by Marlie May
The report had said possible homicide.
As much as I was tempted to challenge my aunt about what I’d discovered, I had a feeling she’d refuse to share a single detail. After all, she’d told the cop I was fragile.
Dad always said I’d been forged from steel like his mother. Maybe it was time I proved his words true. There was no harm in looking into this. Once the facts were clear, I could confront Aunt Kristy and share what I’d found with Sean.
My last period of the day was a free study hall. I headed to the library, the only place where no one expected me to be social. Rather than return to my locker for the textbook I’d need to prep for a test next week, I decided to use a school copy.
I approached the desk, where a guy I hadn’t seen before sat studying. He stood, and I blinked, because man. Tall. I was average height, but I had to lift my chin to look him in the eye. At least six-two, he was wiry in that whipcord way some guys are after doing back-breaking labor. Like hauling rocks or shoveling dirt. Not in the beefy way they became after downing protein drinks and lifting weights. This was more of an overall definition.
“Help you?” he asked in a deep, smooth voice as if his mouth cupped the words.
“Where’s Ms. Peterson?” I asked.
His shrug tightened his shirt across his chest. “I guess she’s around here somewhere.” His black hair was cut close on the sides, leaving a strategic mop on the top that half-hid his deep brown eyes—until he flipped the locks back with a jerk of his head.
“I’ve never seen anyone but her sitting at this desk before.” The librarian had become such a fixture, I’d begun to believe she slept here.
“I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”
“Why are you here?” Nosy question, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I’m, uh, doing community service.” His gaze darted sideways. “Working in the library.”
“Oh.” Awkward. I glanced around, hoping the textbook I needed would miraculously appear in front of me.
His gaze landed on my scars. Color me thankful, but I didn’t see pity in his expression. Or worse, revulsion.
“I’m sorry.” I took in a deep breath and puffed it out. “It’s none of my business.”
One corner of his lips quirked up. “I got in trouble for punching someone.”
“With your fist.”
A wry look crossed his face as he rubbed his knuckles. “Best way to do it, don’t you think?”
I propped my thigh against the desk. “Just laid back and socked him?”
“Exactly.”
More eye twinkling on his part sent dragonflies racing through my belly. I didn’t like how this guy made me feel. As if I wanted to spend time making sure that satisfied look remained on his face. Retreat sounded like a good idea. Still struggling after my loss, I wasn’t ready to jump into a relationship, let alone with a guy who settled arguments with his fists.
He cleared his throat. “Did you need anything, Ma’am?”
Ma’am? I grimaced, but when I caught the humor gleaming in his eyes, I rolled mine.
“I’m taking American Government,” I said. “I heard you keep a few textbooks here?”
“We do.” He came around from behind the desk. “This way.” With a wave, he led me across the open expanse filled with long wooden tables capped with lamps suspended on wires. Around us, kids shuffled papers. Read. We strode into the section housing long stacks of books.
“Name’s Emanuel Sancini, by the way,” he said over his shoulder. Casual-like. As if I’d come right out and asked him.
“Okay.”
“In case you were wondering.”
Actually, I’d only been speculating about whether he was a senior or one of the underclassmen.
Stopping partway down the row of books, he turned and leaned against the metal framing. “I’m Emanuel to my parents. Manuel to my friends. And Manu to my little sister. The name’s Italian.”
Cute. Did his girlfriends call him Manly? Wait. Had I actually said that?
“No girlfriend, but—”
Speaking before thinking was going to be my downfall.
Color filled his cheeks, but he recovered quickly and chuckled. “I guess you could call me Manly if you wanted.”
I snorted, a silly sound I hadn’t made in far too long.
In another life, I would’ve flirted, giving it back as fast as he fed it my way. But how could I laugh—let alone flirt—when my parents and Brianna couldn’t laugh along with me?
Grief sunk its claws back into my belly.
“It’s always good to have options,” he said. When I stood mutely, struggling to hold back my tears, his shoulders slumped. “About that textbook.” He turned and traced his fingertip along a row of books before pulling one out. “Here you go. American Gov.”
I took it from him, holding it close to my chest. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” Striding around me, he moved down the aisle. “Will that be all, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
He turned and winked, before strolling past the end of the row, where he slipped from view.
As he returned to the main desk, I made my way through the open room and found an empty table in the middle. I dropped the book onto the smooth wooden surface, and the chair screeched on the tiles when I pulled it out to sit. Notepad open and pen in hand, I flipped through the textbook pages until I reached the section I’d need to cover for my test.
But while I tried to focus on my work, I couldn’t stop from peeking through my lashes at Manly. Despite the fact that I didn’t deserve to feel joy, it kept hopping around inside me. Whenever I slid my gaze in his direction, his eyes met mine. Eventually, he pushed his papers away, tipped back in his chair, and linked his hands across his belly, outright staring.
If Brianna was here, I’d turn and we’d barely hold back our laughter. Because, cute guy. With a simple look, we’d both know that one, he was interested, and two, that I shouldn’t let on (yet) that I might be open to feeling the same, and three…I nibbled on my pen. What would three be? If Brianna was here, she’d…
Brianna. Who was dead. Like my parents. Victims of a possible homicide.
