“Like this?” Chavelle O’Connell asked, using her pencil to point at her final answer. The young girl’s eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes anxious.
Snapping out of her thoughts, many of which involved her current case Marianna, Alna pulled Chavelle’s paper toward and scanned the math question:
368+
543
______
911
The sheet had various markings both along the margins and around each question, displaying how Chavelle had come up with each answer. In the past thirty-six minutes of their time together, Chavelle answered five of the twelve questions that were due in two days. The poor girl was, unfortunately, finding these conditions stressful, as math was her worst subject in school.
“Yes, Chavelle, that’s exactly right,” Alna praised, reaching her hand around the girl’s back to squeeze her shoulder. She couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her lips upon seeing the answer. How ironic that the teachers chose a question that resulted in the emergency contact number as the answer. For the second time since seeing the question, Alna wondered if there was any reason behind it.
Rhys, Chavelle’s father, cast a smile over his shoulder from the stove, where he stood making supper for his family.
“On to the next one now, if you please.”
“Do I have to?” Chavelle complained, widening bright emerald eyes at her. “Can I please take a break?”
Alna paused before answering, taking a moment to observe the girl. Chavelle’s shoulders were tense under her purple shirt. That and the way she kept tugging on her red hair showed the strain the child was feeling. Her scrunched button nose showed her displeasure.
“Five minutes,” Alna relented.
Relief filtered into Chavelle’s eyes, and she gave Alna a beaming grin. “’ Kay, be right back,” she said and rushed off to what Alna presumed was the bathroom.
Looking toward Rys—who’d insisted she call him by his first name—Alna asked, “New recipe, Rys?”
He was a man in his mid-forties, rather short, with dark auburn hair that could look purple in the right light.
“Yep,” Rys replied, stirring something in a pan that Alna couldn’t see. It gave off an interesting aroma. “Got home from work today and figured I had some time to myself, why not experiment a little?”
Alna nodded her head in acknowledgment, seeing as he’d turned slightly to face her. “True enough. They say that one is never too old to try something new.”
“True that,” Rys said, making Alna wince internally. That sounded a bit too much like a teenager who was trying to act cool. “What about you?” he continued, turning around fully to face Alna. “Anything new going on with you?”
Alna shook her head. “Not particularly.” She wondered at people’s pressing need to fill silence with idle chit chat. There was only so much she could stand before it became boring. Of course, she had been the one to start up a conversation this time around. She might as well bear with it. “Although I downloaded an application on my phone that teaches German.”
“Huh.” Rhys turned back to the stove to stir whatever was in the pan. “Learning a new language from an app—sounds difficult.” At that, Rys paused for a moment. “Though I suppose it wouldn’t be for someone like you.”
Alna resisted the urge to roll her eyes at that. The way he had said that last sentence seemed to paint her as some phenomenon, or an oddity. Alna understood why some people saw her that way, but sometimes she wished people could refer to her intelligence without sounding like they found her strange.
“It is a little difficult,” Alna said politely, keeping her face blank. “The act of remembering what I am taught is not an issue. But the actual speaking of a new language can be troublesome. Sometimes I have a hard time saying the vowels correctly.”
Rhys hummed to show he was paying attention just as Chavelle bounded back into the kitchen. Scrambling onto her chair, she held out a piece of paper to Alna.
“I drew this for you,” she said, sounding pleased with herself.
Smiling, Alna took the paper and examined it. Chavelle had drawn a messy and childish rendition of a superheroine known as Portola, a figure dressed in an outfit of blue and white. The only reason Alna could even distinguish this was because Alna knew for a fact Portola was Chavelle’s favorite superheroine. The blue stick figure looked nothing like the character herself, with a circular head that was bigger than the body itself, and some messy drawing that seemed to show Portola was wearing her trademark bodysuit.
In the picture, Portola seemed to be fighting a villain, although it was difficult to tell exactly who it was, seeing as the villain was a stick figure as well. The villain, such as it was, appeared to be shooting fire at Portola, but that was all Alna could figure out.
“Portola, I presume,” Alna observed, noting that Chavelle’s eyes lit up when she got it right. “Have you been watching her movies?”
Chavelle nodded her head, curls bouncing with the force of her enthusiasm. “And Dad’s been reading me the book, too.”
“Has he, now?” Alna could hear the scepticism in her own voice. From what she understood, Portola’s story wasn’t one hundred percent child-friendly. “Well, this is quite a lovely picture. Thank you, Chavelle.” Alna once again gave the small girl a squeeze on the shoulder, who beamed in response. “But now we must get back to your homework.”
Chavelle sighed at that, her face falling. She picked up her pencil and prepared to tackle more math.
