzle after a quick chat with the high school English teacher who ran the school newspaper and writing club. Who knew? Maybe all this could be explained away. Maybe it was why the police had shut it down. Maybe dear old Irvin wasn’t the bad guy for wanting to close this door and let his son die in peace.

“And?” Delaney asked the second we landed on the main level. She anxiously massaged her hands together, and I would have bet a month’s rent she’d been pacing the living room the entire time we were upstairs.

Irvin hovered in the background, wearing a mask of irritation, still dressed like he’d come from the office.

“We’re not finished.”

“But you think—”

“I said we’re not finished, which means we don’t have thoughts yet.”

Tallus moved around me, patting my arm. “What my partner is trying to say is, we’re going to run to the high school and see if Weston’s English teacher will chat with us. We have a few questions for him.”

“So you believe me. You see it too.”

“Something’s definitely amiss.” Tallus used far more dramatics than the situation warranted. “But you’ve called the right people, ma’am. We’re professionals. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Good lord,” I mumbled under my breath as Irvin threw his hands up and shouted, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Delaney. You’ve hired a bunch of quacks who are going to juice you for as much money as they can. Do you hear this guy? He thinks he’s Sherlock fucking Holmes. Well, guess what, buddy. There is nothing to investigate. My son suffered a tragic accident. The end. Leave my house.”

Tallus darted me a warning glare, somehow knowing I envisioned putting my fist through the guy’s face.

“Be cool,” he mouthed.

“Irvin,” Delaney snapped. “This doesn’t affect you.”

“It most certainly does. He’s my son too.” Irvin physically moved his wife aside before facing us, pressing his palms together in the act of pleading. “Gentlemen, please listen to me. My wife is upset. She wants answers to something rather simple. She can’t see the truth. The police confirmed there was no foul play involved. They looked into the ridiculous story she found, the one my wife presented to you as evidence”—he made air quotes—“but I promise you, it is nothing more than perfectly explainable schoolwork. There is nothing nefarious under the surface. There is no need to harass Weston’s teachers or friends or cause problems. This is a small town, and rumors spread quickly. We don’t need that right now. Please let us grieve our loss. Go back to your big city and your flashy lives. Don’t give my wife false hope where there isn’t any.”

Tallus glanced over his shoulder and stage-whispered, “Please don’t kill him. I’m sure he means well even though he called us a bunch of quacks and implied I was a Sherlock Holmes wannabe, which I am, for the record, and there is nothing wrong with that,” he said to Irvin. “And PS, the training course to become a private investigator is no joke. Fifty hours, my friend. Fifty . And tests that are not multiple choice. We are the real deal.” Tallus swung his finger between us, and I groaned.

“You should be lucky we’ve taken time away from our busy schedule to look into this case. If there’s nothing to investigate, we’ll learn that soon enough on our own and be out of your hair. Believe me, my surly partner over there is not a fan of twiddling his thumbs with noncases. Ask me, I know. I brought him a doozy of a noncase a couple of months ago, and he almost went ballistic. To be fair, it was regarding a psychic who I was convinced was killing people with mind control. Spoiler alert. She wasn’t. It’s not a thing, but it turned out to be a whopper of a real case in the end, and we found out that—”

“Tallus.” I was proud of how well I controlled my tone, considering I wanted nothing more than to go outside into the fresh air and scream myself hoarse.

“I’m rambling. Bad habit. Anyhow. The teacher who runs the newspaper. Does he have a name?” Tallus asked Delaney, ignoring the smoke from Irvin’s and my ears.

“Hugh Abercrombie. He’s a lovely man. He’s been helping Weston with university applications. He says Weston will… would have gone far.”

“And he also runs the writing club?” Tallus asked.

“Yes.”

“Who’s the girlfriend?” I asked.

Delaney stopped short of rolling her eyes. “Her name is Londyn Brydges.”

I deadpanned—certain I’d heard her wrong.

Tallus snorted. “I’m sorry… You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was.”

