Page 38 of Reading Between the Lines
“Diem Krause, private investigator with Shadowy Solutions based in Toronto.” I handed the man my credentials and thumbed over my shoulder. “This is my part-time minion and full-time partner, Tallus Domingo. His qualifications start andend with sass and mischief. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”
Tallus chuckled. “I see what you did there, Guns. You’re trying to outcharm me. Won’t work. I’m the king.” To Hugh Abercrombie, he said, “Excuse my partner. He’s new to the art of making jokes. The sass and mischief part are true, but I’m not his minion. Although I am in training, and I don’t have a fancy ID yet, but soon. Ten more hours to go. The coursework is extensive, and in case you thought we were a bunch of quacks like Mr. Cranky Pants, I assure you, we—”
“You’re the English teacher, correct?” I cut Tallus off, earning an appropriately sassytskand sigh.
“I am.” Hugh stood and rounded the desk, handing back my credentials and noting our soaking-wet attire. “If I may inquire. Private investigator for whom? What is this about?”
“The Mandels have hired us to look into the incident that occurred last week with their son, Weston. I understand he was a student of yours.”
Hugh blanched and touched his fingers to his chest before leaning against the desk as though he could hardly stand upright under the circumstances. “Christ almighty,” he said under his breath. “I’m sorry. Yes, he was my student, but I don’t understand. We’ve done this song and dance already. Why is it so hard to believe the boy had an accident?”
“Because there’s strong evidence that suggests he didn’t,” Tallus said.
Strong was subjective, but I didn’t correct him and watched Abercrombie’s response.
The man shifted his attention between us and took a minute to speak. “Gentleman, the police were already here asking questions last week, and I provided them with my full cooperation. I’m not sure what else there is to say. So far as I’m concerned, the matter has been put to rest. Please understandI’m grief-stricken at the tragedy that has befallen one of my best students, and I’m heartbroken to hear that Delaney Mandel is struggling to come to terms with the truth, but let’s be honest. Accidents happen all the time. It’s an unfortunate fact of life.”
Ignoring his speech, I removed one of the printed stories I’d shoved into Weston’s notebook at the Mandel house. “You run the school newspaper, correct?”
Crossing his arms and pressing his lips in a firm line, Hugh gifted me with a fake smile that reeked of irritation. “Yes.”
His mind seemed to be racing, and I had no doubt he was searching for a means of expelling us from his classroom.
Or maybe he was trying to find a polite way to tell us to fuck off.
“And you run the writing club too, right?” Tallus asked.
Sighing heavily, Hugh said, “Yes, I run both.”
I handed him one of the stories we’d found on Weston’s computer. “Does this look familiar?”
Hugh took the sheets of paper but held eye contact for an extra beat before moving his reading glasses to the end of his nose. His hair curtained his face as he lowered his gaze to the papers. After skimming the first page, he offered it back. “It’s one of the stories Weston wrote for the Whodunnits?”
“For what?”
“The Whodunnits? It’s the name of the after-school writing club. The teens chose it since most of them enjoy mystery writing, although it’s not a requirement. They can write whatever their heart desires.”
“And how do you know Weston wrote that?” Tallus asked.
“I recognize it. It was one of the stories he presented earlier this year.”
I found a different piece and passed it to the English teacher. “How about this one?”
“Would you like to explain the purpose of this nonsense?”
“No. Read it and tell me if it’s Weston’s.”
Abercrombie didn’t read it. At best, he skimmed before shoving it back in my direction. “Yes, it’s his. Sometimes, I give prompts to jump-start creativity. This was a story he wrote based on a prompt. He shared it with the group a few weeks ago.”
“How about this one.”
Hugh refused to take the third composition.
Tallus confiscated the notebook and located the key story that had compelled Delaney to call us. “Weston also writes for the school newspaper, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, would you say that you’re relatively familiar with Weston’s style of writing, Mr. Abercrombie?”
