Page 19 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“I didn’t ask for your life story,” I say. “I doubt the watch is yours. You’re trying to pull a fast one on me, but it won’t work.”
“And you’re stealing my watch,” he says lowly, “but it won’t work.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to admit it’s yours, considering I found it near a corpse. It’s evidence, and I’m going to properly submit it.” A feeble lie, considering I’m heading in the opposite direction of the investigation.
Finally, I’ve found a way to silence the maddening man. His brows furrow, lips popping open. Only a frustrated sigh passes through them.
We arrive at the dormitory, but before I can go inside, he stops me, holding onto my arm and fixing me with a serious stare.
“If you wanted to speak with me, you could have found a better reason than stealing my family’s watch,” he says. Something close to a smile dances behind his eyes. It’s a small glimmer of light in his otherwise serious expression.
I roll my eyes. “I will give it to you when you can prove it’s yours.” Hopefully, that will buy me time for a thorough investigation.
My curiosity grows.
I know I should turn it in to the investigators, but why bother? They’ll brush it off like they do everything else. I will have to figure this out on my own. The night around us falls into silence, and only then does it strike me that I’m alone with a stranger.
My throat tightens. It’s a telltale sign panic is trying to take me hostage.
Next, my brain will shut down. Then I’ll only breathe in huffs and pants. I should count—five things I see, four things I…
Oh, who fucking cares? We’re all going to die.
“How do you suppose I do that?” he asks.
“A phone call with your mother will do,” I say, “or a written letter with her signature. Maybe a picture of her I.D. to go along with it. Whichever is easier.”
He nods. “There is a problem with that.”
“Which is?”
“I cannot communicate with the dead.” His voice is dry and emotionless.
The fear tightens in my throat. I can hardly breathe, torn between being embarrassed—no,mortified—and sympathetic. I have to go. I cannot feel bad for this man. Trusting anyone at Strode is a danger.
“Then you’ll have to find another way.” I take a step back.
“In that case, you’ll be seeing me again.” He pulls a tin of cigarettes out of his pocket, placing one between hislips. “Though I have a feeling that’s what you were hoping for.”
There’s an insinuation behind his words and a dark look in his eyes.
I don’t know how to respond. Heat rises to my cheeks, my eyes wide as I flounder for words. “I don’t?—”
“It’s all right,” he says, speaking around the cigarette. “I get it now. Perhaps you’ll pluck up the courage to ask me on an actual date next time. These spur-of-the-moment meetings have got to stop.” He holds my gaze as he lights the cigarette.
I should deny the accusation, but I can’t bring myself to say a thing. Caldwell is annoying and strange, but… he’s piqued my curiosity. Everyone on this campus is a suspect. I may need to investigate him, and I certainly need to keep the watch. It was too close to the body.
If this is what I need to do to avenge Poppy, so be it.
There is also the chance it will lead to danger, but I’ll worry about that later.
“Smoking kills,” I say in a weak voice.
“Look around.” The cigarette rests between his fingers, and he exhales smoke, blowing it away from us. “There are worse threats to our lives.”
“Right. On that note… get to your room safely,” I say.
If he has a response, I don’t stick around to hear it.
