Page 31 of Live To Tell

“To Whitegrove? Yes, I believe so.”

“Then he killed Madison,” interjects Violet. “Was she a pupil here? We're looking for missing records and we will discover who she is and what happened.”

“She might not be dead. Where did you find the tiara?” he repeats.

Violet stands again and pulls something from her blazer pocket. She holds the photograph from the trunk in front of Mr. Woodside's face. “The same place I found this. Is the girl Madison?”

There's barely a flicker of emotion or recognition in his expression, but just briefly, surprise registers in his eyes. I hadn't noticed the strength of the magic around him until it slips for a split-second. No wonder I couldn't find even the edge of his mental barrier.

“Is she?” pushes Violet.

“I'm confused why you won't tell us,” I say. “By our reckoning, this photo is from thirty years ago and you're thirty-one. You can't be involved.”

“Investigated me, have you?” he asks.

“Naturally,” replies Violet.

His lips purse. “Exchange of information. Where did you find the tiara, Violet?”

“In a location connected to the Sawyer family,” I interrupt and give a curt nod to Violet—we agreed to reveal this, but no more.

“Sawyer? A human stole a witch artifact and managed to hide it for thirty years? Seems unlikely.”

“We can't be sure how long the tiara and photo were at the location. Could've been placed there recently,” I say.

“Sawyer,” repeats Mr. Woodside. “That makes no sense.”

“Obviously there's a witch connection,” says Violet, “but there’re no links between the ones who killed the shifters and the Circle.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks.

“As sure as we can be without infiltrating the coven,” says Violet.

“Yes. Well. Entry into the Circle isn’t easy, and I hardly think you’re capable of sneaking anywhere, Violet,” he says disparagingly.

“Exchange your information,” she says stiffly. “Why do you want the tiara? What’s your connection?”

He rubs his lips for a moment and again glances at the door. I’m about to again ask him to stay when he speaks. “Because my sister wore the tiara the night she disappeared, and it’s the key to finding where she is. The answer will be attached to Madison’s imprint on the tiara.”

“Your sister?” blurts Violet.

Mr. Woodside crosses his arms. “I hoped I'd find the answer by coming to the academy, since we’re on the grounds of the last place Madison was seen. I almost gave up that hope until I saw you in the tiara and recognized it.”

“And are you telling me you’ve investigated the academy and not located her body in the vicinity?” asks Violet.

“Madison might not be dead,” says Mr. Woodside.

“All signs point to deceased,” replies Violet. “Missing for thirty years? Tiaras 'possessed' by ghosts? Madison wore the tiara the night she died.”

“Violet,” I say in exasperation. Doesn’t she understand how lucky we are that he’s even telling us all this?

“What? I should offer false hope and platitudes?” she asks.

Her brow pinches as I again silently communicate that the exuberance she displays when finding a way forward in her detective work isn’t always suitable—and in this case, downright unhelpful.

Violet blinks as she recognizes the look. “I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Woodside.”

Oh, god. Could she sound any less sincere? “Madison might not have passed away,” I say, one eye on the flush faced teacher.

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