***
When Alna arrived home sometime later, she said a quick hello to her parents before retreating to the safety of her room and settled down in front of her laptop. To say this latest case was frustrating her would be a terrible insult. Despite having confirmed to herself that the latest “accidents” were murders, Alna found she was barely making any progress in finding out who the killer could be. She’d made a mental list of suspects, only to eliminate most of them when further research revealed the unlikelihood of their involvement. She had finally narrowed it down to three people and had every intention of learning more about them.
Declan Taylor seemed promising. Six years ago he drugged a man known as Kace Oscar with a lethal amount of cocaine as an act of revenge for something or other; Alna didn’t particularly care why. Taylor had put a considerable effort into making it look like Oscar overdosed, which, seeing as the man was known to take drugs in the past, Alna had to admit was smart. However, further investigation by the police had revealed that Oscar had recently been to drug rehab, and found no other evidence of his apparent relapse. Thus, a good two months later, Declan Taylor was arrested for murder, and put into Brigate Prison, only to be released a month before the accidental deaths had started.
Now Alna had to meet Taylor in a public place, interview him without making him suspicious, and make sure she didn’t endanger herself or anyone else in the process. Just that thought made Alna groan internally, her mental world darkening with clouds that mirrored her frustration. Breaking into Lewis’ house had been much easier, even with the near miss when she’d left.
Sitting back in her chair, Alna stared at nothing in particular as she allowed her thoughts to race. Perhaps if she “happened” to run into Taylor she could strike up a conversation with him. Right, because it was normal for a girl of sixteen to want to talk to a known killer, Alna thought with annoyance.
However, she didn’t doubt that some people would want to talk to the man—what with their morbid curiosities. Given that, it wouldn’t look too out of place for Alna to interview Taylor. The insensitive teenager with a morbid curiosity could work as her act.
Now Alna had to find a public place Taylor frequented, find out the time, and head over there, hoping her research was right.
She hated uncertainties such as this.
After rolling her shoulders and stretching, Alna once more placed her hands over the keyboard of her laptop, preparing to immerse herself in research once more. An hour later, the ringing of her cell phone interrupted her. Annoyed, Alna picked up her phone, her expression softening when Marianna’s name appeared on the screen. A slight smile appeared on her face as she pressed the “accept call” button.
“Hello, Marianna,” Alna said, closing her laptop in case someone came downstairs.
“Alna, hey.” Alna noted with a touch of concern that there was a shaky edge to her voice. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” Alna replied in a measured voice. “And you? How are you faring?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Alna said nothing to that, waiting for her to elaborate. Marianna sighed. “My parents are getting more and more difficult to be around, but what else is new?” She sounded bitter. Alna frowned.
“My mother meant what she said, you know. You’re welcome here any time.”
“That’s nice of her,” Marianna said, sounding dejected. Alna half-wondered if having a little discussion with Marianna’s parents would be a breach in her privacy. Probably. She’d set that thought aside for another day.
“But that’s not why I called,” Marianna continued, changing the subject. “How are you doing? Anything new happening?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“You mean in the two days since our last date?” Alna teased, unable to help herself.
“Um,” Marianna stuttered, and Alna could easily picture a pretty pink blush spreading across her cheeks. “I mean—trying to make conversation, I guess.”
“I can tell,” Alna remarked. Before Marianna could say anything else, she added, “How are things going in school?” From what Alna knew about Marianna so far, she was likely flustered right about now. No need to make her more uncomfortable.
“Fine. I have a test coming up in social studies, but I think I’m prepared for it.”
“Do you enjoy social studies?” Alna asked as she allowed herself to slump against the back of her chair, settling in for what was looking to be a long conversation.
“It’s not my favorite class, but it’s all right. I have a hard time with English, sometimes; Shakespeare’s always hard.”
“Hmm,” Alna acknowledged. “Have you been covering any history?”
“A bit. We did a review on how Henri Wallstone discovered Starla.” There was a brief pause on Marianna’s end before Alna heard her give a quiet laugh. “When I was a kid, I thought the name sounded like some kind of magical kingdom.”
“It does rather sound like something out of a fantasy novel,” Alna agreed. Really, how many countries were formed by a meteor hitting an island, thus leading to its discovery?
“Yeah,” Marianna said, sounding cheered. Alna felt rather pleased with herself, knowing she could help bring Marianna’s spirits up.
They talked for another half an hour, in which time the two girls made plans for yet another date. A movie, this time. They spent some time debating which one they should see before they agreed on The Curious Case of the Missing Princess—a mystery and comedy. Alna was sceptical, but based on how interested Marianna seemed, she figured watching the film couldn’t hurt. Especially when Marianna was trying hard to find something they could both enjoy.
“Would you mind if I invited some friends? Hikari would like to meet you and I have thr—two other friends who also want to meet you.”
