Page 54 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“Oh? Do tell.”
I hesitate. “What should I do if I think it’s another student?”
Darkness flashes in his eyes.
He leans in, his pleasant expression shifting into a severe one. “Is that where your investigation led you?”
“I think so. Who elsecould it be, right?”
“But you think it’s a specific student. Don’t you?”
I nod, swallowing nervously.
It may not be Caldwell—it probably isn’t—but he’s still the only lead I have. The evidence is piling up. More than that, I need it to be him. It’s for Poppy. This is all for Poppy.
My chest aches.
“In that case, you should give me a name,” he says. “I’ll tell the investigators personally, and there will be no way to trace it back to you.”
I hesitate, and I don’t understand why.
Margaux told me not to act rashly—and Professor Cruz isn’t asking foranyproof. He wants names, but what will he do with them? In the pit of my stomach, there’s a nagging feeling beyond my desire to help Poppy—it’sdoubt.
What if Caldwell is innocent? If something happens to him, it’s because of me.
“I don’t think I should do that,” I say slowly.
“And why not? You don’t trust me?” His jaw tenses. It’s a subtle movement but one I catch.
He must be stressed by the deaths. I can understand that.
“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s because… well because it’s probably nothing! I don’t have any proof.”
I never thought I would agree with Margaux on the topic, but she’s right. There have been too many deaths.
“Then I won’t tell the investigators,” he says. “But I would like to know, for my notes…”
It strikes me as odd. Me keeping my sleuthing to myself is one thing, but why would a professor do the same? It doesn’t seem very professional.
“I can’t do that,” I say, so quiet I’m not sure he can hear.
But of course, he can. He’s a vampire, picking up onthe most subtle cues: the whispers, the beating of my heart, the rush of my pulse. He knows I’m afraid, and he’s known all along.
How long until he uses that to his advantage?
“It sounds like you have no answers…” He leans away, turning his back on me. “That’s fine. I’ll be waiting. Come to me when you’re sure, and we’ll talk about what happens next.”
It doesn’tfeelfine. There’s a wall between us that never existed, not even during my first day on campus.
I take a few steps back. My throat is tight, and I’m afraid to turn my back on him. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he might like to lodge a knife in it.
When I reach the door, he speaks again. “Tobey?”
“Yes?” I don’t turn around. My fingers grip the cool metal of the doorknob. A clock ticks on the wall.
“Let’s hope we don’t have another death on campus before you decide to let me in on your plan.”
I don’t know what to say, so I leave.
