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"You and I are used to dealing with mysteries that live on the page."
"There are no bad guys. There are just complicated people who did bad things."
"I've got enough crime fact in my life. I don't need to read about it."
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When c...
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"Whodunnit?" Professor Jackson wrote the word down on the chalkboard, underlining it. She turned to face the class. "Not only is that the question that has fueled the second most successful fiction genre in all of history, but it's also going to be the basis of your midterm next week."
The class sighed, myself excluded. I glanced over at Zach, raising my eyebrows excitedly. He smirked; clearly wanting to be eager, but simply unable to be at seven in the morning and without a flat white from Brenker Brews. Honestly, I couldn't blame him. The only things I love are crime fiction, coffee, Monk, and maybe like three people - so who am I to judge?
Professor Jackson continued. "So, if crime fiction is number two, what is number one?" She looked around the classroom for an answer. I was about to pipe up, but she spoke again. "Allegra?"
I whipped my head towards where I know Allegra always sat. She was usually attentive - almost as big of a crime nut as I am - but as I looked over at her, she had her head buried into her phone.
"Allegra?" Professor Jackson called out again. Allegra gazed up at her distractedly, a little bit of guilt shown on her features.
"Um, sorry, what was the question?" Strange. She always pays attention in class.
"What's the most popular form of genre fiction in the world?" Zach whispered to her. Allegra shot him a grateful glance before replying.
"Um, romance? Right?"
Professor Jackson nodded at her, and Allegra breathed out a tense sigh before taking a sip of her strawberry smoothie. Our instructor paced the room. "Right now, by using methods of deduction, Allegra, why would you deduce that out of all the people in this room that I asked you to answer that question?" she inquired, hands on her podium.
"I-I don't know," Allegra stuttered out.
Professor Jackson was about to respond when the door creaked. All heads, including my own, turned to the back of the class. I smiled as I saw a mop of short, gray curls enter the classroom. My father smiled at my professor and shot me a wink as he poked his head through the doorway. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"
"No, no you're not! Ladies and gentlemen, the man who created this class, emeritus professor James Walker." The class applauded my father as he cast a wider grin in her direction. Professor Jackson - Rachel - is a family friend of ours, so Dad takes advantage of the privilege to drop into his former classroom whenever he can.
I remember when we first met Rachel twelve years ago. I was in sixth grade; still in the ages of braces, season eight's premier of MONK, and newfound opportunity of middle school. After publishing his first novel, Dad decided that it was time to hang up his hat as a professor and turn his hobby into his craft. When he resigned, Mountain Elm mourned its loss. Yet, they were determined to find the perfect new professor for his crime fiction class. That's when Professor Jackson came into our lives.