Alna ignored the brief flare of disappointment. If she was going to commit herself to a relationship with Marianna, then she should meet the people important to her. She might not even find her friends boring, as she tended to with plenty of people she met. Alna would have to at least attempt to like them.
“Not at all. I would like to meet them. Let me know when a specific date and time is decided, will you?”
“I will,” Marianna agreed, and Alna could detect the smile in her voice. It took an edge off her apprehension. She hadn’t missed the pause in Marianna’s sentence when she’d suggested inviting her friends. Clearly, her parents weren’t the only people who were being unsupportive.
When Marianna ended the conversation a few minutes later, Alna dived right back into her research, stopping only to have dinner with her family when Colton came downstairs to retrieve her.
Researching Taylor was more difficult than Alna expected. Oh, sure, she knew the basics, but finding a place he frequented was proving to be quite the task. Considering he’d only been out of prison for a month, it would be logical for him to be focusing on “straightening out his life” instead of, say, spending time in tea shops. Or something. It wasn’t making her life any easier, though.
Which is why, by the time Alna found the information she needed, it was almost three in the morning. Seeing this, Alna felt a flicker of surprise, as she hadn’t noticed time flying by, too absorbed in her work. Now that she had finally resurfaced from her little bubble, Alna noticed the drowsiness pulling at her eyelids, and her parched throat. It looked as though she hadn’t heeded her mother’s advice of “Don’t stay up too late, all right, hun?”
Standing up, Alna arched her back, and let out a groan of discomfort as she worked out the stiffness in her muscles. Pins and needles shot through her left leg and Alna grimaced, shifting her stance. After waiting a moment for the sensation to recede somewhat, Alna turned and headed out of her room, intent on having a glass of water before she would succumb to sleep.
Despite her body’s complaints, Alna’s research finally proved to be a success—very much worth the discomfort, in her opinion. Taylor, as it turned out, did have a bit of a safe haven. Evidently, he enjoyed visiting a bookstore on a semi-regular basis. Now all that was left was to visit it regularly until he showed up. And give her parents a plausible excuse for being out of the house so often. Considering she now had a girlfriend, Alna doubted that would be too difficult. The thought made her smile.
Once back in her room, Alna wasted no time in putting on some night clothes and slipping into her bed.
Before unconsciousness took over, Alna switched the alarm on her phone to eight-thirty. She’d sleep in this time. She didn’t have to be at the bookstore until noon, anyway.
***
“Back again?” asked Lassie Partman, the owner of the bookstore, Between the Pages.
Alna had spent many hours in this store, reading books while waiting for Taylor to show up. It was a rather nice store, with a cushioned ledge by a window one could settle in, some couches positioned around a fireplace, and some store-owned tablets people could use to browse, buy, and download their ebooks with.
Alna soon found she was disappointed that she’d discovered the place under such dire circumstances. She may have to come back here sometime under more pleasant conditions.
“I’m afraid so,” Alna replied with a wry smile.
Lassie gave her a playful grin, her one ear piercing swinging with the movement. “Can’t get enough of our books, can you?”
“You have an admirable selection,” Alna agreed, attempting to subtly glance behind herself, toward the door. The person who entered wasn’t Taylor, so she refocused her attention on Lassie, who seemed unperturbed by Alna’s peculiar nature; it slipped through her Ilene Dyson persona sometimes. Perhaps this was because Lassie herself was likely seen as odd at times.
“We do,” Lassie said. “If I wasn’t scared of damaging them, I’d read half the books in this store. But there’s always ebooks for that, right?”
“Indeed.”
Alna’s polite expression became a bit strained. As much as she might like Lassie, Alna was there for a reason, and it wasn’t to make idle chit chat. That, and she was wishing for some time to herself. Now, if Taylor were to show up, that would be another matter.
After chatting for a few more minutes, Alna extracted herself from the conversation, retreating to the empty window seat. Pulling out her phone, she opened the picture Marianna sent her of a robin sitting next to her foot. I got off the bus and it just landed right next to me, she’d written.
Alna smiled and wrote, It must spend plenty of time in the city if it’s so brave. Still, that is an interesting experience. School is going well? Knowing she was in class and wouldn’t reply for some time, Alna opened the digital book she’d bought yesterday and started to read, all the while keeping a subtle eye on the door.
It wasn’t until an hour later that Taylor entered the store, who Alna, half expecting him not to show up at all, almost ignored. However, the instant Alna recognized the man, her head snapped toward him, and she sat up straighter. Scolding herself for her impulsive action, Alna slumped back against the wall, taking a few minutes to observe Taylor over the top of her phone.
