Page 81 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
I creep out of the back door with the mask. As quickly as I can, I throw the bird mask in the car and run back inside. I’m breathless as I enter the kitchen, and my mother has turned her grilling to Caldwell instead.
The three of them are seated around our kitchen table, and the tension in the air is palpable. They arenothaving a pleasant conversation, even if my mother would say otherwise.
“You work at the library?” my mother asks, her brows lifting. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“That would be why,” he says. “Though I no longer volunteer there.”
“Aw. That’s too bad. Our library can always use a bit more TLC.” My mother sighs. “Tobeylovedit there when they were young.”
“I did,” I say, sliding into the last remaining seat at the round, wooden table. “And I still do. It’s the prettiest building in all of Castine.”
Aftertwo hoursof stiff conversation, we finally free ourselves from the house.
My mother shoves Tupperware containers of food in my arms and makes me promise to eat well. I take the offered food, even though I don’t have a microwave to reheat it in.
None of her casseroles can compare to the food at Strode, but she wouldn’t want to hear that.
We return to campus, parking in the lot and remaining huddled around the car as Caldwell—sitting in the backseat—inspects the mask.
“This is exactly like the one in the painting,” he mutters. “You’re right.”
“Let me see.” Margaux turns around, taking the mask from Caldwell. Her brows furrow. “Why does this look familiar?”
“It does?” I lean in, my eyes glistening with hope.
I was unwilling to get the mask in the first place, and I’m still convinced it’s not a clue we need. We’ve seen the painting, and we know the mask is important to the investigation, but finding new clues feels more important than inspecting the first one I found.
Maybe I’m wrong about that. Seeing my mother wasn’t all that bad, anyway.
“I don’t remember where, but… I’ve seen this before. Outside of the party.” Margaux shakes her head. “God, I wish I could remember. I’m coming up blank.”
“It will come to you,” I say.
She presses her lips together. “It will.”
At least now, we’re on the same page. We’ve seen eachof the clues, and they know how eerie the bird mask is when you’re holding it in your hands.
It’s different from the painting. It’s huge, hulking, and heavy—as if it’s carved of real bone. Maybe it is. It’s certainly not made of cheap plastic.
“And you found this in the woods?” Caldwell asks.
“I did,” I say. “Near Roslyn Street—it was at the spot I showed you. I found it three days after she died.”
“Then it has to be connected,” Margaux says. “Good job, Tobey.”
I smile, and it’s genuine—but with every baby step we take forward, I worry we’re not moving fast enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Imay not belong in this school, but as days pass, my life becomes an easy routine. Breakfast with Margaux, sneaking kisses with Caldwell between classes, and the three of us sleuthing together long past curfew.
Our sneaking never amounts to anything—not a single clue—but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m enjoying the process. I have friends again, and…
I’mhappy. I’ll be even happier when I find justice for Poppy.
It’s almost sleuthing hours. Curfew is about to fall, and the dormitory is stale with silence, all except for Margaux—she arguesloudly, right outside the room.
With a sigh, I swing the door open, watching her with narrowed eyes. Margaux and Jun stand on opposite sides of the hallway in some sort of heated debate.
