She shrugged and said, “I guess.”
“Talk about a try hard,” Brock scoffed.
“Hey, no need to be rude,” Atticus said. “People think in all sorts of ways. Some faster than others.”
“Easy for you to say,” Brock said. “Mister detective over here thinking at the speed of light.”
Atticus blushed.
Camila looked at Atticus. “What’s do you mean, detective?”
“You know, like an investigator,” he said. “That’s what I’m studying for. I want to join the police force as a detective.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Camila said smiling. “So does that mean you’re like Sherlock Holmes? Are you really good at riddles?”
Brock smiled and smacked Atticus on the back. “This boy here is brilliant with puzzles,” he said. “No hints or help required.”
Atticus blushed. “I’m not that good.”
“Stop being so humble,” Brock teased. “It’s okay to take pride and show off every now and again, you wuss.”
“I don’t think so,” Camila said. “I think it’s far more satisfying when someone humble beats a braggart.”
Brock nodded and said, “I guess you’re right. Nose rubbing is way more satisfying.”
Camila shook her head and turned to Atticus. “So, if you really are good, answer this: What’s red and smells like blue paint?”
“Red paint,” Atticus said with a smirk. “Was that it?”
“No, that was a test.” Camila gave Atticus a sinister smile. “How about this: Thirty white horses on a red hill. First they chatter, then they stamp, they shiver, then they stand still. These horses, what are they?”
Atticus pursed his lips and steepled his fingers. Dozens of answers flew through his head. He took every word into consideration: white, horse, thirty, red, hill, chatter, stamp, shiver. A proper riddle has every word matter. For a moment, Atticus thought he was stumped, but that thought didn’t last long.
“White on a red hill,” he said. “Chattering and shivering? They’re teeth.”
Camila’s mouth fell agape. “I don’t believe it. You got that so quickly.”
“I told you so,” Brock said. “He’s the best.”
Atticus felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “Enough about me,” he said. “What about you Camila? What do you want to do after graduating?”
She blushed and sank into her seat. “To be honest, I’m still not sure yet.”
“Geez, so picky,” Brock teased.
Camila sighed. “My parents want me to go into the sciences: plasma or steam. But, I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”
“Well, what do you like doing,” Atticus asked.
Camila shrugged. “I like to read.”
Brock nodded and asked, “What are some of your skills?”
“Memorization,” she said instantly. Camila pulled out her book, Treasure Island, and passed it to Atticus. “I have a photographic memory. Not metaphorically, but literally. I remember everything in that book.”
Atticus looked a bit bewildered.
“Let me prove it,” she said. “Give me a page and paragraph. I can recite it perfectly. I promise.”
He opened the book: page 64. Then he picked a paragraph: third from the bottom. Atticus gave Camila the info just like she asked.
She shut her eyes. It was silent for a while, maybe twenty seconds or even a minute, but then Camila said, “I could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house must have shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment arose.”
Camila opened her eyes. “Want me to do it again?”
Atticus looked down at the book and read the passage. Sure enough, she had recited it word for word. That’s not possible, he thought. Nobody is that good are they?
Brock snagged the book from his friend’s hands and read the paragraph.
“How did you do that,” he asked. “You couldn’t have studied that one line in hopes that someone would pick it, would you?”
Camila giggled and said, “I told you. I remember everything.”
“That’s intimidating,” said Atticus.
“Well, everything I see,” Camila said. She pulled out a notepad from her bag. “I can’t remember everything I hear, so I’ll jot down whatever I need into this notebook. Then I have something visual to help me.”
“Well there you have it,” Brock said. “An incredible memory. You can apply that into a lot of jobs!”
“Like what?”
Brock and Atticus looked at one another and started throwing out careers that they thought Camila would like:
“Actor?”
“Pharmacist?”
“Lawyer?”
“Historian?”
“Cardsharp?”
“Teacher?”
Camila laughed at all the suggestions. It was sweet of them trying to help her. “Thank you boys, I think I get the idea.”
“Oh, a librarian!” Atticus shouted. “You like books and reading, and librarians need good memorization skills. You need to know which books are in and which ones are checked out. You need to know where they are located, and for students, you need to know what books could help them with their school work.”
Camila smiled. “That’s not a bad idea. Thank you, Atticus. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Atticus smiled back.
“Now,” Camila said turning to Brock, “what about you?”
“Me? That’s easy,” he said. “I’m going to be a psychologist. I want to help people whose injuries are in their mind, not on their body.”
“That’s very noble,” Camila said. “Not what I expected at all.”
“Really? What did you expect?”
“Circus clown,” Atticus chimed in. “Maybe an attractive table leg.”
Camila began giggling uncontrollably and nearly spit out her drink. Atticus couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He usually didn’t say things that made people laugh. That was always Brock’s thing.
Brock glanced at Atticus and smiled. “Y’know, I was really thinking about that that table leg position, but I don’t get along with my coworkers. They’re a bit too stiff for me.”
Camila continued to laugh. Her eyes were tearing up and her face was turning a bright red.