***

We left the Mandels, and Tallus directed me to the high school. Dusk blanketed the town, and it started to rain. The left wiper moved a sodden rotting leaf over the windshield, smearing my vision of the street. The temperature hovered near freezing, and I had a hunch that once the sun fully descended, the rain would turn to ice pellets, and the roads would be slick.

I was in two camps about the short story, both trusting Tallus’s hunch yet figuring the police had already dug as deep as possible and had found nothing because there was nothing to find. Part of me wanted to call a spade a spade and hit the highway before the weather turned. Another part wanted to spend a few days screwing around in Port Hope to earn a few extra bucks at the expense of a grieving mother. It was shameful but desperate times and all.

However, staying meant more time at the wretched B&B, and in less than a day, I was about out of patience with that place.

More time at the B&B also meant sharing a bed with Tallus.

My stomach fluttered at the thought, and I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear. Probably both.

I was a mess.

“It’s after school hours,” Tallus said, breaking into my thoughts. “We may be shit out of luck. Why don’t we come back first thing in the morning?”

I glanced at the time on the dash. It was nearing five. Tallus was right. The likelihood of teachers being at the school was slim, but I didn’t want to put this off another day.

“What if there’s a meeting with the newspaper or this writing club? Clubs and shit meet after hours, right?”

“Maybe. I guess we can check.”

A nearly vacant parking lot greeted us a few minutes later. My hope of forming opinions about Weston’s possible accident and heading home died. Maybe I was sad, and maybe I wasn’t. I tried not to focus too closely on my emotions.

Tallus squinted out the rain-spattered windshield. “Someone’s here. Want to try the doors?”

“Probably just a janitor.”

“Or a teacher. Let’s at least see if the doors are unlocked and walk around. If anyone stops us, we tell them we’re looking for Hugh What’s-His-Name. It’s legit.”

I considered our options—return to the Pink Palace of Hell or wander aimlessly around an empty school—and killed the engine. The wipers stalled mid-swipe, and the leaf clung for dear life to the left blade.

The thunderous patter of rain on the hardtop kept us company. Neither of us moved, deterred by the prospect of getting soaked.

I side-eyed Tallus. “Quiz time.”

His gorgeous hazel eyes widened behind his come-fuck-me glasses, and he tipped his head back with a groan. “Noooo. Not now.”

“Yes now. No better time than the present.”

“You’re evil. Can’t we just pretend I know everything and move on?”

“No.”

Since taking Tallus on as a junior partner, I used as many opportunities as possible to teach him the ropes. Recent cases hadn’t provided enough learning opportunities, but this one had potential.

“What are our goals if we find Hugh Abercrombie? How do we approach him?”

“With charm. Obviously.”

“Tallus.”

“Fine.” He removed his glasses and buffed the lenses on his shirt. “That’s easy. We show him the short story and ask if he thinks it’s Weston’s writing style. If the teen is in his class and his club, and if he writes for the school paper, which this guy runs, he should know. When the clever, clever man confirms I’m right because he will, then we ask him who he thinks wrote the mysterious story, and voila, we have our murderer.”

Tallus replaced his glasses and hit me with the sultry and mischievous smirk that made me stupid.

“You’re getting cocky.”

He wiggled his brows. “Bring me back to Ivory Lace, and I’ll show you just how cocky I can be.” When I stammered to find a response, he added, “How’d I do?”

I scrutinized the leaf, then shook my head. “Not good enough. That’s idealistic thinking. In theory, that would be a best-case scenario, but—”

“Ah, man. Don’t say but. There is no but. It was perfect.”

“But… in reality, if that was the case, the police wouldn’t have written it off as an accident.”

“We don’t know if they asked Mr. English Teacher to identify the writing.”

“Of course they did, and Howdy Doody in there is going to tell us to fuck off.”

“I doubt that. Not if I charm him. Everybody loves me.”

“In the event that your charm fails—”

Tallus pff ed. “As if.”

“In the event that your charm fails—”

“Which it won’t.”

I growled and narrowed my eyes.

