Page 20 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“You!” The escorting professor stops me as I enter, watching me with beady eyes. “Where did you go? I thought we lost you.”
“I was just outside?—”
“Don’t wander off again,” she says. “When you’re in a group, stay with the group… especially at night.”
I duck my head. “Sorry, Professor. I won’t letit happen again.”
She sits at the lobby desk. “Go to your room. It’s past quiet hours. Security will not be as kind as I am.”
Thisis kind? I bite my tongue to keep from saying something I’ll regret and run to my room.
I’m out of breath as I slip inside. With my back pressed to the wood, I’m relieved to find Margaux sitting on the bed. She watches me with wide eyes, her phone cradled between her shoulder and ear.
“Oh, my God,” she mutters. “I found them.” Without saying goodbye, she taps the screen, setting her phone down on the bed.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“My father!” Her voice comes out in a high shriek. “More importantly, where were you? My father called—there was another murder—and I’ve been worried sick! I had him asking the others where you went, but of course… no one knows who you are! Must you be so forgettable?”
An uncomfortable warmth blossoms in my chest.
Margaux has always been protective, and it’s what I need after the night I’ve had. God, I’m weak. I want to cry to her, to break down and tell her everything that’s happened. Not just tonight but everything on Roslyn Street and every quiet moment of tears in my bedroom.
The words are stuck in my throat. I clench my fists, holding myself together.
“I saw the body,” I say. “That’s where I was. A professor escorted us back—I don’t know her name?—”
“Sexton,” she says. “Professor Sexton. I saw her in the lobby; she wouldn’t let me leave to find you.”
“Right,” I say. “Her. Either way, I was safe.”
I think.
“You’re never safe at Strode. You need to leave.” Margaux’s posture collapses, a rarity for someone whowalks with a spine of steel. She rubs her temples and a slow sigh leaves her lips.
“It’s too late for that.” I sit on the edge of her bed. Being close to Margaux used to come naturally, but now I’m tentative, perched delicately on her crimson comforter. “I’m here. I need your help because… I think I found something.”
Her head jerks up. “What?”
I reach into my bag and place the pocket watch on the bed between us. “This was near the body.”
“Tobey!” She gasps. “You should give this to the investigators. What arewegoing to do with it? God, I don’t even know if I remember how to tell time with the hands. This is practically vintage.”
“What willtheydo with it?” I snatch it back, worried Margaux will run off with it. “They’re going to find something to blame the murder on, and… they won’t do anything. They never do.”
“I know, but what areyousupposed to do?” She frowns. “You’re a human.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I hiss. “I will doanythingto catch the killer. Are you going to help me or not?”
She rolls her eyes. “Will I help you find Poppy’s killer? Is that even a question?”
“Yes, it is.” I hold the watch close to my chest. “I don’t know if I can trust you, but—God, I can’t trustanyonehere.”
After everything we’ve been through, even the lies, I still trust Margaux more than I can trust anyone in this school. I won’t give her the treat of admitting it.
“You think I’m the killer?” She deflates.
I expect outrage at the question, but it never comes. She looks pained and exhausted instead, her eyes closing as a heavy sigh escapesher crimson lips.