“But, I’m boring,” Brock said. “Atticus is the really exciting one. He’s helping Detective McCloud solve the murder of Mike Nelson.”
Atticus glared at him and whacked his arm. Brock was laughing, but Atticus was not amused.
Camila’s giggling fit came to a stop when she heard that. She wiped her eyes and all of her attention turned to Atticus. “Really? But the police say Mike just committed suicide.”
Atticus shook his head and said, “The police are wrong. Both I and the detective know it.”
“And you’re actually working with him,” she asked.
Atticus nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“That’s incredible!”
Atticus smiled and felt blood rush to his cheeks. However, talking about Mike suddenly got Atticus’ head racing a million miles an hour. Thoughts and clues began rushing to his head. He got to thinking about Mike’s last words: the ghost haunting him. He thought about Professor Varnum vanishing from class and the Nelson’s reaction to their son’s death. Somethings would piece together, while others were still looming overhead. He had to think of everything and how it all tied together. Like a good puzzle, everything mattered. He just had to get the whole story and to do that he had to start from the beginning.
Atticus shot up to his feet and said, “Have them cancel my order. I need to go.”
He picked up his school bag and began to head out, but Brock jumped up and cut him off. “Hey, what’s going on.”
“I’m looking at this all wrong,” Atticus whispered.
Brock sighed and pulled him aside. “What are you talking about?”
“The puzzle pieces are aligning in my head,” he said. “I’ve been too on e
dge. Now that I’m more relaxed, it’s like all the fog in my head is gone.”
“That’s great,” Brock said, “but why not just do all this later?”
Atticus shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t lose this vibe. Detective’s instinct, y’know.”
Atticus ran back to Camila. “I’m so sorry, but I’m gonna have to-”
Camila raised her hand and shushed him. She gave him a gentle smile and said, “It’s okay. You go do what you need to.”
“Thank you so much.” Atticus smiled. “Why don’t we reschedule?”
“That’d be wonderful. Why don’t we talk about it after class tomorrow?”
Atticus nodded, a smile pasted to his face, and then bolted out of the soda shoppe. He needed to head back to Fortuna Prep as soon as possible. He knew it was rude, but he didn’t think much of it. Besides, Brock understood the issue, and Camila seemed okay. He had important questions that needed answering, like how Varnum is connected to the Nelsons and why they wanted their son murdered.
Chapter 6
It was a pretty radical thought Atticus had: The Nelsons hiring someone to murder their son and pin it up as a suicide. It seemed crazy and horribly inhumane, but Atticus couldn’t shake the feeling. Mike’s parents were going through some tough times and maybe some tragic publicity was all the needed to get themselves back on the map. But, then there was Professor Varnum. How was he involved? Did he know the Nelsons? Was he their inside source of information? He was new to the school, so maybe the Nelsons snuck him in to keep an eye on their son. It wasn’t a coincidence that he left class mere moments before Mike’s body was found.
But he needed details. If Atticus really wanted to be a detective, he would need to get evidence, and that would mean doing some heavy duty investigating. Step one to investigation: gathering information. How did one get information on a school campus? Talking to other students. Sadly, talking with other students was not a skill Atticus was particularly good at.
Atticus urgently trudged his way to the dorms. The first person he needed to talk with was Mike’s roommate: Justin. Justin was a nice guy, but he was a bit too nice for Atticus’ taste. He was the captain of the tennis club and a member of the student council. He was preppy, popular, athletic, and smart. All in all, he was a perfect student. However, all of that being said, his and Atticus’ personalities clashed in all the wrong ways. Atticus liked his alone time; Justin needed to be around others and up in their business. Atticus liked to be quiet; Justin loved to be loud and boisterous. But, the one thing the two had in common was their love of gossip: Atticus loved listening and Justin loved spreading.
It was around 6:30 when Atticus made it to the dorms. Justin would’ve just finished up at tennis for the day and he’d soon be going out with friends for the remainder of the evening. Atticus had to catch him in that small window or else he wouldn’t get a chance the rest of the night.
Atticus knocked on the door and it took all of his will power not to do it to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut.”
It took a minute, but Justin eventually opened the door. “Whoa, Atticus. What’s up?”
Justin had slick and well-groomed light brown hair and a strong slender face. He was handsome; exactly what you’d expect from a popular preppy kid.
“Hey Justin, I need to ask you a few questions about Mike.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “Mike.”
Justin and Mike weren’t close like Atticus and Brock. The two just happened to get paired together, but they were still friends. Mike was like Atticus when it came to Justin: he was just too loud. But, the two still enjoyed the other’s company every now and again.
“Did you notice him acting strange these past few days,” Atticus asked.
Mike shrugged. “I didn’t see him outside the room too much, but it didn’t really seem out of the ordinary.”
“How about the day he died?”
“I mean; he was skipping class but he just said he wasn’t feeling well.” Justin shrugged again and said, “I stopped by for lunch to pick up my books for the afternoon and he was gone. I assumed he made his way to class after all. He did have that big history exam. I thought he went to that.”
Atticus nodded. “Alright, one last thing: Mike left behind what we assume to be a suicide note, but it was ripped up when it was found. Do you have any ideas what was up with that?”
