Brook noticed his thinning hair, which was styled to disguise a receding hairline. A faint network of broken capillaries across his nose and cheeks was evident, confirming Carol’s opinion of long-term alcohol abuse. He couldn’t quite mask his surprise at finding Carol sitting at the table.
“Sorry.” Tyler’s voice carried a slight gravel of someone who'd had one too many cigarettes with last night's drinks. “Principal Watkins said someone was waiting to speak with me. I assumed it was the sheriff wanting a statement about what happened at the PTA meeting last week.”
Theo stood, his movement fluid and purposeful.
“Mr. Quinn, I'm Theo Neville. This is Brooklyn Sloane.” He then gestured toward the empty chair beside Carol. “Please, have a seat. We were just finishing up with Ms. Hensley.”
“They aren’t here about the commotion last week, Tyler,” Carol warned him as she pushed her chair back. “They’re private investigators wanting to ask questions about Heather.”
“Thank you for your insights, Ms. Hensley,” Brook replied as they both stood. She extended her hand, forcing Carol to take it. The woman’s fingers were cold despite having just held a warm cup of coffee. “We won't keep you from your field trip.”
Carol walked over to the kitchen sink and rinsed out her mug. She then placed it in the basin while Tyler seemed to consider waiting for her to exit the break room completely before joining them.
“One last thing,” Brook said, having not touched upon Heather’s secretive Thursday night outings. “Do you happen to know what Heather did every Thursday night?”
“Thursday night?” Carol turned to face them, her expression one of open curiosity. “No, I don’t. She never mentioned any plans that?—”
The reaction was instantaneous, but it hadn’t come from Carol. Brook happened to glance Tyler’s way when his face drained of color so rapidly that the web of broken blood vessels across his cheeks stood out in sharp contrast.His eyes widened, pupils dilating in what Brook recognized as pure fight-or-flight response.
Unfortunately, he chose flight.
The tracksuit-clad figure pivoted and bolted from the doorway, the man’s athletic shoes squeaking against the polished corridor floor. Brook exchanged a split-second glance with Theo before they immediately moved in tandem.
“Stay here,” Brook called to Carol over her shoulder, already accelerating toward the door.
Fortunately, the hallway was empty save for the retreating figure of Tyler Quinn. Morning classes were in session, the corridor eerily silent but for the slap of their footsteps against the floor and the ragged sound of Tyler's breathing up ahead. The smell of floor polish and school disinfectant filled Brook'slungs as she ran, all the while attempting to calculate angles and distances.
“He's heading for the gymnasium exit,” Theo called out, his longer stride keeping pace with their target.
Tyler's knowledge of the building layout gave him an advantage, but panic made people careless. Already, his movements betrayed desperation rather than strategy. His shoulder clipped the edge of a bulletin board, sending papers fluttering to the ground behind him.
Ahead, a library cart laden with textbooks stood outside an open classroom door. Tyler's hand shot out as he passed, pulling the heavy cart into their path. Books cascaded across the floor, forcing Brook and Theo to navigate the sudden obstacle. Theo hurdled a small stack of tumbling hardcovers while Brook sidestepped, her boots finding purchase on the slick surface.
She instinctively veered right into a connecting hallway. While waiting to meet Principal Watkins, she had noticed the school's floor plan hanging beside the administration office doorframe. If her memory of the school’s blueprint was correct, both paths converged at the gymnasium's rear exit.
The side corridor was dimmer due to a section of burnt-out fluorescent bulbs. She passed by several sets of lockers and a couple of display cases filled with athletic trophies.
Brook pushed harder, her legs burning with exertion as she calculated Tyler's speed. She emerged into the intersecting corridor just as Tyler rounded the corner. The sudden sight of her caused him to immediately stutter to a stop.
Theo rounded the far corner, and Tyler's hesitation was his downfall. The tackle was textbook perfect. Low, controlled, and with enough momentum to bring Tyler down without causing unnecessary injury.
Both men hit the floor with a heavy thud, the impact reverberating through the corridor. Tyler thrashed beneath Theo's weight as he tried to twist free.
“Stop fighting,” Theo directed, his voice level despite the exertion. He shifted his weight, using his leverage to pin Tyler's upper body to the ground. “You're only making this worse for yourself.”
“I didn't do anything,” Tyler gasped, his face pressed against the polished floor. His earlier panic had morphed into desperation. “You can't arrest me. You're not even cops.”
“We're not arresting you, Mr. Quinn. At least, not yet.” Brook said as she closed the distance between them. She crouched to meet his gaze. “Tell me…what was so special about Thursday nights?”
12
Sylvie Deering
January 2026
Wednesday – 9:19am
The laminate table beneath the breakfast plates contained several patches of scratches, and the edges were chipped to the point that the wood underneath was visible. The surface was dull, and not even the overhead lighting could brighten the faded material. As for the vinyl booths, every single one was cracked, paying homage to the establishment's many years of service.
