Page 23 of Girl, Unseen

Ella had to reset her brain by staring blankly at the wall. Luca caught her eye.

‘Too much?’

‘Almost.’

The entries continued in the same fashion – geological observations interwoven with mundane academic tasks. Marcus recorded everything with scientific detachment, like he was cataloging specimens rather than living a life. Ella kept going until she reached the end of October – two weeks ago.

Ella turned another page. More field notes, more faculty meetings, more gentle complaints about student comprehension. Then something different caught her eye.

October 30: Felix Blackwood – restricted texts? See dean ASAP.

Ella sat up straighter. The writing was different here - pressed deeper into the paper, more urgent. Like Marcus had been excited. Or afraid.

He came around the table and read over her shoulder. ‘Felix Blackwood. What does he mean by texts? As in text messages?’

Ella shrugged. ‘Maybe, but what would be restricted about them?’

‘No idea. Could this be another professor there?’

‘We’ll have to check it out.’

She kept reading, but the next entry jumped to routine field notes about limestone samples. Whatever had unnerved Marcus about Felix Blackwood's texts, he hadn't written it down. Or hadn't lived long enough to.

‘Well, now’s the perfect time, because the university folks are waiting us.’

Ella glanced at the clock. 1:30 PM. Time to go. She photographed the page, then carefully resealed the notebook in its evidence bag. Twohours of investigation had revealed a man who lived by routine and died by surprise, but someone had seen past that boring facade to whatever secret was worth killing for.

Before the day was out, Ella promised herself she’d find out what that secret was.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The dean's office looked like it belonged in an Ivy League Hogwarts. Oak paneling, leather chairs, and enough books to keep a fire burning for a year. Ella perched on the edge of her seat, shaking off the frustration of two hours of interviews, each one a rerun of the last. The same script with different faces.

They'd started with Olivia Westbrook, who'd greeted them with red eyes and a trembling chin. She'd talked about Marcus like he was a saint, but couldn't – or wouldn't – say anything that pointed to why he'd ended up sixty feet under. Then came a parade of TAs, janitors, and cafeteria workers, all singing the same tune. Yes, he was brilliant. Yes, he was reliable. No, they couldn't imagine who'd want to harm him.

Across the desk, Dean Katherine Harper folded her hands like she was about to give a lecture. Mid-fifties, designer suit, hair coiffed within an inch of its life. The kind of woman who'd climbed the ivory tower with manicured nails and had a stern expression that had probably made a thousand students confess to plagiarism. Ella recognized her as the woman who’d hauled her offstage after her lecture yesterday. She’d already given them the same spiel they'd heard all day. Marcus the meticulous. Marcus the workhorse. Marcus the patron saint of rocks.

Luca took notes, but Ella could tell he was running on fumes. They'd skipped lunch to power through the interviews, and his stomach had been growling like a caged animal for the last hour.

‘Did he have any enemies?’ Ella asked, more out of habit than hope. ‘Anyone who might have wanted to hurt him? Maybe disagreements with any other staff?’

'Never. He was almost pathologically non-confrontational.' Harper straightened a stack of papers that didn't need straightening. 'His students adored him. His research was impeccable. I know it sounds like a cliché, but Marcus truly was-'

‘The perfect professor.’ Ella kept her tone neutral but something must have leaked through because Harper’s eyes narrowed. ‘Sorry. It's just that we've heard similar things all morning.’

‘Because they're true. Marcus Thornton was a credit to this institution. This whole place is in shock.’

‘What about personal issues?’ Luca asked. ‘Any changes in behavior recently?’

‘Nothing obvious. Though...’ The dean hesitated. ‘He did seem preoccupied the last few weeks. Less focused in meetings. But we all have our off days.’

Ella had heard enough generic praise. Time to change tactics. She pulled out her phone and brought up the photo she'd taken of Marcus's notebook entry. ‘Felix Blackwood. Does that name ring a bell?’

Harper’s hand twitched, disturbing the perfect alignment of her pen. ‘I'm sorry?’

‘Felix Blackwood.’ Ella turned the phone so Harper could see. ‘Marcus made a note about him requesting access to restricted texts. Said he needed to see you about it.’

The dean's face did something interesting - like she was trying to swallow something unpleasant without showing it.

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