Hunt a Killer, page 13
“Yep.”
“How did you end up here? Your dad said you go to Morgan Park.”
“He cashed in a favor with one of his work buddies. You probably already know the tuition for North Shore is steep. But the chemistry focus here is amazing, and if I want a chance to attend next fall, I’ll need a donor in addition to the financial aid the school offers. My dad gave me a list of people to talk to.” He pulled a card out of his pocket, waving it for me to see.
I nodded, thinking back to Alderman Corben in Lieutenant Charles’s office. This opportunity for Tre must’ve been part of the exchange for closing Mr. Medina’s case so quickly.
“Ms. Faiza’s over there.” He pointed. “I have to go back inside with the greeters.”
“Appreciate the escort. Make sure to mention that second-place ribbon at the science fair. That’s sure to impress.”
“Oh! I almost forgot about that. Thanks!”
After a lecture about timeliness from Ms. Faiza, and a quick lesson on how to pass out champagne while balancing a tray with one hand, I was back on the banquet floor. I felt as though there should’ve been a law against sixteen-year-olds handing out alcohol, and there probably was, but that didn’t seem to faze anyone. I guess with Chief Ryan in attendance, anything goes.
Searching the crowd, I focused on finding my target. Julius seemed to have no intention of talking to any donors. He sat in the corner with Maddie and a few other society kids, laughing while sipping what I was sure wasn’t sparkling cider. It was weird to see Julius like this. I’d never seen him with Maddie’s crowd as school, but he seemed to fit right in.
Across the room, I spotted dark roots and frosted-blond hair packaged in a black tux. I made my way over, almost dropping my tray twice. Ms. Faiza forgot to mention the wobble that occurred every time someone lifted a glass. There was a science to this.
“Chief Ryan.” I nodded to one of the few drinks I had left.
“Jolene!” He picked up a champagne, the raspberry bobbing up and down in the fizzy bubbles. “How are your parents? It’s been a few weeks since I last saw you at headquarters. Are you wrapped up in a new cold case?”
“Something like that. Though I’ve hit a snag.”
“Hmmm.” He took a quick sip, his eyes sweeping the room behind me. “You already know, my doors are always open if you ever need to run a theory past me.”
“Thanks, I might take you up on that for this case.”
He was distracted, watching for someone. I tried to follow his gaze only to find Maddie glaring at me before whispering to Julius. It was more of a death stare, really.
“Actually, I do have a question—about my scholarship?”
He placed his glass down. “Yes, I assumed that was why you were here. Maddie volunteers with our scholarship board after school. She mentioned your status changed.”
“She talks about me?” I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.
“She’s aware that we know each other. I bragged a little about you solving those two cold cases last spring. It’s part of the reason I awarded you the scholarship in the first place.”
“Are you aware that my status has changed unfairly?”
“Hmmm?” His attention was on me now.
“The GPA requirement changed without notification. I checked the website. The requirement is still 3.5, yet the letter I got says it’s 4.0. There’s been a mistake. You mentioned Maddie is volunteering—”
“Well, I trust what the letter says.”
I blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t look at me as he spoke. Instead, he took another glass from my tray, leaving me to quickly adjust my grip for the change in weight. He finished it in two gulps. “It could be that you need to focus more on your schooling,” he said coolly, his mouth tight. His kind demeanor had been replaced by something cold and frigid. “Pardon me, I see someone I need to talk to.” And just like that, I’d been dismissed.
My mouth hung open.
“Lil Blue! How is that dad of yours?” Chief Ryan laid a heavy hand on Tre’s shoulder.
Laughter sounded from Maddie’s table, but I didn’t look. Trying to ignore her, I turned to leave, nearly running over Alderman Corben.
“Oh, so sorry!” I managed to balance the tray as he caught a rogue champagne teetering on its edge.
“That’s one way to serve a drink! And no need to apologize; that was all me. I rushed over to catch John but looks like I’ve lost him to a promising student. How are you doing? Are you here looking for a donor for next year?”
