Killer Connections Read online

“Oh?” I smirked. “Taking this whole prep school boy persona pretty seriously, huh?”

  “What can I say? Cover is cover.”

  “That reminds me. Part of my cover is taking Mr. Keep-Away here for walksies. And we’re late.” I grabbed Killer’s leash and snapped it to the collar. This time he didn’t protest. Probably didn’t want to look bad in front of Frank.

  “I’ll come along.” Frank fell into step as we left the cottage. “We need to talk.”

  My mind immediately jumped to the mission. “Did you hear from HQ about the lab results?”

  Frank shook his head as we turned down our usual path near the woods. “Not yet. But there’s more trouble. Nigel Nabb just showed up on campus.”

  “Nigel Nabb?” It took me a second to place the name. “Wait, you mean that big-mouthed Brit that Aunt Trudy’s always pretending not to watch on TV while she cleans?”

  “That’s the one,” Frank confirmed. “I think his show’s called R and F Report.”

  “Right. Stands for ‘rich and famous.’”

  R and F Report was a weekly tabloid-trash cable show that focused on celebrity gossip. It was pretty popular, though I wasn’t sure why. Watching its star reporter, Nigel Nabb, was about as annoying as having a mosquito in your swim trunks. He was known for exposé-type reports that he produced on location. A lot of his footage was shot with a handheld camera. Guess he thought it gave him that cinema verité look.

  Frank and I had seen way more of the show than we wanted to. Aunt Trudy, who lives with us, always seemed to have it on while she vacuumed or fixed dinner. Whenever anyone caught her watching, she pretended she’d been flipping channels trying to find PBS or the Weather Channel.

  “So what’s someone like Nigel Nabb doing at a place like this?” I asked.

  Frank shrugged. “Spencer and some of the other guys tell me the show loves to focus on scandals among socialites and rich club kids and people like that. Not just the typical movie-star-type celebs.”

  “Think old Nigel heard about any of what’s been going on around here lately?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just sniffing around for a prep school story and the timing is a coincidence.” Frank kicked at a loose stone on the path. “Either way, let’s hope Darity chases this clown off soon.”

  I nodded. “This investigation’s already way too complicated. The last thing we need is some nosy reporter getting in the way.”

  Frank’s phone buzzed. It turned out to be HQ reporting those lab results. The Winner’s Cup had been laced with a certain anticonvulsant drug normally used to treat epilepsy and related conditions. But in a way high dose.

  “Good thing there were two MVPs,” Frank said as he hung up. “If one person had drunk that much in a single gulp, he might not have recovered so quickly and easily.”

  “Or she,” I reminded him. “Think this was a leftover swipe at Destiny?”

  “Doubtful. Casey thought he was taking her out of the game, remember? He’d have had no reason to think she’d even be around to drink out of that cup.”

  “Good point.” I tugged at Killer’s leash to move him past a fascinating splotch of bird poop. “So how hard would it be for someone to get their hands on a drug like that?”

  “It’s prescription only. But not particularly obscure,” said Frank. “Any doctor could get it. Or any diagnosed epileptic, I guess.”

  That didn’t seem too helpful. So we went back to our previous conversation. Frank told me what Nigel’s unwelcome arrival had interrupted. A near fight on the Green.

  “Wow,” I said when I heard about the rumor that had started the scuffle. “They’re claiming Lee poisoned himself? That’s so obviously not true. It doesn’t even make sense.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “I wonder who started it.”

  “Didn’t you say it was Peachy?” That was Patton’s nickname, thanks to his red hair.

  “He was the one who told those guys. But I doubt he came up with it himself.” Frank looked thoughtful. “I wonder if it has anything to do with Nigel turning up?”

  I caught his meaning immediately. “It does seem pretty coincidental,” I said.

  I didn’t pay much attention to R and F Report. But it was hard to avoid hearing the rumors that the show exaggerated or even downright fabricated some of its juicier stories.

  “I guess all we can do is keep the possibility in mind,” said Frank. “Meanwhile, we’d better get back to the real mission.”

  “Agreed. So where do we start?”