“Fine. In the event that my charm fails…” Tallus rolled a hand, urging me to continue.

“What else can we learn from Dr. Dolittle?”

Tallus pursed his lips and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “We could… inquire about the writing club.”

“And?”

“And find out when they meet and who their members are.”

“Not gonna happen. He’s going to tell you to fuck off again.”

“He won’t. He’s a professional. At best, he might find a polite way to tell me to fuck off.”

“There is no polite way.”

“I disagree. I bet I can come up with at least a dozen. Like, with all due respect, I feel this conversation is not going in a direction I’m comfortable pursuing. We’re talking ourselves in circles, and I think it best we agree to disagree. Take care. Buh-bye now.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Tell you what. We can finish this lesson, go inside and see if Mr. Writing Club is around, or we can go back to the Doomed Fortress of Rotting Flowers, and you can work on your online training. I brought my iPad.”

“Oh, hell no. Teach me, oh great one. You have my full attention. I’m done sassing.”

On the verge of smiling, I opened the Jeep’s door and got out, poking my head back in and meeting Tallus’s confused stare. “Lesson over for now. You get sixty percent because I’m feeling generous. We do all the things you suggested, and when he tells us to kindly fuck off—because he will—we report to Delaney that we agree with the police, go the fuck home, and hope something better lands on my desk. You know what that means?”

“No.”

“No more sharing a bed.”

Tallus gasped, the look of panic on his face utterly priceless. “You are not worming your way out of this.”

I slammed the Jeep door, removed the disintegrating leaf from under the wiper blade, and hustled to the school. The cold, wet rain was already running down the back of my shirt and trickling over my face.

Tallus was on my heels in an instant, tugging me to a halt. “D, wait. It’s not Weston’s story. We have to stay in town and check things out.”

“Can we do this inside?”

“No. I don’t want to go home yet.”

“Look. Unless this guy agrees with us, we have no way to prove that story isn’t Weston’s. We can’t move forward. The end. Case closed. Then I’m telling Delaney it’s over, and I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

I went to walk again, but Tallus wouldn’t let go of my sleeve.

I growled. “It’s fucking pouring, and you’re underdressed. Can we go inside?”

“I’d like a chance to bring my satisfactory sixty percent up to a more respectable eighty or ninety percent. Hear me out.”

“By all means. Let’s have a conversation in the cold November rain.” I tilted my face to the sky, observing the charcoal clouds overhead. I wanted to laugh because this was the definition of Tallus. Stubborn, persistent, and never one to back down. This was the man who had caught me off guard from day one. Who was never put off by my piss-poor attitude and stood his ground no matter what.

Fighting back humor, I crossed my arms and puffed my chest, feigning irritation. “Spit it out.”

Tallus patted my chest. “You’re very grr right now, and we both know that doesn’t work on me.”

“Talk, Tallus, before we both catch pneumonia.”

“Let’s say the teacher gives us nothing useable, which is likely since the police have probably already chatted with him. In that case, we need to find out who Weston’s friends are. Locate the girlfriend, who calls herself Londyn Brydges. We need to see if Weston had enemies or rivals or if he recently pissed someone off. We need to find out who’s in this writing club and ask them about the story. Don’t say they’re underage. I know that. We’ll be careful.” Tallus accessed his internal data bank, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “There. That’s it. That’s all I got. Did I bring my grade up?”

I glared, rain dripping off my nose while my unimpressed expression remained for as long as possible. Maybe the weather had weakened my resolve, or maybe it was how Tallus looked like a drowned puppy, but before I could second guess myself, I snagged the front of his unsuitable jacket—which he hadn’t buttoned—and drew him into my arms, tucking his head under my chin and hanging on for dear life.

He wrapped his arms around me and clung for a long time before peering up and taking me in. His lashes, clumped together and dripping, framed his hazel eyes, and I doubted he could see well with his lenses speckled with rain.

I dropped my forehead to his and sighed. This was a comfort level I could manage, and it was progress. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed it possible to touch Tallus this freely.

