CHAPTER 46
1117 Words
The look on Cooper's face was priceless.
"Lighten up." They walked side-by-side down the hall, their shoulders brushing
occasionally as they swerved to avoid confused freshmen darting from door to
door. "This is good news."
"That we have P.E. together? How is that good news?"
"No, you moron." Calla flicked her ponytail over her shoulder impatiently. "I'm talking
about Jessica. Mike. Blake. Clues. "
"Oh. Right." Cooper walked by her in silence, biting the inside of his cheek. Lowering
his voice, he asked, "But like...what clues are we talking about, exactly?"
"Do I have to walk you through everything?"
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair—once, twice, three times—and leaned over
to hiss in her ear. "Sorry I'm not Sherlock Holmes! I don't go around solving
murders in my spare time."
"Sherlock Holmes? Please." Calla rolled her eyes.
"Are you...?" Cooper grabbed the front of his button down, his face twisting in pain.
"Are you implying I'm Watson ?"
"I thought that was already obvious."
Calla amused herself by watching him fumble for an answer. He sucked in a deep
breath, as if in preparation for some long-winded speech that she certainly didn't
have time for.
Her amusement evaporated. "Are you done?"
He poked her shoulder. "This isn't over."
"Poke me again," she said sweetly, grabbing his arm and steering him to the left—
away from the gym. "See what happens."
"Where are we going? Calla. The gym is that—"
"I know where the gym is," she muttered, nodding to a set of doors near the end of
the hall. "We're making a pit stop."
Recognition lit his eyes. He shook her hand off. "The library."
Knowing they had little time before the next bell rang, they made a beeline for the
front desk. The librarian greeted them with her usual pursed smile. Ms. Frey—
unmarried and ageless; the woman had looked fifty-five for the last two decades, if
the yearbooks were to be believed—leaned against the countertop, a pair of ruby red
readers hanging from a strand of turquoise beads around her neck.
"Can I help you?" she asked, not unkindly.
Calla had always felt a certain kinship with the woman. And not because she
suspected her of any foul play or insidious thoughts. She had a certain
forthrightness that appealed to Calla's nature. She appreciated the librarian's no-
nonsense approach.
"We're looking for a textbook," Calla explained, prepared to give more detail if
necessary.
"Station three." Ms. Frey gestured toward the miniature computer lab against the far
wall. A row of four ancient computers stood by, humming dully. "One's on the fritz.
Two and four...well. How much time do you have?"
"Got it." Calla tapped the table in thanks before disappearing into the stacks, her
sights set on the third station.
Someone had left a flurry of bright pink sticky notes along the desktop's frame,
which Calla ripped off and discarded with ease. Cooper sighed somewhere over her
shoulder, allowing her to take the reigns as she pulled up the library's directory and
typed in two words.
Brother's Grimm
A loading screen popped up. Calla drummed her fingers against the table.
"We're going to be late," Cooper warned.
She turned and flashed him a warning look.
"Just saying." He crossed his arms and fell silent, a sour look on his face.
By the time she turned back to the screen, the results had popped up. Her heart
gave a heavy thud.
"The library had a copy," she breathed. "It was checked out."
"Almost three months ago." Cooper leaned over her, brow furrowed. The screen
flickered for a moment, causing them both to tense up. "Goddamn. That's right
around the time Jacob was murdered. But who..."
Calla pointed at the screen. She glanced up just in time to see Cooper's eyes go
wide.
"Tom Sahein?" He struggled to keep his voice low and composed. "But...he wasn't
one of the six."
"Exactly." Calla pushed away from the prehistoric computer and stood, exiting out of
the catalogue and erasing their search history.
Cooper let out a frustrated sigh as they hurried past the front desk, throwing the
librarian a half-hearted wave as they did so. Her eyes followed them until they
disappeared into the hallway, alone once more.
"So the killer didn't check out the book?" he whispered, invading her personal space.
"Tom wasn't one of the six, Calla."
"You said that," she agreed. "But don't you see? This supports my theory."
They walked in silence past a group of rowdy seniors. Calla had to grab Cooper's
arm to yank him out of their path and he stumbled after her, red-faced, while a
couple of the boys snickered. One of them made a sound like a cracking whip and
the rest of the group laughed.
Cooper muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like not my
girlfriend.
Calla's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"
"What? Nothing." He ran his hand through his hair in the typical one-two-three
pattern that she'd noticed back in the seventh grade. The side of his mouth
twitched. "Anyway. What's this theory of yours?"
Cooper shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at the tile as they made their
way past the front office. Through the blinds Calla could see Mrs. Grendel sitting
behind the front desk, her gnarled fingers twisted around a stack of folders, a half
dozen gaudy rings flashing in the sterile light.
Neither one of them spoke until they turned the next corner and were out of sight.
"You think he's involved, don't you? That Sahein kid," Cooper said quietly, glancing
around to make sure they were relatively alone. They were. The gym was on the
opposite side of the school from Mr. Prichard's room, as well as most of the other
classrooms, for that matter. The further they went the quieter the halls grew, until
only a handful of other kids milled about, absorbed in their own conversations.
Calla shrugged as they rounded another corner. The gym was at the end of the hall.
"I think it's possible that he's involved."
"Of course it's possible . " Cooper grabbed her arm and, after checking to make sure
they were alone, he pulled her to a stop. "I'm asking you what you think."
Calla let him stop her. She sighed, turning so that she could lean against the nearest
wall, which happened to be a mural of their mascot bear, its teeth
bared just inches from her head. The cold from the wall seeped through her hoodie
and into her back, taking the edge off of the fire growing steadily in the pit of her
stomach.
- Writer