  “Let’s go over the facts so far, see if we can spot any patterns.”

  That was typical Frank. He’s all about focusing on details and making lists and looking for patterns. Me? I’m more of a big-picture, action kind of guy. But in this case, he was on target. There were a few loose ends we hadn’t tied up even before the Winner’s Cup incident. Were we missing something?

  Spotting our favorite trail leading into the forest, I turned down it. Less chance of being overheard in there. Plus, I didn’t have to clean up Killer’s poop if he went in the woods.

  “Okay,” I said. “Ellery claimed he didn’t know anything about some of the early computer threats.”

  “We never figured out who greased the coach’s floor, either.”

  “Right. I almost forgot about that one.” Before our arrival on campus, the school’s swim coach had been badly injured when he’d slipped on some grease on the soccer coach’s office floor. “Guess I just figured it was a coincidence.”

  “Me too. Same with Lee’s grades getting changed in the computer system.”

  “What about the buckets of blood and the graffiti?” I automatically shot a glance in the direction of the hunting cabin where we’d found that blood. It was tucked away in the woods near campus. “Casey said he didn’t do it.”

  “I know.” Frank looked troubled. “I kind of didn’t believe him at first. But now that I think about it, how would he get his hands on Destiny’s blood supply?”

  He had a point. Destiny had a rare blood type and an even rarer blood-clotting disorder. She had to keep a supply of her own blood on hand in case of emergency.

  “He might have known about Destiny’s stash from going to school with her before,” I said. “Could he have broken into the infirmary here to grab it?”

  “I suppose it’s possible. But we shouldn’t assume anything.” Frank shrugged. “I mean, he confessed to everything else. Why not that one thing?”

  “He didn’t confess to trying to run her down with that truck on the soccer field, either,” I reminded him. “That could’ve killed Destiny if a certain heroic ATAC agent hadn’t come to the rescue.” I grinned, remembering how Frank had leaped into the truck to steer it away from Destiny.

  “Shh!” Frank looked worried as he quickly surveyed the woods around us. “Half the people on campus already know about ATAC as it is. You don’t have to announce it to the other half.”

  “Who do you think is going to overhear us out here? The squirrels?” But again, I had to admit he had a point. We had circled back to the edge of the woods by now. I followed Killer as he pulled me out into the sun.

  “Whatever. Anyway, who was hurt by all that stuff?” Frank asked quietly, checking around to make sure nobody was nearby. “Who might have a motive?”

  I paused to let Killer do his business on the side of a trash can. “Who was hurt?” I mused. “All different people. The swim coach. Lee. Destiny. Anyone else?”

  We kept discussing it as we wandered through campus. We were just crossing behind fraternity row when Frank’s phone rang. Killer instantly went on alert, ears pricked toward Frank’s pocket.

  “At ease, soldier,” Frank told the dog with a smile. Then he grabbed his phone and answered it. His face immediately went pale. “Oh, um, h-hi, Aunt Trudy,” he stammered.

  I gulped. Aunt Trudy is kind of a barracuda. She’s always after Frank and me—well, mostly me—to finish our homework, do our chores, that kind of stuff. Basically, if we’re in any
danger of having fun, she puts a stop to it.

  And she has no idea about ATAC. Neither does our mom. Dad knows, of course. He’s the only reason Frank and I have been able to keep the secret. He and ATAC help us come up with cover stories to explain why we have to spend so much time away from home.

  Sometimes the stories are a little weak. Like the current one. Supposedly we were involved in a school exchange program. We’d left it to Dad to come up with the details after we left.

  The campus around us was pretty quiet. Aunt Trudy’s voice isn’t. I was able to hear her pretty well even from several feet away with a large dog panting at my side. She was squawking about all the chores we weren’t doing at home. Your basic guilt trip.

  “Sorry about that, Aunt Trudy,” Frank broke in at last, using his best straight-A, Eagle Scout voice. “But our educational exchange program is going very well. And we’ll be sure to take care of Playback’s cages just as soon as we get home.”

