Page 15 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Ten

M argaux and I continue plotting over the upcoming days. We convene shortly after sunset.

“If we’re going to keep scheming, we’re going to do it my way,” Margaux says under her breath, leading me through the courtyard. “Your way has not been working.”

She’s been saying that all day, ever since I agreed to let her take the lead. It’s a small act of trust, and it may be what our friendship needs to heal.

Against my better judgment, I agreed to try it, and that’s how I find myself in a matching outfit—all black—with the vampire queen herself. Our truce is feeble, and we still haven’t talked about the lies and mistrust or, more importantly, how losing Poppy turned our lives upside down.

We’re not the same people as when we were friends, even though it was a few months ago. Loss does that to a person. Maybe we can’t overcome that right now, but what we can do is take care of the killer.

Margaux has held up her end of the bargain, helping me out as much as she can. Her way of helping is increasingly stubborn.

I’m willing to try things her way because she’s right—my way isn’t working.

I haven’t texted Caldwell back, and I should have. At the very least, I could have told him I made it safely to my dorm.

Now, it’s been days , and it feels too late to do anything. He hasn’t texted me again, and Margaux is right. I ruined our only lead already.

For once, it’s Margaux’s idea to snoop. She wants to try things her way, which tends to be less direct, so I oblige—even though it brings me discomfort to lurk in the shadows.

Margaux loves the spotlight more than anyone, but I understand now that she’s equally comfortable in hiding. I never noticed, and it makes me realize how much about her I was oblivious to.

“Quick,” she hisses, ducking into a bush. “Get down!”

I’ve never seen her as the type to get her hands dirty, but she doesn’t hesitate to crouch on the ground. I follow without thought, squatting next to her.

In the distance, Caldwell passes. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it. He walks at a leisurely pace, donning the same brown coat he usually wears. He’s tidy, his slacks without a single wrinkle, and his hair perfectly styled.

“What are you hoping to find?” I ask, unsure about her plan.

“A trail, a location… something,” she whispers.

“Where do you think he’s going?”

“You ask too many questions. Have I ever told you that?”

“Many times.”

And she isn’t the only person who’s said it. My own parents have been drilling the sentiment into me from a young age, and I try not to flinch at the reminder.

“Then, don’t make me say it again.” Margaux creeps out of the bush, strolling casually, continuing to watch him from a distance.

It’s dark out. She can likely see him better than I can, so I rely on her senses, only able to make out the vague outline of his lanky form.

“There are easier ways to learn his schedule,” I say. “He would probably tell me…”

“But would he tell you the truth?” She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been on one date, darling. That doesn’t exactly make you ride-or-die status. He can’t trust you with his little secrets!”

“Probably not,” I mumble. “You couldn’t trust me with yours after twenty years of friendship.”

She carries on, ignoring my commentary. “Besides, we’re trying my way, remember?”

“This is your way? Stalking, really? I didn’t think you would be this type of vampire.”

“I’m not!”

“First, you follow us on our date. Now, this…”

“Keeping my friend safe is not stalking,” she says. “If I had stalked Poppy a little more, she would still be with us.”

It may be the first time I’ve laughed about Poppy since her passing, letting out a soft snort. “So, you admit it’s stalking?”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Wait.” I look around, frowning. “Margaux… where did he go?”

“He’s right th—” She stares into the distance, her eyes drawn to the spot where he disappeared. “Well… merde . See? If we had done things my way, without your critique, everything would be?—”

“Good evening.” An eerie, calm voice comes from behind us.

I jump out of my skin, hands reaching for Margaux’s as we turn to face the stranger with wide eyes. Only, it’s not a stranger.

“Caldwell,” I breathe, letting out a relieved laugh.

I shouldn’t be relieved to see him, all things considered. Margaux squeezing my fingers is the real relief, a reminder she’s there to protect me—and of her bone-crushing strength.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you like this.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Walking with someone else,” he says. “Normally, you’re alone, no matter how much I’ve lectured you not to wander off at night.”

“She is?” Margaux asks, lifting a brow.

“It’s a terrible habit,” Caldwell says with a grave expression. “Almost as terrible as my manners. I forgot to introduce myself. You must be Margaux.”

“You’ve heard of me?” She offers Caldwell a dainty handshake. “Consider me surprised. But—of course—I’ve heard of you as well. Caldwell?”

Now she remembers his name.

“Oh?” He shakes her hand before letting go, eyes flickering to mine.

“Yes, well… you’ve both heard of each other.” I have no reason to be bashful, but my face grows hot. “And now you’re meeting! How exciting!”

I would be nervous to introduce anyone I’m dating to Margaux. I’m not dating Caldwell—not really—but it’s still nerve-wracking! I can’t put my finger on why, except… oh, yes, he’s our only potential suspect, and she’s a drama queen .

They’re a lethal combination.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Caldwell says.

He leaves me blinking, shocked into silence. I don’t expect him to be so brazen.

Margaux is the one to answer. “Have you? How sweet.”

It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. Margaux is more charming than I am. Oh, how I long to switch places with her in this terrible, messed up situation.

She manages to fluster even Caldwell, catching him off guard to the point that he goes silent.

