They seem surprised to see me, but they don't complain.
“Any news on the Mr. Murphy front?” I ask, but Ranger shakes his head, ruffling up his black hair with his blue-painted fingernails. He smells like leather and sugar when I lean in close, and I take a deep, quiet breath to savor the smell. Maybe that's weird, but I can't help it. He's this perfect mix of sweetness and danger.
“Nothing. It was like things died down after you left. I mean, other than the fact that he's been exceedingly nice. It sickens me.”
“Ah, yes, the infernal problem of a teacher being far too kind to a student. That certainly proves his guilt.”
Ranger turns to glare at Church as I chuckle.
“Maybe it's nothing? Maybe he's just a super nice guy who happens to be a junior—like a lot of guys, I might add—and he owns a purple Sharpie and knew Jenica. It could literally be that simple.” I slump back in the cushy leather seats, and pretend like I'm not rubbing my palm all over them, molesting the shit out of that interior.
“I forgot: peasants do like leather, don't they? Is that why you stabbed your ex's seats? Some sort of French Revolution type rebellion?”
“And I forgot how much I hate rich people.” I flick the back of Church's ear, but he just grins. “Back to the subject at hand: the murder. No clues about Eugene? Feuds going on behind the scenes? Maybe something to do with the ultra-rich and their politics? My mother's father used to go on rants about the global elite; he was convinced the super-rich had some sort of secret society they used to play the rest of us like pawns.”
“They do: it's called the Infinity Club, but that's not important right now,” Church says, and my mouth gapes open like a fish. There's a super-secret rich people organization?! What in the actual fuck? “This is nothing to do with that.”
“Someone—no, three someones—followed me all the way to Santa Cruz, and then came at me with weapons drawn. Seems like a huge conspiracy to me.” I cross my arms over my chest and sigh, bending down to dig into my backpack. It's all I have. The boys insisted they'd buy me anything I needed on this trip, including clothes, shoes, and a toothbrush. Oh, and the twins were very keen on letting me know they'd provide bras and panties aplenty. How generous of them.
I pull my notebook out and tap the pen against the page.
“What are you doing?” Ranger asks, turning to look at me with his signature scowl firmly in place. I hold up the pink notebook with the white kitten on the front, and I swear to god he gets this light pink color in his cheeks. “What the fuck is that for?”
Or … maybe I just imagined it? Yeah, I bet I did. He's a world-class dickhead.
“It's my super-secret spy notebook, you prick. If someone's going to try and kill me, I at least have the right to play detective, don't I? It's the only silver lining I've got.”
“How much of Jenica's journal have you read?” he asks, his voice getting quiet and weird all of a sudden. I swallow hard, but I get it. She was going through a lot, dating Rick but possibly fooling around with Lionel aka Mr. Murphy, hanging out with Jeff and Jack. And then there's those hard bits about her and the drugs. Jenica wasn't perfect, but she didn't deserve to die.
“All of it,” I tell him, because I just finished last night. The creepiest part about her journal is the fact that it ends mid-sentence, like she's still waiting around somewhere to finish that almost bizarrely benign thought of hers. Next week during Culinary Club, I'd like to see if I can't dredge up a bit of competitive spirit by having the team— And that's it. Just that. Nothing else, the last words she ever wrote.
Well, okay, not the last words.
There is the strange fact that the torn piece of paper that makes up her suicide note matches the torn edge of the last page in the journal. Ranger didn't tell me that part; he let me figure it out on my own.
Dear JR, I think they know about us. There's not much left I can do. If you want to meet me, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting with the angels. Love, J.
She left that in her room in the girls' dorm, along with her journal. The silver key that opened her door was hanging around her neck, but the gold key that lead to the catacombs was in her old room in the boys' dorm, aka my room.
I draw myself a little picture, but it doesn't make things easier. No clues pop out to hit me in the face like they did the other night.