  Ugh. I’d almost forgotten about our pet parrot’s cages. We were supposed to clean them right before we left on this mission.

  But I was distracted from that unpleasant thought by Killer. He was pulling on the leash, straining ahead toward the next corner.

  “Hush!” I whispered as he started whining softly.

  As usual, he paid no attention to me. He let out a loud WOOOOF!

  Aunt Trudy’s voice came through more clearly than ever. “What’s that noise?’ she demanded. “Are you at a school or a dog show?”

  Frank grimaced. “Um, they’re showing a filmstrip in the next room,” he said. “I think it’s about … uh, the use of military dogs during World War II.”

  Nicely done. But I barely had time to appreciate his quick lying skills. Killer was dragging me around the bend.

  That’s when I saw it. Two students on the GTT house lawn, trying to kill each other!

  Fratricide

  I managed to rush Aunt Trudy off the phone. Then I sprinted after Joe. He was already trying to break up the fight. Killer was dancing around, barking.

  “Chill out, man!” Joe yelled, grabbing at one kid’s arm.

  I lunged toward the other. It was Van.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Easy, big guy!”

  By now others had heard the yells. Several guys ran out of the frat house. Spencer was one of them.

  Soon the fighters were backing off. Spencer was holding on to Van’s arms, talking softly to calm him down. Killer had placed himself between the two fighters and was keeping a wary eye on both of them.

  Van’s opponent, a small, wiry guy with dark hair, brushed himself off. He still looked kind of tense.

  “Who’s that?” Joe whispered to me.

  “Name’s Tommy. Tommy Lewicki, I think—something like that,” I murmured back. “Lee pointed him out to me once. Said he’s a freshman from the same Boston public school as him.”

  “Another scholarship student?”

  “Guess so. The way Lee was talking, it sounded like he sees him as sort of a little brother here, you know?”

  “Okay,” Spencer was saying to the fighters. “We cool now, guys?”

  Van was starting to look kind of sheepish. No wonder. He had to outweigh Tommy by at least fifty pounds.

  “Sorry, bro,” he said. “Guess I just got upset.”

  Another GTT brother let out a laugh. “Hothead Van strikes again,” he joked.

  “Yeah.” Van grinned. “Anyway, I just heard the latest rumors about why Ellery left school, and after the stuff Peachy told us earlier, well …” He shrugged.

  “Wait, what rumors about Ellery?” Joe asked, stepping forward.

  Van blinked at him, obviously not quite sure who he was. A few of the other GTTers traded glances. Finally Spencer cleared his throat.

  “What was it this time, Van?” he asked quietly.

  Van shrugged. “I heard Lee got his girlfriend Destiny to say that Ellery was, like, harassing her or something. That way Ell would get kicked out, and Lee would get into GTT for sure.”

  “Crazy, huh?” Tommy spoke up, sounding angry and a little on edge.

  Crazy was right. Mr. Marks had hushed up the truth so well that not even Ellery’s closest friends knew the truth. Except for Spencer, of course. And apparently, he hadn’t shared with his frat brothers.

  Spencer rolled his eyes. “Come on, man,” he chided Van. “That story doesn’t jive. Lee and Ellery were both getting in.”

  A few of the others nodded, including Van. But a couple of brothers didn’t look convinced.

  “I dunno,” one said. “Lee’s pretty new to Firth, just like his girlfriend. Neither of them really fits in, you know?”

  Tommy instantly clenched his fists. “What do you mean by that?” he challenged him.

  “Chill, dude!” another brother said. “He’s just saying—”

  The rest of his words were lost in a flurry of barking. I glanced over to see Joe struggling to hang on to Killer’s leash. The dog was straining toward something off to one side of the house.

  “Oh, man,” one of the brothers muttered. “It’s that gossip guy.”

  Sure enough, Killer had spotted Nigel Nabb coming our way. The reporter was holding his camera and microphone. He was still in his shiny suit, though he’d added a scarf sporting Firth’s school colors somewhere along the way. It looked ridiculous nestled among his chest hair.

