“Thanks anyway for trying.”
I was right. Gul was pissed that I couldn’t figure out who had threatened her. And I felt bad enough that I invited her to my upcoming birthday party, even though I don’t really want her there. She’ll bring Grady, of course, who isn’t so bad. Maybe he’ll act like a sort of buffer between Gul and the rest of my guests.
Putting down my cell phone, I check another item off my list. Good thing the caterers were flexible about me adding to the headcount for my party. Now to figure out who Ricardo saw sneaking down the classroom hallway over Christmas break, the week before the professor was killed.
My fingers rap along the surface of my desk, following a classical tune I’ve known since I was a little girl who watched cartoon reruns on Saturday mornings. Getting back into the surveillance office is going to be tricky, since Ricardo has been banned from being alone in there as a result of the attack. When the police interviewed us about it the next day, I tried to weedle information out of them, but I got nothing. They wouldn’t even tell me if they found any suspicious fingerprints on the bags of dry ice or AC vents. They were unhelpfully taciturn.
The surveillance room is never locked, but it’s also pretty much always occupied. So whoever planted the dry ice had to lie in wait for whoever was on duty to go to the bathroom before they took action. Or be a guard. Plus, whoever it was knew where the cameras were and was able to avoid them. After talking to all of the security personnel on campus, Bodyguard Steve doesn’t think any of them were responsible, but I can’t totally rule out the possibility.
Ricardo and I haven’t been able to watch the surveillance video of the foyer in the hours leading up to the time I found him unconscious, but it was a Saturday so I’m assuming people were in and out for most of the day. Besides, anyone could have brought the ice in the back door and put it in the vent without being caught on camera. It’s another dead end.
I considered trying to track the bad guy by tracing where he or she sourced the dry ice, but it’s available at upwards of ten stores within a five mile radius of the school. Despite my charming telephone voice, none of the store managers I talked to would agree to give me access to their receipts or security footage for last week. Teen detectives on TV make it look much easier than it is in reality.
Seven days after the attack on Ricardo, I’m so frustrated that I’m skirting the edge between rudeness and downright spiteful behavior. Ricardo keeps reeling me back in. Turns out flirty sparring with Ricardo takes my edge off and makes me a lot easier to be around.
Still, the lack of progress is driving me up the wall. Which is why Ricardo and I concocted a plan to visit the surveillance office tonight and try to access the footage he told me about.
“I hope this works,” Ricardo says as we walk casually down the stairs hand in hand.
“It has to work. If it doesn’t, I fear for your safety.”
His eyebrows rise playfully. “My safety?”
“You’ll make an excellent punching bag,” I say with a smirk.
“Hit me with your best shot,” he retorts. “I’ll be ready for you.” He gives my hand a squeeze, and I squeeze back.
“We’ll see.”
Bodyguard Steve keeps pace a step behind us, his body on full alert. When we arrive outside the security office, he stands against the wall with his hands folded over his front.
The security guard on duty gives Ricardo an annoyed look when we walk into the small room and look at the monitors. “What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be down here anymore, remember?”
Ricardo gives him a sincere smile. “I’m sorry, Freddie. I really am. How’d your wife take being left home alone on another Saturday night?”
The man rakes a hand through his hair. “She sure wasn’t happy about it, I’ll tell you that. She was getting used to me being home early those nights.”
“Sorry man. I’d relieve you if I could without getting suspended.”
“You’re not kidding. The headmistress is strung pretty tight with all the happenings this semester. Word is, some of the parents have requested she beef up security even further. Motion detector lasers. Interior security cameras. The works.”
Ricardo nods. “Look, I feel bad. Why don’t you take a quick break and call your wife? I’ll watch the feeds for you.”
Freddie looks from Ricardo to me and back, wheels turning in his head. A smile spreading across his features. “Looking for some alone time, eh? Wish I could, but I’d lose my job for sure if anyone found out I left you alone in here after last week. No, thank you.”
Ricardo winks at him. “Had to try. You know how it is.”
The man guffaws. “Yeah, I sure do.”
The level of machismo in this room right now is making me want to gag, but I suppress the urge. A flicker of movement on one of the surveillance feeds snags in the corner of my eye. Ignoring the laughter among my boyfriend and the guard, I focus on the feeds. My body goes rigid. There it is again.
Outside in the dusk, someone is prowling around the academy parking lot. Eyes widening, I point. “Do you see that? There’s someone in the parking lot. What if they’re here to hurt someone else?” My voice rises to an ear-splitting pitch.
“What?” Freddie swivels to stare at the screen just as someone skulks between two cars. The figure is dressed all in black, and is careful to keep their face away from the cameras. Whoever it is, they’re a pro.
The guard radios his partners and shoves out of his seat. “You two stay right here,” he says, waving his phone at us. “Don’t move until I get back. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Ricardo says, putting an arm around me and pulling me into his chest. “We’ll stay right here.”
The man runs down the hall, yelling into his phone as he goes.
“Everything okay in here?” Bodyguard Steve says, standing in the doorway.
“We’re fine, thanks,” I say, schooling my voice and smoothing my features despite the pounding of blood in my ears and the skittering of nerves up my spine. I shove the fear away. I can’t think about what’s happening in the parking lot right now. I have to focus on what’s right in front of me.
Bodyguard Steve recedes into the hallway.
“Quick,” I whisper once Ricardo and I are alone again. “You’ve only got a minute or two.”
Plunking himself down into the chair, Ricardo rolls up to the desk and starts typing quickly on the abandoned keyboard. Pulling up several video files, he emails them to himself before wiping down the keyboard and repositioning the mouse where Freddie left it in his haste to get to the parking lot.
The files upload slowly, and beads of cold sweat roll down my spine. I don’t even want to think about what will happen if anyone catches us in here stealing security footage. But we have to get it. The person Ricardo saw lurking around over break is our only lead, and even that’s a thin one.
Footsteps approach along the hall.
“Hurry,” I whisper louder, putting pressure on Ricardo’s shoulder. “Someone’s coming.”
“Almost uploaded,” he says.
We stare at the progress bar, willing it to tick by more quickly.
The approaching footsteps are almost upon us.