Declan Taylor wasn’t all that remarkable, regarding his appearance. He had red hair with hints of grey at his temples, accompanied by a beard trimmed rather haphazardly, leaving some patches longer than the rest. He wore what appeared to be second-hand clothes: a well-worn jean jacket with evidence of bleach stains, faded black pants, and sneakers. In his hand, he grasped a to-go cup from a coffee shop nearby.
When Taylor’s eyes landed on her, Alna allowed herself to look at him with open curiosity. Then, pretending embarrassment, she snapped her eyes back to her phone and tightened her hand around it. She thought she heard Taylor give an annoyed little sigh before he proceeded down one of the six aisles in the store.
Once Taylor had turned his back to her, Alna allowed her eyes to wander over to him, searching for details. Judging by the state of his clothing, Alna was certain he must struggle with money. Something must have happened to it while he was in jail. But then, why would he come to a bookshop? Alna wondered. Most of the novels were quite expensive.
Alna continued to observe Taylor. She watched as he settled down into an armchair near the fireplace, retrieving a tattered paperback from some secret pocket in his jacket. Well, that answered one question. She turned away, ceasing to look at Taylor directly for fear of being caught.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alna noticed Lassie shift her hand closer to her cell phone. A glance around the shop revealed that no one else seemed concerned by Taylor’s presence. It was interesting how the shop owner seemed well aware of the potential danger everyone was in, while the customers remained ignorant.
Alna waited a few more minutes until a space was vacated next to Taylor. When the woman walked off, Alna turned her back to the bookshop’s window and placed her feet on the floor. She allowed herself a quick stretch, keeping her movements deliberately languid and casual, as she continued to observe Taylor in her peripheral vision. He remained focused on his novel. All right then, it was time for him to take a quick break.
Walking over to the couch, Alna lowered herself onto the bright cushion, the front of her legs immediately receiving the radiation from the fireplace, warming them. She once again opened up her digital book and read a couple of lines before looking up at Taylor, pasting a look of morbid fascination on her face. It wasn’t too difficult.
She did this a few more times, alternating between pretending to read and “gaping” at Taylor. With satisfaction, Alna noted that he seemed to become more and more irritated with every one of her stares. When she fixed her gaze on him for almost a minute, he snapped.
“What?” Taylor growled, slamming his book down in his lap and glowering at her. “There something you need?”
Alna jumped and widened her eyes, doing her best to look startled.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized, pushing a brown strand of hair away from her face. She added a nervous lilt to her voice. “It’s just that… You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he deadpanned. “I don’t think we have.” The glare he gave her was venomous.
“Really? Huh. I could have sworn I’ve seen you somewhere before.” Alna allowed her eyes to sweep up and down Taylor before pasting a look of shocked realization on her face.
“Wait, that crash earlier this month. Were you there? I could swear I saw you,” Alna questioned with faux curiosity. She observed Taylor’s reaction to her inquiry, searching for anything that might give him away. His posture had become tense when she’d asked her question, but not overly defensive.
Taylor raised an eyebrow. Alna noted that he seemed to have no difficulty keeping eye contact. “There’ve been a lotta crashes lately, girl. Which one are you referring to?”
Alna felt her temper flare at the mocking and condescending tone in his voice. She forced herself to calm down. “The one that happened a little while ago. There was an article about it in Wallstone Weekly.”
“I don’t read the newspaper,” Taylor grumbled. “But I heard about it on TV—and I sure as hell wasn’t there.” He glared at her. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
Alna shrugged her shoulders. “I was just curious, is all.” She pretended to hesitate, glancing around before leaning towards him and saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? All these crashes that have been happening?”
There. Let him think she was onto him—if he was even the one behind the murders.
However, to Alna’s mild disappointment, Taylor’s composure gave no indication that he was the mastermind. He didn’t look nervous—he wasn’t sweating or fidgeting—or defensive. Instead, he continued to look annoyed.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, kid, and I don’t care.” Flipping open his book once more, he gave Alna a long, irritated glare. “Now, is there something else you need, or can I have some peace?”
“No,” Alna said, sitting back and giving the man a polite smile, “that’s all. Thanks. I apologize for disturbing you.”
Getting up, Alna moved once more, settling down at one of the small tables situated to the left of the fireplace. Pulling out her phone, Alna once again continued to read as she observed Taylor. She ran through the brief interaction in her mind.
As much as it disappointed her, when Taylor said he hadn’t been at the crash site, his mannerisms seemed to show his sincerity. Even now, once Alna left him alone, Taylor went back to his novel, looking vexed by their conversation, but otherwise unaffected.
Alna cast a look in Lassie’s direction, noting how, despite the wary look on her face, she pulled her hand away from her phone and sat back in a chair, awaiting the next customer. Alna let out an annoyed sigh and pressed her thumb and forefinger into her eyes.
Well, back to the drawing board.