  Most news spread fast at Firth. Nigel’s arrival was no exception. Everyone seemed to recognize him instantly, and nobody looked surprised.

  “Relax, guys,” Spencer hissed. “When he gets here, we were just arguing about this year’s Celtics lineup or something, okay?”

  “Says who?” Tommy spoke up with a frown. “Maybe if you guys don’t believe Lee is innocent, that reporter dude can help clear his name.”

  “Are you psycho?” One of the GTT brothers shot a nervous look at Nigel, who was getting closer. “My cousin ended up on that R and F show once, and she’s barely been able to show her face in public since. Nabb will rip Firth apart if he gets half a chance.”

  “He’s right,” said Spencer. “Whatever our issues are, let’s deal with them ourselves and not go spouting off to outsiders. Firth First, remember?”

  That was the school’s unofficial motto. Firth First.

  Tommy shrugged, looking sullen. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

  Killer had stopped barking by now. But he was still glaring at Nigel. Guess he didn’t like gossip TV, either. Smart dog.

  “Come on,” Joe said to me. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

  I nodded and led the way around the corner of the frat house. The less time we spent with Nigel Nabb, the better. If he was looking for prep school secrets, we definitely didn’t want him to uncover ours.

  Once we were safely out of sight—and Killer was settled down and sniffing at some fallen leaves—Joe and I huddled to talk about what had just happened.

  “Think it means anything?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But I’m thinking we should talk to Lee. Even though all the rumors about him are bogus, he does seem to be at the center of things lately.”

  We tried calling him, but there was no answer. I remembered that he’d been at his work-study job in the campus office the previous Sunday. But when we checked there, his coworkers said he had the day off. We already knew he wasn’t at the frat house, so we headed for his dorm room.

  “Wait, we didn’t talk about what we’re going to say,” I whispered as Joe raised a hand to knock on Lee’s door.

  He shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

  Typical. But it was too late to protest. He rapped sharply on the door.

  The hall was deserted and quiet. It was easy to hear a couple of thumps from inside the room. Killer even pricked his ears in that direction. Then everything went silent.

  “Lee?” Joe called. “You okay in there, bro?”

  Still no answer. We traded a confused look. />
  “Am I crazy, or did you hear someone in there?” I asked.

  “I thought so.” Joe carefully tested the knob. Locked. He looked quickly up and down the empty hallway. “Think we should bust in?”

  I hesitated. If Lee was in there and just didn’t feel like company, it would be hard to explain if we forced our way into his room….

  The sound of voices and footsteps made up our minds for us. “Come on,” I murmured to Joe as some other students appeared farther down the hall. “We’ll check back later.”

  “Okay.” Joe shot a look back at Lee’s locked door. “But that was kind of weird. I’m thinking it might be time to put Lee back on the suspect list.”

  We’d already had HQ pull a dossier on Lee, but I texted them to see if they’d turned up anything else.

  Then Joe and I headed back toward his cottage. Since he was posing as a school employee, he got his own little place near the rest of the staff. We’d have plenty of privacy there to talk over how to proceed.

  Halfway there, we got a call from Dr. Darity. He wanted us to come to his office and fill him in on our progress.

  “Think we have time to drop off you-know-who first?” Joe asked.

  I smiled and shook my head. Joe is always trying to ditch Killer. Maybe that’s why the dog isn’t that crazy about him.

  “Sorry, bro. Darity sounded impatient—we’d better head straight there.”

  “Are you sure? Darity’s allergic to dogs, remember? That’s why Killer doesn’t live with him.”

  “I know. But he’s been around him before. I don’t think having him sit in his office for five minutes is going to kill him.”

  A few minutes later we were in Darity’s office in Firth Hall. First we told him the lab results.

  “So it was nothing illegal? Just a prescription drug?” Darity stroked his chin. As usual, he looked tweedy and a little rumpled. In other words, exactly how you’d expect the headmaster of an exclusive prep school to look.

  “That’s right,” said Joe. “But listen, there’s something else you should know about. Have you heard that Nigel Nabb is hanging around?”

  “Who?” Darity blinked at us over the tops of his little round glasses.