Page 29 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
It’s exactly the kind of talk we would have had years ago—in high school, snuggled up in my twin-size bed. Now we’re talking about a strange guy who may have information on a murder, not Gabe from down the street.
Times may change, but some things are the same. I still have horrendous taste in dates. I’m sure Margaux would agree, but she is on her best behavior.
“You’re right.” She frowns. “You’renotfunny. That’s very serious.”
“Thank you.” I pace around our dormitory. “Anyway—I only have a few hours to get ready for this thing. I don’t know what we’re doing and…” I sigh. “Will you help me?”
“You’re actually going out with this guy?”
“Um… yes!” I say. “We’re not really dating—don’t be silly—but it’s the perfect opportunity to get close to him.”
“You want to get close to someone youdon’ttrust while there’s a murderer on campus?” she asks. “That has got to be the stupidest?—”
“I don’t want to hear it! You told me to get more information, and this is how I’m doing it. Are you going to helpme get ready or not?”
Besides, I still don’t know if he’s connected—just that he might have answers. Even that is a toss-up.
She presses her lips together, contemplating. “You need to share your location with me, or I won’t let you go.”
“You won’tletme…?” I relax, my pacing coming to a stop. I could argue with her wording and tell her she sounds controlling, but what’s the point? Margaux has good reason to be protective. “Actually, that’s… a good idea.”
“He didn’t give you a dress code?” She clicks her tongue, moving to my closet.
“No.” I hesitate. “He told me to, um… wear whatever I like.” I blush at the memory.
“Well, then. He’s not very helpful, is he?” She plucks a short, dark skirt from my closet, resting it on the bed. “That’s not the kind of man you want. I taught you better than this.”
“I’m not interested in dating him—or anyone! I have bigger problems.”
She ignores the other issues, pointing to the skirt on my bed. “You have black tights to go with this, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Good.” She continues ruffling until she finds a top she approves of—low cut and showing a little midriff.
I roll my eyes. “You do realize this isn’t an actual date, right? I’ve said that several times.”
“I do,” she says, “but you don’t wanthimto realize that.”
“I don’t…” I’m less likely to get information that way.
I inspect the outfit Margaux picked, pursing my lips. It’s a good choice. It will work for a simple dinner, and if he has something planned that requires movement, that will be fine, too.
I might even be able to run away from him in it.
“Actually,” Margaux says, “forget the tights. I want to see you in knee-high stockings and garters.”
Internally, I cringe at the suggestion—but it’s a good one. I keep it in the back of my mind, watching Margaux carefully.
“I think I’m missing something,” I say.
“What? Your makeup? We can work on that next.”
“No.” I pluck a loose thread from the shirt she laid out, avoiding her gaze. “A stake.”
Margaux morphs. She rests her hands on her hips and fixes me with a sharp glare. “No. Absolutely not.”
“I need a way to defend myself!”