“Eighty-seven percent.”

“That’s it?”

“You can bring it up to ninety-two if you kiss me.”

He took my face between his palms, rose to his toes, and pressed his mouth to mine. I melted, no longer feeling the cold or the rain that was fast turning to sleet.

His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I invited him in. Warm. Comforting. Invigorating. When we finally came apart, I found a smile reserved only for Tallus. “Hundred percent.”

“You see? Between my sass, charm, and irresistible good looks, I can accomplish anything.”

“Your modesty knows no bounds.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately, but if I wasn’t the person I was, we wouldn’t be dating, would we?”

He was right. I kissed him again instead of confirming what he already knew. “Come on. It’s miserable out here, and we’ll both be soaked to the bone soon.”

We hustled to the front door of the school, and Tallus broke into a rendition of “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses. After a few bars, he said, “You know, I think these lyrics speak to us as a couple.”

“Not now, Tallus. I’m freezing.”

“They do.”

We reached the front doors, and I held it open as Tallus hustled inside.

He removed his glasses and buffed them the best he could on a moderately dry section of his shirt. “You know, we could always share a warm bath later. The tub in that room is huge.”

I deadpanned.

He chuckled. “It is. It fit all those clocks, and there were practically a thousand of them. It should fit one oversized cuddle bear and a moderate twink no problem.”

“With all due respect, I feel this conversation is not going in a direction I’m comfortable pursuing. To avoid further discord, I think it best we never discuss it again and refrain from finding ourselves in a situation where such a thing might happen.”

An evil look formed on Tallus’s face. “Did you just politely tell me to fuck off?”

“And it was surprisingly fun.”

“Diem Krause, you are incorrigible, and I’m not sure I like your sauce.”

“You mean sass.”

“No, I’m the sassy one. You’re saucy. There’s a difference. Are you saying you wouldn’t want to lie naked in a tub with me nestled between your thunder thighs?”

“I…” Got stuck on the image of Tallus gliding his slippery body against mine and choked on my own spit.

He laughed. “God, you’re adorable.”

“I’m not, and we’re curbing this conversation. We have a job to do.”

We’d landed in a lobby with stairs on the left leading to the second level and a long locker-lined corridor in front of us. No one was around, and there were no signs to direct us where to go.

“Thoughts?” Tallus finger-combed his hair, somehow arranging it so it looked presentable despite being soaked.

“Let’s wander and see if we can find someone to direct us.”

We started on the first level, and I wondered how far we’d get before we ran into a janitor or kid who didn’t like the look of us and called the cops. Our shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor, announcing our presence to anyone nearby, but the hallways were vacant.

We located the cafeteria first. A janitor used a wide broom at the far end, sweeping under tables where the benches had been moved on top. An oversized black roller bin, full to the brim, sat beside a cart with other janitorial supplies.

Closer to the doors, two teens, a boy and a girl, occupied a table that had yet to be cleaned. Crumbs and other debris littered its surface. The teens shared a bag of Ruffles potato chips, heads close together as they chatted. Both were strikingly blond with similar features. Their backpacks sat abandoned on the ground at their feet. The male teen kept checking his phone.

Double-checking the hallways to be sure they were empty, I hitched my chin, urging Tallus to approach since I was incapable of making my oversized frame appear smaller and less threatening. Even looking like a drowned rat, Tallus could charm the robe off a judge mid court session.

“Don’t get too personal.” I indicated the janitor. “Don’t want to get us in trouble. They’re underage.”

“I got this.”

Adopting a confident strut, Tallus sauntered into the cafeteria and approached the table. The teens noticed him immediately and glanced up.

It was the boy who acknowledged him first. “Hey, man. Can I help you?”

“I get that it’s a long shot since school’s already out, but my partner and I are looking for an English teacher by the name of Hugh… I can’t remember his last name. He runs the school newspaper, I believe. Do you know if he’s around?”

