by Eryn Scott
Alex frowned, but didn’t say anything as I unwrapped the leather cord keeping it closed. When I opened the journal to the first page, I sucked in a surprised breath.
It looked like we weren’t going to have to wait until we got access to the internet to find out the meaning of James’s mysterious symbol.
6
“Well that’s a surprise,” Alex said as he read the first page of the journal over my shoulder. Forehead furrowed, he said, “Where did you find that exactly?” He knelt next to the truck, ducking to see underneath. “I’ll need to show the sheriff when he comes back.”
“Right here,” I pointed, kneeling next to him. “It’s gotta be James’s, right? Maybe it fell out of his bag or something.”
“Weird place for it to fall. Here, you said?” Alex looked at me until I nodded in confirmation. “It’s really far under the tru…” his voice petered out as he seemed to stare at something on the ground. Edging in closer, Alex craned his neck to look up at the undercarriage of the truck. I could see his eyes narrow.
“What is it?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Turning on the flashlight, he aimed it under the truck, then back at the ground. Backing away, he turned the flashlight off and stood.
“The journal isn’t wet, is it?” he asked.
I flipped it over. “Nope. Dry as a bone.” I cringed slightly at my choice of words, but Alex didn’t seem to care.
“The brake line has been cut on this truck.” His forehead creased as he glanced down at the journal again.
Eyes wide, I gasped. “Seriously? Sheriff Langley will have to admit a mountain lion couldn’t have done that.”
“Yeah.” Alex scanned the campground. “Let’s get back to our camp before Langley comes back.”
Our friends were seated around the fire pit, perched on logs, chatting, and chomping on a late lunch of hot dogs and chili.
“Whatcha got there?” Liv asked when she looked up and noticed the journal clutched in my hand.
Before I could answer, Nate nonchalantly asked, “I didn’t know there was a gift shop at the ranger’s station. Did you purchase a diary, Pepper?”
“It’s the dead guy’s,” I blurted out before anyone else could take a guess.
“You bought a dead man’s journal at the gift shop?” Liv asked, squinting one eye.
Alex’s face darkened. “She found it under that truck.” He motioned to the white truck behind us now.
“You guys have to see this.” I walked into the seating area around the fire pit and plopped down on the log. Hammy jumped up onto the log and Alex sat on my other side.
“Remember the symbol on the sleeve of his sweatshirt? Next to the NWU marmot?” I asked, flipping the journal open.
My friends nodded slowly.
“The thing that looked like a star?” Carson asked.
“Yes, but it’s not a star. We walked up to one of their cars because I spotted the same symbol. It’s actually three As positioned like the west, north, and east of a compass rose.” Opening the journal to the first page, I turned it around and showed them the large drawing of the symbol on the inside cover.
Liv tipped her head to one side. “What does it mean?”
“Alpha Alpha Alpha,” I read from the next page. “Or TriAlphas.”
Carson rubbed the back of his neck. “Like a fraternity?”
“I thought they went to NWU, though.” Liv said. “We don’t have a Greek system anymore.”
The fact that NWU didn’t allow sororities or fraternities anymore was a constant point of debate among student and faculty alike. They’d been disbanded over thirty years ago after there had been a series of student deaths linked to rush-specific hazing incidences. Some people loved the absence, seeing it as a pro when looking at NWU versus some of the other state colleges. Other people fought almost constantly to change the rule, to bring them back.
“Maybe we were wrong.” Nate shrugged. “It’s possible they don’t go to NWU.”
“And just happened to buy apparel from a small university they don’t attend?” Victoria countered, surprising us all with another of her infrequent vocal opinions.
“Right,” I said. “That seems oddly coincidental.”
“Not to mention a huge waste of money,” Liv added. “What?” she said when we all turned our attention on her. “Those sweatshirts aren’t cheap.”
Carson, who’d been sitting quietly, with ever-widening eyes, sucked in a quick breath.
“What is it, Moore?” Alex asked him.