Justin shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”
Atticus sighed. “Okay, thank you for your time.”
“No problem.”
Atticus began to make his way down the hall when Justin hollered, “Hey, I know it’s hard, but I think Mike was just tired of everything. He couldn’t take the pressure anymore.”
That wasn’t true. Atticus knew Mike too well to think that this was self-inflicted. There had to have been an outside force at work.
Atticus went through the rest of the building, knocking on doors and asking more and more about Mike. Sadly, most of the other students gave him answers similar to Justin’s. Some of them claimed to know more, but their words were just gossip and rumors that didn’t contribute much.
Okay, so he was a little closer, but he still had to try and piece in Professor Varnum and Mike’s parents. The police were already on the scene finishing up when he arrived. He wasn’t sure how long the police had been at work, but he guessed around twenty minutes. It would take the police around ten minutes to respond to the call, so Atticus estimated the body was found nearly half an hour or so before he stumbled across it.
If that was the case, Atticus concluded that the body was found mere minutes after he finished his exam. If what Brock said was correct and the professor left class a few minutes after Atticus was excused, he might not have been the one to kill Mike, but he could’ve planted the body and alerted the police.
Too many variables, Atticus thought. Too many complications.
Atticus needed more pieces to the puzzle, but he needed to find the right people who could give him those pieces. Justin was an okay start, but he needed people who could scrape up dirt on Varnum. He felt bad suspecting his professor so much, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the man gave him. He was shady, reclusive, and it always felt like he was hiding something. He was the number one suspect.
Atticus made his way to the courtyard and lied down on the campus fountain like he did after class. He stared at the setting sun; its orange glow brightened the sky and filled him with a sense of warmth. Now that it was starting to get cold at night, the last little bit of sunlight was much appreciated. It wasn’t extremely cold, but a nice chill. Sunrise and sunset were Atticus’ favorite times of day. You didn’t need a coat and you wouldn’t sweat. It was perfect.
As he stared at the glowing sky, Atticus thought of all the good times he’d had at Fortuna Prep. He remembered orientation, his first day of class, his first summer break. He remembered the first time he’d met Brock. It was the day after orientation and all of the students were being assigned their dorms and roommates. You could request roommates if you wanted, but Atticus didn’t know anybody, so his was picked at random. Luckily, Brock was a good random.
Initially, Brock was very intimidated by Atticus and how quiet he was. His nose was always stuck in a book and very rarely did he speak. But, one night, Atticus got terrible food poisoning. Brock was supposed to go out with some friends, but he couldn’t leave Atticus alone. So he cancelled his plans and stayed with him all night telling jokes, helping him get to the bathroom when needed, and just talking. Ever since then, the two were best friends. Atticus knew he could count on Brock.
A wide smile spread across his face and he sat up. The warm feeling didn’t last long though. Suddenly, Atticus felt a sharp tingle run down his spine. He was completely petrified. It felt as if a thousand eyes were on him. It required all of his willpower, but Atticus turned around.
He saw a figure standing at least thirty feet away in the shadow of the English and History building wearing a long dar
k brown cloak. No part of the person was visible except for its eyes, but from a distance, they were impossible to see.
Atticus felt his heart race and his hands shake. He reached into his pocket and felt his locket. It gave him strength. It reminded him why he was doing all of this. The cloaked figure wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
As he thought that, the cloaked figure began to leave. Atticus felt its gaze leave him and he could finally move again. He wasn’t sure what happened. Why was he frozen? He’d been scared to the point of freezing up before, but never like that.
Atticus watched the figure disappear into the shadows and a wave of adrenaline washed over him. He wasn’t sure what, but a conclusion popped into his head: “A ghost!”
Nothing could shake the feeling that the cloaked figure was the ghost Mike asked him about. It wasn’t anything supernatural, just someone hiding in the shadows waiting to strike. And Atticus hated that. The dark was the worst. You never knew what lurked within. You couldn’t plan anything in the darkness, and worst of all you could never be prepared. The dark was the ultimate unsolvable puzzle.
But despite all that, Atticus couldn’t let the Ghost get away. He had to confront him, or at least find where it was hiding.
Atticus snuck behind the figure, always trying to keep it at a close enough distance so he could easily tail it, but far enough so he wouldn’t feel suspicious. Atticus wasn’t the stealthiest kid, but he figured if he kept his distance and was silent, he’d be fine. After all, that’s all there was to being stealthy, right? If so, he figured he was doing a dang good job.
Atticus continued to follow the Ghost for several minutes without it ever catching him. At least, he hoped it hadn’t caught onto him. Every once in a while it would stop and look around and Atticus would be forced to jump behind a bush or tree or bench.
The Ghost lead him through all sorts of dark places between buildings and Atticus started to fear that it was leading him into a trap.
Finally, at one intersection between two halls, the Ghost came to a stop. Atticus was about twenty feet behind, waiting and watching. The cloaked figure looked left, then right, then left again. Atticus wished his Queen of Spades allowed him to read minds because it was killing him not knowing what the Ghost was up to.
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