The boy flicked his gaze in my direction and back to Tallus. “You could check the resource room if he’s not in his classroom.” He referenced his phone. “But he’s probably packing up to head home now. It’s after five.”

“Are you with the police?” the girl asked.

“Why do you assume that?”

She shrugged.

The boy answered. “They were here last week, asking questions about West’s accident.”

“You know Weston Mandel?” Tallus asked.

I eyed the janitor, who was clearly eavesdropping, and wished Tallus would steer away from the case. I was all for breaking the rules, but not in the wide open where we might get caught.

The teens shrugged in an eerily similar fashion. “Everyone knows Weston,” the girl said defensively.

“It’s a small school,” the boy added. “Everyone knows everyone. Pretty freaking tragic what happened. Rocked us all when we heard.”

The girl’s bottom lip jutted a fraction, and she blinked heavily a few times before ducking her head.

The janitor had stopped pushing the broom and openly gawked.

“Why are you looking for Mr. A?” the boy asked.

Tallus glanced over his shoulder as though seeking direction.

I tipped my head toward the nosy custodian and raised a brow, hoping to indicate he shouldn’t hide our role since any other explanation might land us in hot water. At least if we were honest and professional, we had an excuse to be on school premises.

“We’re investigators. The family hired us to ask a few questions. Look into stuff.”

The girl raised her head, concern widening her eyes. “Look into stuff? But why? I thought—”

“West had an accident, didn’t he?” the boy interrupted. “That’s what we were told.”

The girl glanced at the boy, but he didn’t seem to notice since he focused on Tallus.

“That’s what we heard too. Where might I find this teacher’s classroom?”

“It’s Abercrombie.” The boy gave directions, and Tallus thanked him, strutting toward me with a look of satisfaction.

“Smooth,” I said.

“It’s called charm, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh. I was afraid you were going to get too personal.”

“You said not to. I listen.”

We weaved along a few hallways and eventually found the English teacher’s classroom. The door sat ajar, and a man in his mid-forties occupied a standard desk in the corner, stacking paperwork and shoving it into a briefcase. Out the window behind him, the rain had turned to sleet, pelting the glass pane with a vengeance thanks to a gusty wind that must have arrived in the short time we’d been inside.

Tallus pointed at himself, asking if I wanted him to do the talking. I shook my head, and he pouted. Instead of responding, I rapped my knuckles on the door and pushed it open, entering before I could be invited.

The man behind the desk startled. A shock of artfully styled dark hair fell into his eyes. It hung in layered waves to nearly his jaw. With a frown, he moved a pair of reading glasses to the top of his head, pinning the hair back. “Can I help you?” He checked the time on an expensive-looking watch.

The man had European good looks—a cut jaw speckled with stubble, eyes dark as pitch, a Roman nose, and a frame that suggested he did not neglect his health. I bet all his students paid close attention when he taught.

“Are you Hugh Abercrombie?” I asked without preamble.

“I am. How may I help you?”

“Diem Krause, private investigator with Shadowy Solutions based in Toronto.” I handed the man my credentials and thumbed over my shoulder. “This is my part-time minion and full-time partner, Tallus Domingo. His qualifications start and end with sass and mischief. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

Tallus chuckled. “I see what you did there, Guns. You’re trying to outcharm me. Won’t work. I’m the king.” To Hugh Abercrombie, he said, “Excuse my partner. He’s new to the art of making jokes. The sass and mischief part are true, but I’m not his minion. Although I am in training, and I don’t have a fancy ID yet, but soon. Ten more hours to go. The coursework is extensive, and in case you thought we were a bunch of quacks like Mr. Cranky Pants, I assure you, we—”

“You’re the English teacher, correct?” I cut Tallus off, earning an appropriately sassy tsk and sigh.

“I am.” Hugh stood and rounded the desk, handing back my credentials and noting our soaking-wet attire. “If I may inquire. Private investigator for whom? What is this about?”

“The Mandels have hired us to look into the incident that occurred last week with their son, Weston. I understand he was a student of yours.”