I glanced back once more to Chief Ryan, still in disbelief of what he said: another veiled threat. “I guess so.”
“Well.” Alderman Corben opened his arms.
“You want me to pitch myself to you?”
“If anything, consider it practice.” He smiled his campaign smile. Still creepy.
I shrugged. “I’m a sophomore transfer from De La Salle. In all AP classes,” I opened my mouth to say more but paused. Chief Ryan had moved back into my line of sight and was talking to Julius now, handing him a stuffed envelope, which Julius hurried to hide away. The latter caught me staring.
“You’re being modest. Nic mentioned that about you.”
I snapped back to the conversation. “Mrs. Medina?”
“I’m helping her with a remembrance project to honor her late husband. I’ll let her share those details when the time is right. But I think any donor here would be happy to sponsor your next year. Corporal Andrews went to De La Salle; I’m sure she would love to speak with you. Have you taken your PSATs yet?”
I nodded. “Mid-1300s.”
“Oh? And they say your SAT scores run a hundred points higher than your PSAT, don’t they? Promising indeed.” He grinned, and I tried to smile back.
What was in that envelope? Why were Chief Ryan and Julius talking?
“Ah, my wife is waving me over. It looks like she got cornered by the dean, and she despises the woman.” He plucked a flower from a centerpiece at the table next to us. “Think this will do the trick?”
I managed a real smile. His assistant wasn’t lying about their relationship. “I think she’ll love it.”
He winked. “Here’s hoping. I wish you well tonight.”
I nodded again. “Thanks, Alderman Corben.”
Already wanting the night to end, I headed back to the kitchen only to find Julius waiting for me at the swinging doors. “You’ve chosen interesting company tonight.”
“You spoke to the chief, too, if I recall, and Maddie. What was that about?” I eyed his pocket.
He grabbed the last glass from my tray. “Apparently she was in need of an arm piece for the evening.”
I scrunched up my face. “And you just do whatever she says? I thought dating wasn’t your thing.”
“It depends on if it’s in my best interest. Or in the interests of others I care about. Maddie wasn’t always like this, you know. She’s changed since her mother walked out last year. Her need for attention—I don’t know. I don’t think her dad is giving it to her.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “And what about the chief?”
“I meant what I said before: You don’t want to get involved.” He finished his glass and started to leave.
I clenched my jaw. I was getting frustrated with his vague responses. “Or what? Are you going to threaten me, too?”
He stopped and sighed but didn’t turn to face me. “Just … don’t. Trust me on this.”
Sunday, March 6, 1:24 p.m.
I SPENT THE rest of the weekend trying to forget the alumni fundraiser and counted down to the moment Sabrina would arrive and I could prepare her for a day of shadowing me at North Shore. We texted all day about it, though it was mainly her texting me, trying to figure out what she should wear to make the perfect first impression. This might have been a ruse, but she always took fashion seriously. On my shadow day, I wore fitted jeans, my mom’s old Converses, and a hoodie that read, “Not Today, Satan.” After that confession, Sabrina decided to confer with Aiko instead.
That afternoon, I tried studying for an upcoming test, but it was too hard to focus when I knew Sabrina and I would be crossing more suspects off our list the following morning via Operation Emile. (Sabrina’s name, not mine.) I grew anxious, nervous about what the attendance records would reveal about Maddie and Julius. Saturday night had literally been a dinner full of present and past murder suspects. It was as if I was constantly surrounded by them.
“Mind if I come in?” My dad appeared in my doorway, a large envelope in hand.
I straightened up in my chair.
He stepped into my room. “I saw Mrs. Medina at church today.”
I must’ve made a face, as it wasn’t Easter or Christmas, because he immediately continued with “She had asked if I could meet her after Mass.”
“Oh. How is she?”