“About three months ago, we got a new guy in student services. He came from the counseling offices and had all of these crazy stories about students coming in and spilling stuff to the people at the front desk before they even got in to see the counselor. Anyway, he was telling us about this student who was claiming mental and physical harm from a hazing which happened during rush week. When my coworker told him it wasn’t possible, that fraternities were outlawed on our campus, he told him there was an underground frat still operating, and he was trying to expose them because of what they’d done to him. The kid said it had been around for something like thirty years. They thought the kid was just making it up, we all did, but now…” Carson shook his head.
“I’ve definitely seen this symbol before,” I said, thinking back to where I might’ve come across it. The community message boards in the student center were full of club flyers, not to mention the various signs stapled onto telephone poles around campus touting tryouts and signups. “I never thought about it too hard, I guess. There are so many clubs to keep track of.”
“An underground fraternity at Northern Washington University,” Alex said, his exhale full of disbelief.
“And our neighbors are in it, deep,” I told the others, turning the page to show them what Alex and I had already found. “Look.” The next page was a list of the different officer positions in the frat, and who held each one.
The first line said, “President, James Mercer.” It went on to list Matt Kincaid as the vice president, Kevin Thomas as the secretary, and Grady Gaines as the treasurer. There were other positions listed below, but I didn’t recognize the other first names as any we’d heard from the group today.
Nate’s forehead furrowed as he listened, and Liv blinked in disbelief.
“So our keg-stand crew is really a secret frat?”
“And someone killed their leader,” Victoria said, startling us all with another sentence.
“What else is in there?” Carson asked, motioning to the journal.
I paged through it. “It goes on to describe the TriAlpha’s mission statement, their vision and then it turns into more of a diary.” From the snippets I read as I scanned it reminded me so much of the Thoreau I’d been reading lately. A lot of antiestablishment, live outside the norms. Though, instead of the peaceful tones of Walden, it definitely felt more on par with Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience. I glanced up. “We think it has to be James’s. Which means that must be his truck.”
Everyone agreed except Alex, who I knew was not a fan of assumptions. Even so, he did give me a reluctant shrug; it was hard to deny.
“A truck on which the brakes appear to have been tampered with,” Alex said.
The group gasped and started chatting about theories. I couldn’t seem to focus on what they were saying, however; the journal was far too interesting. My fingers itched to page through it, read every entry—the journal was almost half full of entries.
“Should we call the sheriff? Let him know what we found?” I asked, turning to Alex.
“I’ll call him,” Alex said, putting a hand on my arm. “I’m going to the ranger’s station to use their phone, so I’ll be gone for about ten minutes.” He held my gaze, then glanced down at the journal.
I squinted at him. When Alex raised his eyebrows and looked at my pocket, I began to understand his meaning. A smile curled across my face.
“Right. Good,” I said. “We’ll st
ay here.”
He walked away, disappearing around a grouping of trees. Then I tied Hammy’s leash to the nearest camp chair. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I brought up the camera. As quickly as I could, I began snapping pictures of every page.
“Pepper, what in blazes are you…?” Nate sputtered.
I didn’t have to answer him, because Liv shushed the man and said, “She’s just making sure we have access to the evidence, too.”
“If this sheriff is telling people it was a mountain lion, he’s definitely not someone I trust,” Carson added.
Nate’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Ah, clever. Very clever, indeed. If that charlatan of a sheriff isn’t going to properly investigate this murder, I wouldn’t trust anyone else more than you and Alex to get to the bottom of it.”
My heart swelled at Nate’s vote of confidence. I instantly felt badly I’d ever thought he might actually hurt someone with the knife he’d brought.
“Thanks, guys,” I said.
Victoria grinned; Carson and Liv nodded. I know Thoreau said he would rather sit alone on a pumpkin than crowded on a velvet cushion. But if these were the people with me, I’d happily sit anywhere with them.
“Hey, you’d better get going,” Liv said, pointing to the journal.