Hugh blanched and touched his fingers to his chest before leaning against the desk as though he could hardly stand upright under the circumstances. “Christ almighty,” he said under his breath. “I’m sorry. Yes, he was my student, but I don’t understand. We’ve done this song and dance already. Why is it so hard to believe the boy had an accident?”

“Because there’s strong evidence that suggests he didn’t,” Tallus said.

Strong was subjective, but I didn’t correct him and watched Abercrombie’s response.

The man shifted his attention between us and took a minute to speak. “Gentleman, the police were already here asking questions last week, and I provided them with my full cooperation. I’m not sure what else there is to say. So far as I’m concerned, the matter has been put to rest. Please understand I’m grief-stricken at the tragedy that has befallen one of my best students, and I’m heartbroken to hear that Delaney Mandel is struggling to come to terms with the truth, but let’s be honest. Accidents happen all the time. It’s an unfortunate fact of life.”

Ignoring his speech, I removed one of the printed stories I’d shoved into Weston’s notebook at the Mandel house. “You run the school newspaper, correct?”

Crossing his arms and pressing his lips in a firm line, Hugh gifted me with a fake smile that reeked of irritation. “Yes.”

His mind seemed to be racing, and I had no doubt he was searching for a means of expelling us from his classroom.

Or maybe he was trying to find a polite way to tell us to fuck off.

“And you run the writing club too, right?” Tallus asked.

Sighing heavily, Hugh said, “Yes, I run both.”

I handed him one of the stories we’d found on Weston’s computer. “Does this look familiar?”

Hugh took the sheets of paper but held eye contact for an extra beat before moving his reading glasses to the end of his nose. His hair curtained his face as he lowered his gaze to the papers. After skimming the first page, he offered it back. “It’s one of the stories Weston wrote for the Whodunnits?”

“For what?”

“The Whodunnits? It’s the name of the after-school writing club. The teens chose it since most of them enjoy mystery writing, although it’s not a requirement. They can write whatever their heart desires.”

“And how do you know Weston wrote that?” Tallus asked.

“I recognize it. It was one of the stories he presented earlier this year.”

I found a different piece and passed it to the English teacher. “How about this one?”

“Would you like to explain the purpose of this nonsense?”

“No. Read it and tell me if it’s Weston’s.”

Abercrombie didn’t read it. At best, he skimmed before shoving it back in my direction. “Yes, it’s his. Sometimes, I give prompts to jump-start creativity. This was a story he wrote based on a prompt. He shared it with the group a few weeks ago.”

“How about this one.”

Hugh refused to take the third composition.

Tallus confiscated the notebook and located the key story that had compelled Delaney to call us. “Weston also writes for the school newspaper, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, would you say that you’re relatively familiar with Weston’s style of writing, Mr. Abercrombie?”

Hugh reluctantly broke eye contact with me to answer Tallus’s question. “Yes. As I said, he was one of my best students. He’s been writing for the paper since grade nine.”

“On that note. Last one. I promise.” Tallus offered the composition Delaney had presented to us in the hospital. “Please read this closely and tell us if you believe this to be Weston’s writing.”

Begrudgingly, Hugh accepted the pages and glanced at the first few lines before shoving it back at Tallus with narrowed eyes. “What is this about? Honestly, why are you gentlemen poking your nose into something the police have—”

“Answer the goddamn question.” The growl in my tone didn’t go unnoticed.

Hugh glared, but I had him beat in size and determination.

“Like I told the police.” His tone was an exercise in control. “Yes, this is Weston’s writing. Can I explain the unusual premise of the story? No. Did I see it before the accident that put him in the hospital? No. Weston was a stickler for perfection, and as you can clearly see by the edits, he was still working on fine-tuning it.”

“But that’s not his writing.” Tallus’s objection rang clear. He hated it when people dismissed his ideas—especially when convinced he was right—and Hugh had discarded the story with hardly a glance.

Abercrombie worked his jaw.

The freezing rain tormented us, drowning the silence with its assault.

