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But I did it. I used it, and she didn’t even notice.
My cockiness faded when I made it to my floor and pushed the door open. Quinn stood at my office entrance, looking puzzled.
Shit. She realized, didn’t she?
When she spotted me, she said, “Oh! You took the stairs.”
I breezed past her into the office. “Yup.”
“I wanted to ask you something strange,” she said.
Here it comes.
“Since you were so kind when I was being honest, even though my position should have restricted my words, this has been on my heart.”
Fucking hell, get to the point.
Aloud, I said, “We’re all girls here.”
Damn it, I don’t talk like that. What the hell?
“Are you and Razai dating?” she blurted.
I froze. And then I swiveled slowly in a circle to face her.
Anger blotched her cheeks pink. Water rose in little droplets around her like she couldn’t quite control them.
“I would rather gnaw my own leg off,” I confessed. “And like, sit on a cactus. Or—wait, no—swallow a cactus. The man is a walking crate of singing kids’ toys mixed with a frat boy personality.”
She didn’t relax. The water droplets only shivered in the air. “Good. He’s not good news.”
“I heard about the attempted desk rearrangement. And the sharpened pencils.”
The droplets elongated and sharpened into ice. Tiny little dagger-like shards surrounded her in a cloud. “Oh. Did you?” Her words were light and clipped. Brittle as glass.
“Yes…” I said, confused. “Is that all?”
“Yup. Totally!” She turned on her heel and walked away, her miniature weapons following along.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Benjamin was the best. I still can’t believe he’s gone!”
“We lost so much when Benjamin was taken away. What kind of a monster would do that to such an amazing person? Do you know that he helped me study for a test the night before? Until midnight? He had only met me the week before.”
“Plus he was so handsome. And always ready to help his father.”
“The other attacks were scary, yes. I don’t really feel safe here, but I’m still just so heartbroken that we lost Benjamin.”
I’d had seven appointments that day. All with students who were greatly affected by the attacks in one way or another.
I also learned one thing: the late Mr. Castile was one blessing away from fucking sainthood. He was perfect in everyone’s eyes. Literally perfect.
Did that help me with shit?
Absolutely not.
I’d come here to solve a damn murder case, not hear students masturbate to the memory of Benjamin Fucking Castile.