She was right, Alex would be back soon. I resumed flipping and clicking. Flipping and clicking. My heart hammered from the adrenaline and the pace at which I worked, but by the time Alex came walking back into our camp, I’d just finished taking the photos. My fingers shook slightly as I wound the leather strap back around the journal. He gave me a wink, but other than that, pretended not to have any knowledge of what I’d done while he was gone.
The other conversations going on between my friends ceased, and I felt them lean toward Alex.
“He coming to pick it up?” I said, asking the question I assumed was on everyone’s minds.
Alex nodded. “He was already on his way back. I talked with one of the deputies. Should be here—”
The sound of cars crunching to a stop behind us made us all stop.
“Now,” Alex finished, taking in the two SUVs leaking college guys, a sheriff, and a deputy.
I stood and walked over to watch the guys. Some of their heads hung a little lower in sadness. A few of them kept checking over their shoulders, while others held their bodies tight and their faces even more so, exuding frustration. Maybe the questioning hadn’t gone so well.
The sheriff pulled off his hat and scowled over at us. It was only then that I realized my friends had all stood and walked over next to me to watch as well.
“Well, I guess it’s now or never,” Alex said, pulling in a deep breath.
Placing the journal into his hands, I said, “Good luck” and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek.
The rest of us stayed behind as Alex walked over, journal in hand. Sheriff Langley raised his eyebrows, expression closed as he listened to Alex talk. He took the journal when Alex handed it to him, and I wrapped my fingers tightly around my phone. At least we had the pictures. After that, he followed Alex over to the white truck and they disappeared behind as Alex showed him where we’d found the journal as well as the brake fluid.
Unable to see them any longer, I turned back to our camp. When I looked behind me, however, I gasped in terror. One of our camp chairs was… moving? It hobbled from one end of the fire pit to the other. My blood froze in my veins. Holy mother of… was our campsite haunted? Where ghosts real? Had James come back to tell us who’d really murdered him?
Upon hearing my surprise, my friends whirled around and caught sight of the possessed seat which seemed to be gaining speed. It skidded around Liv and Carson’s tent, then headed straight for us. Just when I was about kick up some major dust and take off in the opposite direction, I caught sight of the black and white blur preceding the chair. Hammy’s eyes were huge and rimmed in white as she locked them onto mine and headed my way.
I heard Carson let out a whoosh of air in what he’d never admit was relief.
“Oh, Ham!” I called, kneeling down to catch the flying mess of dog and leash and chair catapulting toward me.
Luckily, as Hammy crashed into my arms, Liv reached out and stopped the camp chair so it didn’t come barreling into me, too. The little dog’s body trembled as her legs continued to windmill, unsure if she was still being chased by the scary contraption.
“Shhh, shhh. Hammy, I’m so sorry, girl. I thought the chair would be heavy enough to keep you in one place,” I cooed into her ear as I smoothed the hair on her back and scratched behind her ear.
After a few seconds of that, she was still panting, but had calmed considerably. I undid her leash, so she was no longer attached to the evil chair, and everyone helped me in showering her with praise and scratches.
By the time she was back to normal, Alex was walking back toward us. We all checked behind him to see the sheriff walk over to the frat guys who were now sitting around their own campfire. After talking with them for a minute and collecting a few things I couldn’t quite identify into evidence bags, he and his deputy came our way.
“Evening,” the sheriff said, tipping his hat. “I’m going to need to take a look at any knives you folks have with you.”
7
My shock at the sheriff asking for anything we had which could’ve been used as the murder weapon was quickly eclipsed by my excitement that he actually seemed to be taking this murder seriously. Good find, Alex, I thought. It seemed the brake-line clue had set some kind of fire under the reluctant sheriff.
“I have a pocket knife,” Alex said, standing and moving toward his truck, where our packed bags sat.
I shook my head, but Liv got up and went over to the cooking utensils she’d brought, among which was a small knife.
Carson put his hands up. “You interested in a pair of old scissors? Because that’s all I’ve got in my car.”