“I have.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, gaze shifting from Margaux and back to me. “Did you get my text?”

I exchange a look with Margaux, only to find that she’s watching expectantly. She doesn’t have to say a word for me to know the meaning behind her look.

If I keep pushing him away, we lose our only lead.

“I did,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I’ve been a little busy with… classes and all that.”

It still sounds like I’m blowing him off, and he reacts appropriately.

“I get it.” He presses his lips together.

“I’ll get back to you soon!” I say, with far too much enthusiasm.

“I look forward to it.” His smile seems forced. “But I didn’t mean to rush or bother. It was nice to meet you. Have a good rest of your evening.”

Before I can tell him to wait, he’s gone, turning and disappearing in the distance. It may be the first time he hasn’t offered to walk me to my room, and I tell myself it’s only because my friend is here. I already have a companion.

I didn’t lose his interest already… did I?

Margaux and I don’t speak or move until he’s well out of earshot—or what I assume earshot is for a vampire.

She turns to me, resting her cool hands on my shoulders. “You need to text him back. I didn’t realize you were ghosting him!”

“I know!” And I do know, but I’m not particularly happy about it. My arms are crossed as we head back to our dormitory. “I’m not ghosting; I’m leaving him wanting more. I thought you would approve.”

“Oh, under any other circumstance, I would. You don’t leave our suspect wanting more, Tobey. You have to text him. Tonight. If he moves on from you, we have nothing!”

“And if he’s too interested, I’m risking my life.”

“Oh, stop it. We don’t know that he’s the killer at all.”

“Then why am I doing this?”

I already know the answer—or at least my answer. No matter how many times I tell myself he may not be involved, my mind is stuck on him. I need to know more.

“If his watch was on the scene, there is always a chance he saw something .” Margaux locks her arm in mine, sounding so sure of herself that I almost buy it. Almost. “If he puts you in any danger, I’ll kill him first.”

“It’s not like you can actually do anything. What, you’re going to join us on a date?”

“No…” She hesitates. “But there’s no reason I can’t linger nearby while you’re out and about. He won’t even notice.”

“He knows who you are now. Hell, he probably knew before. You’re a professor’s daughter!”

“I can be stealthy!”

There have been so many times in our life that she disproved that—including our current situation—but I don’t argue. My mind is stuck on the unanswered texts on my phone. How do I answer them now that days have gone by?

Later that evening, I find myself alone. Margaux goes out with the new person—a werewolf this time. They’re quite a pair; I always thought they would be natural enemies.

The dormitory is silent without Margaux’s quiet tunes and snarky words, leaving me with my thoughts—and my texts.

I curl up in bed, staring at the words on the screen until my eyes hurt.

Eventually, I pluck up the courage to text him.

Is it too late to let you know I’m okay?

I yelp, locking my phone screen and closing my eyes.

It’s not enough. He’s been waiting days to hear from me, and this is all I can come up with. I don’t expect a response at all, especially not one that comes so quickly. My phone buzzes a moment later, and I nearly drop it on my face.

Caldwell

It’s never too late. I’m always pleased to know you’re safe.

I wait for him to say more, but it doesn’t come. This text is dryer than the last. I should be relieved. It’s a sign I’ve managed to push him away.

That may be what I want, but it isn’t what I need . I bite my lip, contemplating my next move.

Should I apologize for taking so long? No, I can already hear Margaux in my ear: talk about desperate!

I should reply like I didn’t take three days to text back. For whatever reason, he seems interested in me. I need to work with that instead of doubting myself.

The cliché advice of being yourself may work this once.

I text him again.

Did you get home safe?

For someone constantly telling me not to wander off alone, I find you alone far too often.

Again, he’s quick to respond.

What is it they say?

Do as I say, not as I do. That advice applies here.

All that to say, I am safe. Thank you for asking.

I stare at the typing bubble on my screen, waiting for him to press send. After a few moments, another text comes through.

I didn’t mean to bother you into texting me back.

I snort at that.

Yes, you did.

Luckily for you, I enjoyed the bothering .

Oh, my god. Where is Margaux when I need her? I’m terrible at this.

Is that so? Do I have permission to continue bothering you?

You can consider this text message official, written permission for all future botherings.

I may frame it.

Please, do.

I don’t know what’s happening, but… whatever it is, I think it’s working. Why had I put off texting him for so long?

He doesn’t respond as quickly this time, and I realize I have to say more.

When would you like to bother me next? I’m more of a planner than a spur-of-the-moment kind of person.

Are you asking me on another date?

Oh, god. Am I?

I am, and I have a request…

Anything. Name it.

But please remember, I’m on a college student’s budget.

I wasn’t aware the students here knew the meaning of the word budget.

They do when they’re on a scholarship.

An academic scholarship?

Good guess.

Intelligent and handsome.

Is this what they’re referring to when they talk about the whole package?

I doubt it.

I think muscles and trust funds are usually involved in that package, but I’m flattered, nevertheless.

You still haven’t told me where you want to go.

I hesitate, nerves alight, fingers shaking as I type.

Take me on an adventure. Whatever that means to you.