She heaves an enormous sigh, like I’ve just called her back from the brink of nirvana. “Yes, Belinda?”
“How’d you get my transcripts?”
“Mrs. Brown, of course.”
As much as I’d love to hide my confusion, I fear it’s written all over my face. “But you don’t … have dimples.”
Abigail looks at me like I have ten heads. “Dimples? Is that some American euphemism I don’t know? Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Mrs. Brown has a well-known online poker habit. If you pretend to find twenty quid on the floor of her office that she ‘dropped’ on her way in, she’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
With that, she exits the room, slamming the door behind her so hard, the walls rattle. I can’t help but feel a tad impressed by Abigail standing up for Priya. But do I believe her when she says she’s not a murderer? Could Isla’s threat to out Priya’s test-selling scheme to the administration have inspired Abigail to take truly drastic action? And if so, how did that lead to Emily’s death?
My gut says they’re not responsible. Abigail may be mean, but I don’t think she’s a killer. And Priya doesn’t have enough open space in her calendar to schedule a homicidal rendezvous.
And I don’t think my sister reported Priya to administration. She wasn’t a snitch, and besides, Whitney would’ve informed me of that little tidbit. Right?
Time is running out. In less than a week, Isla will beformally charged with murder and taken to a hospital god-knows-where, and all of Peter’s money won’t make a lick of difference if she’s so far out of reach that none of us can see her, talk to her, or manage her care.
I may have eliminated two suspects from my list today, but the day is far from over. Like it or not, it’s time for me to push harder for answers.
…
Ileave the dorm building and come to a stop midway down the steps. I spot a familiar dark-blond head across the grounds. It’s Julian, walking by himself with his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed like he’s … what?Whistling?
This is my chance to talk to Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky and confront him about Isla and why he kept their relationship a secret. My brain is already spinning from my talks—confrontations?—with Priya and Abigail, but I can’t let an opportunity like this pass me by.
Though my whole body pulls toward Connor waiting for me in the dining hall, the good luck of seeing the guy I need to talk to at the exact moment I need to talk to him is too fortuitous to ignore. Changing my course to aim for Julian is a physical effort, like pulling two magnets apart when all they want to do is stick together. Reluctantly, I whip out my phone and fire off a quick text to Connor.
Me:
Hey. Change of plans. I can’t make it to the dining hall.
He responds almost immediately.
Connor:
Everything okay?
His concern makes my heart sing. Such a small thing, asking if everything is okay. It makes me realize how rare it is for someone to take an interest like this. And that’s … super pathetic, so I shove the thought to the back of my brain, where I’ll hopefully never have to look at it again.