Sheriff Langley nodded seriously. Carson’s smile faded and he moved to get them out of his car. Then everyone looked to Nate and Victoria. I held my breath, remembering the scary switchblade.
Victoria swiveled her head to look at Nate.
He stood up. “Oh, fine. But for the record, I think it’s ludicrous.” He walked over to his bag and rummaged in it until he pulled out the large knife. “If I wanted to kill someone, it would be much easier to poison them than slit their throat.” Nate wrinkled his nose. “So messy.” He held out the knife, dropping it into the bag the deputy had opened.
Pressing my lips together, I tried to hold back the groan clawing at my throat. Naaaaate, my thoughts whined. Could the man make it through any situation without making a complete creep of himself?
Both the sheriff and the deputy stared at Nate wide-eyed, telling me I wasn’t alone in my wonderings about his words.
“He doesn’t—” I stuttered.
“He wouldn’t—” Liv added.
“We’ve all been drinking his coffee and none of us are dead.” Everyone’s attention turned to Victoria who just shrugged at her matter-of-fact point.
“I want that back,” Nate said, pointing at the knife before he turned and walked back to his seat near Victoria. “It’s my favorite knife.”
Liv closed her eyes to hide an eye roll. The man could not be helped. Seriously, though. Who has a favorite knife? Serial murderers, that’s who. And Nate, apparently.
The sheriff and his deputy said they’d be in touch. They turned to leave, each climbing into a now-empty SUV.
Switching my attention back to the frat guys, I noticed they began passing around a large bottle once the officers left. It was dark amber and appeared to burn on the way down—if their scrunched faces were any indication.
“To James,” we heard them say dejectedly, holding their disposable cups up in the air.
My heart ached. They were having a little wake for their friend. The whole situation was made even worse thinking about the killer possibly sitting among them—one of their friends.
“I think maybe we should go,” I whispered. We had all the clues we were going to get, hanging around here, plus these guys deserved a little privacy.
Alex nodded and the rest of our group agreed. Just as we began to move toward our tents, we heard Kevin bellow out, “Hey coffee guy, the sheriff said he has more questions, and we have to wait until he comes back, so we’re drinking. Join us for a drink in James’s honor. Bring your frien—oomf!”
Kevin doubled over as Matt punched him in the stomach. “Dude, shut up.” A few other guys whispered admonishments at Kevin.
Alex’s mouth had already begun shaping the beginning of a “no.” But when he saw Matt wanted to keep us away, he pressed his lips together and looked to Nate.
“I’m not going to have any, neither should anyone who’s driving, but that doesn’t mean passengers can’t,” he said, ignoring how the other guys definitely didn’t seem to want us to come over.
Nate pulled in a deep breath, seemingly surprised to be the one on which our invitation hinged. After a second, he said, “Let’s go.”
I eyed Alex as we followed after Nate.
“What’re you up to?” I whispered.
“Thoreau said water is the only drink for a wise man,” Alex quoted, arching one eyebrow.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I’m counting on it being true.” He winked at me and walked into their camp.
I smiled, understanding clearly. Pulling Hammy closer, I whispered, “Let’s go get some questions answered, girl.”
We schlepped ourselves back to our campsite a couple hours later, when the sun was beginning to dip beneath the jagged horizon of pine trees and mountain tops. Defeat hung off our bodies, pulling us down like the heaviest backpacks.
After all of that time we’d learned zero information about James or the TriAlphas. Zero.
Each time we tried to bring up James, the guys would just yell out his name, raise their cups, drink, and then start talking about a never-ending list of sports teams. This was either the dumbest group of men I’d ever encountered, or the most clever.
Eventually, we had to stop mentioning James because they were becoming too inebriated with all of the random cheers forcing them to drink. And unlike some people—ahem, Liv and myself—whose inhibitions fall considerably in correlation to their level of intoxication, these guys seemed to become less and less likely to share information the more they drank.