The Return

Chapter Five

Who was she to argue with Vice-principal Lesley Cole?

"I can't seem to get rid of you, can I?" She shut the door to the almost empty classroom. A peek through the blinds, the second-floor classroom was a cluster of Lincoln Lane's worst of the worst lingering behind two hours after the closing bell.

Heaven sat at the back of the class, ears plugged and a thick book sprawled out in front of her.

And then there was the stalker.

Kyle Lawrence. A quick google search told her he was the son of former Lieutenant Norman Lawrence. There was little mention of a Mrs. Lawrence.

Odd for a woman who owned a printing press in the modern era...

"Now why would you want to get rid of a face like this?" He grinned up at her.

She could think of a few reasons.

He had a front-row seat, his laptop open on the table. "What are you in for?" She plopped down in the chair next to him.

"I'm not in for anything. This is the only place I can get enough silence to get some work done."

"Mr. Lawrence, if you're going to be here, I expect you do not disturb the peace." Nathan Pinbrough, the third-period English teacher was stuck on detention duty.

"Ever heard of a library?" She placed her bag on the table.

He scuffed.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh, Lincoln Lane Prep's library isn't for reading. It's a hook-up spot. With couples kissing around every corner, stick around long enough when it gets dark, and all the clothes come off."

That had to be bait. What was she supposed to say to that? All of a sudden, she needed a tour? That her good-girl persona was all a façade to blend in and fix what's left of her family before neighbors caught on?

Long gone were her salacious days of sneaking quickies between classes. Her priorities changed.

"Why were you there?" She asked instead. "At the airport, last night. Why were you sitting there?" Eavesdropping. It didn't look like he was waiting for someone. He wasn't with any carry-on baggage either so he wasn't returning from a flight or preparing to board.

"Are you going to tell me why you acted like a complete Karen?"

Silence.

She didn't owe him an explanation. It would be better for the both of them if he stopped asking.

"I'll talk when you talk." He pulled his bag onto his lap.

The first hour went by in a blur.

Holly had unloaded her bag and drawn out a list in her notebook of all the things she needed to do now that she was back in Chicago.

Reconciling with her family topped the list. Her handwriting was wobbly, rounded in the top left corner of the page. She eyed it with indifference. She was doing her best. It was never enough. Navigating the jumbled-up feelings she shoved away in a locked closet at the back of her mind was bound to get tricky.

Attend her parents' wedding. Was second on her rather brief list. She couldn't see herself in a bridesmaid dress holding flowers in one hand and Georgia in the other. On the plus side, she was no longer sick to her stomach at the idea. She only mildly despised it.

Join an extra-curricular activity sat last.

Bottom lip tucked between her teeth, she turned to Kyle. Typing, writing, he shuffled between the computer and the notepad he tucked by it.

"What are you working on?" She tried to sneak a peek at the screen.

"Research." He jabbed a finger at the article he was reading. "I heard about this case... it's supposedly a cold one. I was trying to run the necessary background checks."

Something told her his disinterest was feigned.

"I feel like you want to tell me about this case,"

He did.

"A girl was found dead here in Lincoln Lane and it was ruled as an accident, heroin overdose."

They had Black Tar on campus?

"So? People overdose all the time."

Who in bloody hell was dealing in a prep school?

"The case was closed less than a month after the incident."

That was odd.

"Think it was foul play?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should stop trying to recreate a Lincoln Lane noir."

"Come on, you don't think there was something sketchy going on?"

She did. But she didn't have time to play armature sleuth.

"Here, check this out," He hit a few keys and a video played.

"Reporting live from West Jackson Boulevard, it's been three weeks since Lincoln Lane Prep, a neighbourhood High School saw the death of one of their own." Nina Baldwin was the reporter that stood outside Lincoln Lane speaking into an uncomfortably large hand-held microphone. Nothing about the place at the time wailed of a crime scene. Students still flocked in and out, going about their everyday life. "The eighteen-year-old head cheerleader Scarlett Leighton was found dead on the night of her senior year prom. Her body was found slumped over a desk in an empty classroom." Nina gestured to the entrance. "Her boyfriend, Baseball team captain Malcolm Kent has refused to give a statement on where she could have purchased the illegal substance. Her parents have as well refrained from addressing the media. Friends of the deceased are remaining hopeful that justice will be served for Scarlett Leighton. More to come—"

She shut the lid on the computer. "When was this?"

"Three years ago." She heard him. For whatever reason, it didn't sink in.

"What's your take?" She tilted her head, slightly.

"The boyfriend knows something." He answered quickly, his tone steady.

"Know where we can find him?"

"I can check." He opened his computer.

"I'll do it." She resolved.

"Do what?" He wrinkled his nose.

"Write for your stupid paper." His eyes twinkled with glee. From the looks of it, if he could, he would be doing a celebratory dance. "But we're reopening this case."