Page 32 of Reading Between the Lines
“Then someone did, and isn’t it suspicious that Weston suffered an accident that is nearly an exact replica of what was written? And if he didn’t write it, then he wasn’t out there researching it, and—”
“But he was. The pictures prove it.”
“No, D. The pictures were taken and uploaded to his computer, meaning he returned from that excursion unharmed. Why would he go out there twice? Delaney’s right. That story is a red flag.”
“But…”
“Someone killed him.”
Diem opened his mouth to respond or object but closed it again, a dip forming between his brows.
“You know I’m right.”
“It’s suspicious. I’m not ready to say he was murdered.”
I moved to the bed to retrieve the short story, wanting to prove to myself once more that the writing was different, but I paused at the sight of the notebook, a thought surfacing. “D? If Weston planned to attend his newspaper meeting after seeing his girlfriend at the library, why didn’t he have his notebook with him? Why would he leave it at home?”
Diem didn’t have an answer for that either.
8
Diem
We used Weston’s printer to make hard copies of all the short stories we found on the laptop. Despite it not having color ink, we printed the photographs as well. After tucking the stack into the most recent notebook, I shoved it under my arm, hoping Delaney would allow us to take it.
Tallus followed me downstairs, reminding me twice to talk nicely to Weston’s mother and try not to pummel the father. I wasn’t altogether convinced the short composition depicting the incident by the river wasn’t Weston’s sorry excuse for a mystery story gone wrong, but Tallus seemed adamant, and I’d learned not to dismiss his hunches. As impulsive as he could be, he had an eye for detective work and wasn’t often wrong.
It meant looking further into Delaney’s theory that someone tried to kill her son—did, in essence, kill her son. The pros? More money in my pocket. The cons? More nights in the Stinky Pink Palace of Hell and figuring out how to sleep in the same bed as my boyfriend without suffering a panic attack.
I promised Delaney two nights. With luck, we would discover the missing piece to the puzzle after a quick chat with the high school English teacher who ran the school newspaper and writing club. Who knew? Maybe all this could be explained away. Maybe it was why the police had shut it down. Maybe dear old Irvin wasn’t the bad guy for wanting to close this door and let his son die in peace.
“And?” Delaney asked the second we landed on the main level. She anxiously massaged her hands together, and I would have bet a month’s rent she’d been pacing the living room the entire time we were upstairs.
Irvin hovered in the background, wearing a mask of irritation, still dressed like he’d come from the office.
“We’re not finished.”
“But you think—”
“I said we’re not finished, which means we don’t have thoughts yet.”
Tallus moved around me, patting my arm. “What my partner is trying to say is, we’re going to run to the high school and see if Weston’s English teacher will chat with us. We have a few questions for him.”
“So you believe me. You see it too.”
“Something’s definitely amiss.” Tallus used far more dramatics than the situation warranted. “But you’ve called the right people, ma’am. We’re professionals. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Good lord,” I mumbled under my breath as Irvin threw his hands up and shouted, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Delaney. You’ve hired a bunch of quacks who are going to juice you for as much money as they can. Do you hear this guy? He thinks he’s Sherlock fucking Holmes. Well, guess what, buddy. There is nothing to investigate. My son suffered a tragic accident. The end. Leave my house.”
Tallus darted me a warning glare, somehow knowing I envisioned putting my fist through the guy’s face.
“Be cool,” he mouthed.
“Irvin,” Delaney snapped. “This doesn’t affect you.”
“It most certainly does. He’s my son too.” Irvin physically moved his wife aside before facing us, pressing his palms together in the act of pleading. “Gentlemen, please listen to me. My wife is upset. She wants answers to something rather simple. She can’t see the truth. The police confirmed there was no foul play involved. They looked into the ridiculous story she found, the one my wife presented to you as evidence”—he made air quotes—“but I promise you, it is nothing more than perfectly explainable schoolwork. There is nothing nefarious under the surface. There is no need to harass Weston’s teachers or friends or cause problems. This is a small town, and rumors spread quickly. We don’t need that right now. Please let us grieve our loss. Go back to your big city and your flashy lives. Don’t give my wife false hope where there isn’t any.”
Tallus glanced over his shoulder and stage-whispered, “Please don’t kill him. I’m sure he means well even though he called us a bunch of quacks and implied I was a Sherlock Holmes wannabe, which I am, for the record, and there is nothing wrong with that,” he said to Irvin. “And PS, the training course to become a private investigator is no joke. Fifty hours, my friend.Fifty. And tests that are not multiple choice. We are the real deal.” Tallus swung his finger between us, and I groaned.