“Good. As good as can be expected at least. She said Spain was beautiful. She got back Friday and went by the school yesterday to clean out Mr. Medina’s office. She mentioned finding the fourth book of a collection she promised you. Those should arrive tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I’ll tell her thank you in the morning.”
It was Dad’s turn to nod. He fidgeted with the envelope. “There were a few other personal effects of Mr. Medina’s she came across. This was one.”
He turned the envelope over in his hands. For Jolene was scrawled across the front.
My breath hitched. I stood and crossed the room, only to hesitate when I got close enough to grab it. “Do you know what it is?”
“I do.” He paused, gauging what to say next. “Do you remember the deal I tried to make with you? About a four-year college?”
I nodded, keeping my gaze on Mr. Medina’s handwriting.
“Well, I got the proposal from somewhere. Manuel had this idea about starting a nonprofit in Englewood, sort of like a community center for kids. He thought you might have an interest in that line of work—in addition to the private investigator thing.” He handed me the envelope.
With a slow exhale, I lifted the sealed flap. Inside was a brochure for the University of Chicago and a handwritten note. Mr. Medina had listed a few programs with a focus on public policy, the words “Inequality, Social Problems, and Change” catching my attention. There was also a campus tour scheduled for a few weeks’ time.
Jolene,
Before you start, it’s a great school. just as great as some of the other schools kids at North Shore move on to. I arranged for you to meet a few people. Give it a chance, and if you don’t like it, at least I tried. And don’t be mad at your parents about this. This is me. So, if you hate it, well, this time you can be mad at me.
I almost choked. Mad at me.
“I can’t—I can’t think about this right now.”
“Jo?”
My mind reeled. I can’t be mad at him. He’s dead.
I pushed the letter and brochure back into my dad’s hands.
“Jolene—”
“Just, not right now.” I crawled into bed, and after a minute, he shut the door behind him.
Emotions flooded my mind. The anger I’d pushed down whenever it flickered to the surface. I’d been mad for too long. Mad at anything and everything.
“Argh!” I punched my pillow. It was getting harder to box away my feelings. But I couldn’t deal with them—not during my investigation. They would just get in the way. Still, my mind wandered back to Mr. Medina’s words.
What would that make me, someone who gets mad at a dead person?
There’s no point in being angry at him. It won’t bring him back.
You’re alone. Move on.
“Jo?” Sabrina pushed open the door a few hours later, Frankie trailing behind her.
“Seriously? Did my parents call you again?” I asked him.
He smiled, though it was a little weak. “Just here for moral support.” He went over to my desk, rooting through the bottom drawer for my candy stash. Sabrina turned on the TV, debating between which streaming service to boot up.
“What exactly are you two doing?”
“We already know you aren’t going to talk to us,” she started, switching on True Detective. “The best we can do is veg out and talk about cases.” She scrolled through the seasons trying to pick one.
“Thanks, but we’re stuck on those ciphers.” I snatched the Red Vines from Frankie and narrowed my eyes. “Off-limits.”
He grinned and took out his own pack from his pocket. “Well, maybe we can watch some stuff that has ciphers in it. What shows did Mr. Medina like?” He grabbed the remote from Sabrina.
“The classics: Matlock; Columbo; Murder, She Wrote.” I plopped back down on my bed. “I don’t know if those had a lot of ciphers, though.”
“There was an episode of BBC’s Sherlock that had something different. Something with a city guide book, remember?” Sabrina asked.
“A book cipher, but that’s numbers—wait.” I’d just watched an episode like that, too. I took the remote and found Criminal Minds. “The number sequence at the end of the email chain.” I fast-forwarded the season two opener to Reid’s aha moment and pointed to the screen. “Three numbers. Usually it’s page, line, word. But you have to make sure whoever you are communicating with has the same edition of the book.”
“The Hound of the Baskervilles.” Frankie got up and started fumbling around my bookcase before moving on to my closet. He brought out a box labeled GRADE 8 and pulled out my copy of the masterpiece. “Here it is. But didn’t he have a first edition?”