Rage and sadness dueled inside me and I couldn’t swallow, let alone breathe. How could I forget even for a second that someone had taken them from me forever?
I set aside my reading and pulled my phone to do some research.
I did not look up at Emanuel again.
A Google search of how to investigate a murder brought up 62,600,000 hits. One site had steps.
Take advanced investigative classes. Not happening in the foreseeable future.
Communicate with your D.A.’s office. Sure, I could stride into the office and demand answers and they’d fill me in on the case. Ha.
Create a Murder List with the details related to the crime. I could do that.
Shoving my hair behind my ears, I wrote Murder List and underneath, Timeline, Follow Leads, Treat Everything as Evidence, and Persevere.
Nothing would stop me from the last.
The timeline was set. Leads…I didn’t have many, but they’d come as my investigation developed. Evidence. Hmm. Other than the accident report and…Wait. That letter Dad planned to send to Mr. Somerfield could be considered evidence, right? I’d steal it from Dad’s desk and study it further.
Suspects. Only one was obvious. I wrote:
Mr. Somerfield.
I couldn't think of anyone else.
Motive: He must've discovered Dad planned to end their partnership. Plenty of people killed for money and the app Dad had developed would bring in a sizable chunk of change. Everything I'd ever seen of Mr. Somerfield suggested he was sneaky. But he’d have to be clever to pull this off.
I'd need to be careful or he'd discover I was on to him. If he could kill my dad for money, he'd have no problem eliminating me to ensure he got away with the crime.
How was I going to pin the murders on him? That was a biggie.
He might
've left something incriminating around. If I could find it, I could bring it to the police and demand they arrest him.
While this sounded a bit too much like a Saturday night cop show, I couldn't think of anything better.
I went back to my schoolwork.
Sometime later, a tickle between my shoulder blades made me drop my pen and glance around. Seeing nothing unusual among the book stacks, I stretched my arms overhead, wincing at the pinch in my wrists and palms. Strangely enough, while I’d been attempting to cram details about the constitutional underpinnings of the U.S. Government onto paper, the study area had emptied.
No Manuel, around, either. He’d left the desk…unmanned.
A low shifting sound like shoes creeping closer drifted from the stacks, followed by endless silence. My heart dropped to the floor, and I shifted sideways, nearly tipping my chair backward. The screech of metal sliced through me, and the noise echoed in the empty room.
“Hello?” My voice shook. “Anyone there?”
The sound had to be kids hanging out in the stacks. Someone looking for a book. Or maybe a couple making out in the back corner.
Someone whispered, but the voice was too low for me to understand.
I stood, my breath coming sharp. “Manuel?”
The whisper halted but was followed by laughter. Not the light, teasing kind that made you grin before joining in. This was a cackle you ran from. One made by a masked man wielding an ax. A pointy-nosed witch riding a broom. Or a blood-covered clown.
I’d always hated clowns.
“Who’s there?” They must be pulling an early Halloween prank. Why would anyone do that to a girl who’d just had her life ripped to shreds? It wasn’t funny.
I grabbed my papers and crammed them into my notebook, then clutched the binder to my chest. Pepper spray retrieved from my pocket, I backed toward the door. Maybe this would show whoever it was that I stuck up for myself.
My heart a phantom drum in my chest, I slammed my hip against the bar to make the door open.
I pivoted to rush down the hall but smacked into someone…
He grabbed me.
3
I screamed.
“Whoa. Wait.”
I spun to see Manuel backing away.
He lifted his palms. “I’m sorry. You ran right into me.”
“It’s not you.” I raked my hand through my hair. “Well, I guess it is you. A little. Since you sorta jumped me.”
“I didn’t exactly jump you.”
“Startled me, then.”
He grunted and waved for me to continue.
“Someone was laughing inside the library.” I was blabbering again, but it was all I could do not to cry. “It was scary laughter.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like a clown.”
Only concern filled his face, which made me feel grateful all over again. I didn’t need him thinking I’d completely lost it.
Pulling open the glass door, he strode inside. “Wait here.”
No way. I crept close behind him, my pepper spray armed and ready. We moved lightly around the tables and on toward the long row of stacks.
“Didn’t want to wait in the hall?” he whispered over his shoulder.
“Would you?”
His face tightened. “Probably not.”
“That’s when girls who wait for manly guys to investigate find themselves chopped into tiny pieces,” I said. “With an ax.”
“You watch a lot of horror movies?”
Only lately. “I maxed out on romantic comedies, mysteries, and cartoons, then dove into the scary stuff. Horror felt seasonal.”
“You must like movies, then.” Finding no one in the stacks, he crossed the room again, aiming for the main desk, and I hurried to keep up. Rounding it, he approached Ms. Peterson’s office. After creeping along the wall by the door—a la special agent—Manuel wrapped his hand around the knob. With a nod, which encouraged me to lift my pepper spray to handgun level, he swung open the door.
Nothing inside but a desk with piles of papers, some cabinets, and an empty office chair. No Ms. Peterson.
“Maybe whoever you heard is gone,” he said.