Glancing between us, Abercrombie said with finality, “It is Weston’s story, and I think this conversation is over.”

Tallus huffed, lifted his chin, and adopted a hottie stance. Oh boy. Mr. English Teacher was about to get the full dose of the snark I’d warned him about.

“That’s fine. Our investigation isn’t over. You know as well as I do that Weston didn’t write this story.” Tallus shook the pages in Abercrombie’s face. “But someone did, and Delaney Mandel is right. It’s too coincidental and suspicious to sweep under the rug. This is what we in the investigative business refer to as premeditation.” He emphasized the word, nodding. “Uh-huh. And we’ll prove it. Someone is going down.”

I swiped a hand over my mouth to cover a smirk. The sass had been unleashed, and there was no stopping him.

“Perhaps,” Tallus continued, studying the composition with a scrutinous eye, “we should chat with the students in the writing club. So far as I can see, the quality of this story isn’t on the same level as Weston’s usual writing. The word choices are basic, like whoever wrote it didn’t own one of those… terminology-changer thingies. Goddammit. What the hell is that book called? Not a dictionary, but a…” He snapped his fingers and waved a hand.

“Thesaurus,” Hugh and I said at the same time.

“Yes. One of those. The sentences aren’t varied. The words are simple. The voice is flat. The prose is juvenile, and yes, I know what prose is. I went to college. Didn’t love it, but I went.

“Weston has a certain pizzazz when he writes. It’s tighter. More sophisticated. Even this amateur can see it. This story lacks the same zip. So, you know what I think, Hugh ?” He emphasized the H . “I think one of the other students wrote it, and I’m going to find out who because they have a lot of explaining to do. Premeditation,” Tallus stage-whispered, in case we’d missed the suggestion the first time.

Mr. English Teacher’s nostrils flared, and he looked like he wanted to spit nails. I’d warned him, but Tallus’s personality was one you had to experience to fully understand. I’d spent months unsure if I wanted to strangle him or fuck him.

When Hugh spoke, his tone was carefully controlled, calm and unaggressive. I gave the man props. “You’re mistaken. Like I explained to the police. The professionals. Weston was primarily a nonfiction writer. He was the paper’s assistant editor. His focus was on articles of factual value. He reported the news. He wanted to make a career of it. Travel the world. Write for National Geographic . At sixteen, he was already outshining his father. Irvin Mandel is a mediocre journalist, and Weston would have been a superstar. When he joined the writing club in late September, it came as a shock, but I never turn a student away. Writing fiction is an entirely different ball game, but Weston was determined to learn. To expand his repertoire. I commended him.

“Yes, his work wasn’t on the same level as the articles he produced for the paper, and if you ask me, this piece that has everyone in a knot was one of his first. I would wager a guess he wasn’t happy with it. Weston was a perfectionist. You can see how meticulously he edited it. This story was never presented to the club because I believe he discarded it and moved on with other stories. As it often does with practice, Weston’s writing improved. That’s it. There is nothing nefarious or suspicious, or dare I say, premeditated about it. It’s simply an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Bullshit,” Tallus spat when Abercrombie finished his speech. I had to bite back a smile because there were days when Tallus took the words right out of my mouth. “How do you explain him falling into a river?”

“As I’m sure you’ve learned from the police or Mrs. Mandel, Weston was doing research for a series of articles on winter safety for the paper. One of those—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not buying it. Never mind. We don’t need your help. We’ll see what Weston’s friends think.”

Hugh Abercrombie wrinkled his Roman nose in a sneer as he glanced between us. His professional demeanor was slipping. “I think it’s time you leave, and I’m warning you now to stay away from the students, or I will get the police involved. Whatever poor Mrs. Mandel hired you for, I can assure you, it doesn’t give you permission to harass underage teenagers without parental consent. I’m very sorry she doesn’t agree with the police’s assessment of her son’s accident, but your presence will do nothing more than upset people who are already grieving a terrible tragedy.” He motioned to the door. “Good day, gentlemen. I don’t think it will be necessary for us to see each other again.”