I paced. “Mrs. Medina is giving me his books, but they won’t get here until tomorrow.”
“He wouldn’t have based it on his fancy copy. Whoever he was communicating with would need to have a first edition, too. What are the chances of that?” Sabrina pulled out her phone. “I saved a few screenshots of the cipher. First number is a five,” she murmured.
Frankie started turning the pages.
“He would have adjusted the cipher to something you could use on any book. Try chapter five.” I stood over his shoulder, heart racing.
“Line thirty-nine?” he asked.
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t be able to control that. Lines would shift based on the book shape, right? What about paragraphs? We have to think of what wouldn’t change.”
Sabrina perked up. “Chapter, paragraph, word number!”
I grinned. After this weekend, I needed this. We were so close.
“Why is the type so small?” Frankie muttered. “Word number?”
“Thirty-three,” Sabrina answered.
It took a few minutes, but after several restarts we had the three words.
“City Hope Scholastics.” I sunk down to the floor.
“Mean anything to you?” Frankie asked.
“Not a damn thing.” I ran my hands over my face. “We’re running out of time!”
Frankie sat down next to me. “Hey. There’s no ticking clock on this.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. Of course he would say that. My recap of Saturday night didn’t include the increasing number of threats. He didn’t know.
I had to solve this before the threats turned into something more.
Like my blood on the tracks.
Monday, March 7, 8:26 a.m.
STEPPING ONTO SCHOOL grounds the next morning, I looked over to Sabrina as she took in a dramatic breath. She had opted for her own version of North Shore’s uniform—a plaid, dark blue skirt and a crisp tucked button-up with some type of gold chain under the collar. Stars and moons hung down from the chain, matching her celestial earrings. Over her blouse—a dark blue boyfriend cardigan with orange accents. And for some ridiculous reason, she had ditched the usual double-layer tights we both always wore in the winter months and went with white knee-highs.
“It’s cold as a mother—”
“You’re the one who dressed yourself like that,” I countered as we walked up the steps and through the front doors of the administrative wing.
“I want Mrs. Medina to believe I’m taking this seriously. How’s my hair?”
I glanced up to her two high buns on either side and fixed one of the loose curls she’d left out to frame her face. “Perfect. And the bronze eyeliner was a great choice,” I added, knowing the next question would be about makeup.
She applied another coat of gloss to her lips and nodded. “Good. Okay. I’m ready.”
We stashed our coats in my locker, and a few minutes later found ourselves in Mrs. Medina’s office. Framed pictures filled her space, mixed in with blue-and-orange school paraphernalia. The photo she kept behind her had always been my favorite: a black-and-white still from her wedding, showing Mr. Medina lifting her up in an embrace. The smiles on both their faces were the biggest I’d ever seen. I kicked myself mentally for thinking there was ever an affair. Aside from my own parents, I used to believe love like theirs only existed in fairy tales.
Mrs. Medina got up as we entered, greeting us with the warmest hugs. “Jolene, Sabrina, so good to see you both.”
“Thank you for doing this, Mrs. Medina. I never in a million years thought I could go here with Jo. I mean, I don’t know how my mom will be able to pay for it—”
“Ah, don’t worry about that, my dear. There are scholarships available. Now sit down, both of you. Sabrina, we can finalize which fashion classes would be best for you to observe.”
I sat in the chair by the door as the two of them chatted away about Spain and Textiles Through the Ages versus Fashion Merchandising. Mrs. Medina had her own bookcase similar to the one in her husband’s office, filled with some of the usual women’s fiction classics like Jane Austen and Toni Morrison, a few titles by Amy Tan. Another shelf held what looked more like class-assigned novels; I recognized some books from my Gothic literature curriculum. Finally, a row of historical romances—I assumed her favorite genre based on how many I had seen in the loft. I pulled one from the shelf to find a note scrawled on the title page from Mr. Medina.
We had gotten so close last night only to hit another dead end. If we knew who he traded ciphers with …
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