“Maybe.” Returning to the main room, I sagged against the wall, and he joined me. “Or whoever it was is hiding.”
“Hopefully without an ax.”
I grimaced and shoved my hair off my face.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Other than feeling like I need to stop watching TV, yeah.”
“Time to ax horror movies?”
My lips twisted, and I socked his arm.
He chuckled and nudged his head toward the entrance. “Come on.”
Leaving the library, I picked up my notebook from where I’d dropped it on the hallway floor and clutched it to my chest.
I’d heard someone in the stacks, hadn’t I? Or had I just been dreaming? Sleep was a precious commodity lately. I’d even resorted to popping the sleeping pills my doctor prescribed. But I hadn’t felt sleepy while working on my investigation.
There was nothing I hated more than doubting myself.
“Thanks for checking things out for me,” I said.
A quick jerk flipped Manuel’s hair back, revealing his warm eyes. “Thanks for playing back-up.” He smiled down at my hand still gripping my pepper spray.
Face overheating, I slipped it back into my pocket
Down the hall, my aunt called out, “Janine? Is that you?”
I cringed and darted my gaze up to Manuel’s. “I really prefer Janie.”
“Sure beats Ma’am.”
“Always.” After waving, I scooted down the hall to join my aunt standing outside the front office, chatting with our principal.
When I peeked over my shoulder, he grinned.
The doctors had suggested we wait to go through my parent’s will until I felt better. While I wasn’t sure I truly felt better, it was time.
My aunt drove to the lawyer’s and we were ushered into a big office with windows overlooking Marvel Square. I’d played on the grass out there when I was a kid. After, my parents would take me for an ice cream cone. Butter pecan for Mom, mint chocolate chip for Dad, and pistachio for me.
“Ladies.” Justin Trudale, my parents’ lawyer, stood. Dressed in a snug suit, he spoke with a slight accent that reminded me of how people talked when my parents took me to Québec. He flicked his hand forward. “Please, take a seat.” After putting reading glasses on his broad nose, he opened a manila folder lying on his green blotter. He sorted through the paperwork. “This won’t take long.”
Aunt Kristy shifted her hips, probably trying to find a comfy position. Hard wooden seats didn’t invite lingering. Reaching over the chair arm, she took my hand.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said, as if the squeeze wasn’t enough. “Don’t worry.”
“Everything appears to be in order,” Mr. Trudale said. “Your parents made out their will after you were born, Ms. Davis.” His intent gaze made me realize I’d been fidgeting. “If something happened to one of them, the other would’ve inherited.” He coughed, obviously realizing the awkwardness of his phrasing. Like it was inconvenient my parents died together.
I shuddered and nodded for him to continue.
“They added a codicil in the event that neither of them outlived you. Since they predeceased you in the…” His rheumy eyes flicked to Aunt Kristy, before returning to me. “The accident, that is, you inherit everything.” He ran his pen down a column as he spoke. “The home without a mortgage. Two cars that are also paid off.”
I struggled to hold back tears. My parents’ lives, reduced to a few objects. It wasn’t fair. I needed them. Didn’t anyone know that? I couldn’t care less about what they’d left behind.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Decent bank accounts, a small stock portfolio, plus your father’s share in his company, which was their biggest asset.” He lifted one eyebrow as if he speculated about what I’d do
with all this surprising wealth. I hadn’t realized my parents had much. “Everything will be held in a trust until you turn twenty-one. Until then, all bills will be paid by the estate for your upkeep.”
Estate? I should be grateful I didn’t have to worry about money, but for some reason, this conversation felt slimy.
“A certain percentage of it can, of course, be released on an annual basis under the discretion of me, your trustee.” His lips twitched. “For example, to help pay for college. Or buy you a car. Kristine will notify me of any requests you may have.” Squinting over his glasses, he studied Aunt Kristy. “As you already know, the court granted your petition for full guardianship over Janine. You’re her only surviving relative; no one contested.” He coughed. “I suppose, if something were to happen to her, you’d now be her sole heir.”
The bright gleam in his eyes came across slick. I glanced back and forth between them, trying to ignore the suspicion forming inside me. What if Mr. Somerfield wasn’t the only suspect?
No. My aunt wouldn’t do something like that. Neither would their lawyer.
“As Janine’s guardian, you’ll collect a salary from the estate,” Mr. Trudale said.
“I don’t need money to take care of my niece.” She sniffed, and her chin trembled. I suspected she might cry. While she and my father hadn’t been close, she’d been his little sister. That must mean something to her now. Maybe lost opportunities.
“You should take a salary,” I said. “I don’t mind.” The fact that she resisted eased my concern. If she’d been after Dad’s money, she would’ve been all over this chance to make some right away.
“I have my income from teaching,” she said firmly. Which was a fraction of what teachers should make.
I tightened my hand over hers. Despite her keeping the accident report from me, I didn’t want her feeling uncomfortable about this. “Take it.”
Pink filled her cheeks. Her tears dried, and her tone softened. “I still don’t feel right about this. You know I’m glad to care for you even if money isn’t involved.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.” She nodded, like the gesture was needed to solidify the argument in her mind.