Killer Mission Page 5

  It was Lewis. A second later several scoops of ice cream with fudge sauce came flying toward us.

  “Duck!” someone shouted. Patton grabbed Lee’s applesauce and winged it at Lewis.

  And so the battle was on.

  I was in the bathroom on my floor back at the dorm trying to wash off the results of the food fight when Joe walked in. He smirked when he saw the chocolate syrup on my shirt and the mustard in my hair.

  “Enjoying student life so far?” he taunted playfully.

  “It’s a cabaret,” I snarled back. “Where’s your furry friend? Shouldn’t you be taking him on walksies about now?”

  “That can wait.” Joe leaned back against another sink. “Right now we should talk about the case. After all, you’ll be stuck in class all day tomorrow.”

  He was still smirking about that. What can I say? Joe’s easily amused.

  “Okay, good,” I said, wringing out the hem of my shirt. “Because I might have another suspect to add to the list.”

  “Who?”

  I looked around to make sure we were alone in the bathroom. “Name’s Lewis McPherson,” I said. “He’s the kid who started the food fight.”

  Joe looked interested. “You mean that wrestler-looking dude with the greasy hair?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So what’d he do to make the list? I mean, tossing a burger at the next table isn’t quite on the same page as the other stuff we’re talking about.”

  “It’s not that. I heard some interesting stuff about him just now.” I filled him in on what the other guys had said. “Sounds like the kid’s a real troublemaker. Plus, there’s something a little weird about the whole GTT entry thing.”

  Joe tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the porcelain sink top. “Okay, I feel you,” he said. “But what about that Peachy Patton dude? Sounds like he’s pretty angry that he could be edged out by Lewis for that spot in GTT.”

  “True. But for that very reason, it seems unlikely he’d do anything to make the frat look bad.”

  “Good point.” Joe nodded. “Okay, let’s look into this McPherson guy. I’ll send a note to HQ when I get back to the cottage.”

  “Cool.” I wiped one last smudge of something sticky off my chin, then turned away from the mirror. “Might not play out, but hey, we’ve got to start somewhere, right?”

  As we walked out of the bathroom, Joe checked his watch. “Still some time before lights-out. We might as well use it.”

  “Good call. I still want to talk with Ellery in private—get his version of the dog attack story.”

  “That reminds me. I found out a little something . . .”

  He filled me in on what he’d learned at dinner. It sounded as if Killer’s former handler had been anything but popular around campus.

  “Interesting,” I said. “Especially given what Darity told us. You know—about people suspecting this Hunt guy might’ve taught Killer to attack on cue.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I’d offer to come with you to talk to Ellery, but he’d probably just order me to shine his shoes or something.” Joe rolled his eyes. “So maybe I’ll see if I can track down the soccer coach and the swim coach instead. Get their take on that incident. Maybe find out if either of them had problems with this Hunt dude or any of the students or whatever.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We parted ways outside the dorm. I headed over to Arthur House but discovered that Ellery had just left.

  “You might be able to catch him,” said the guy at the security desk in the lobby. “He headed that way.”

  Sure enough, when I hurried back outside, I soon spotted Ellery strolling along one of the paths. I broke into a jog and caught up with him.

  “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  He gave me a shrewd look, as if sizing me up to see if I was worth talking to. I must have passed the test, because he held up the camera case he was carrying.

  “Going to take some shots at archery club practice. You could tag along if you’ve got nothing better on tap tonight,” he said with one of his couldn’t-care-less shrugs. “Some of the guys in the club couldn’t hit the air a foot in front of them. It’s pretty hilarious.”

  “Cool.” I fell into step beside him. “So if they stink so bad, why are you photographing them? Wouldn’t a video camera be a better bet? At least then you might make it onto America’s Goofiest Videos or something. Win some cash.”

  He actually cracked a half smile at that. “You’re obviously a practical man who knows how to use his head,” he said. “But me? I’m more the idealistic artist type.”

  His comment sounded pretty sarcastic, and for a moment I wasn’t sure how to take it. But then he started talking about photography, explaining that he tried to shoot different sports and clubs to practice his skills. His world-weary-cynic facade actually started fading away a little as he spoke. It was clear that he was genuinely passionate about photography—not to mention intelligent and quick-witted.

  “My father disapproves of all this, of course.” Okay, now the cynic was back full force. Ellery hoisted his camera bag and stared at it for a moment. “He wants me to make a killing in the financial world and then get involved with politics. Just like him.”

  “And you’re not into that?”

  He gave me a look. “Do I seem like someone who’d be into that? If so, kill me now.”

  I chuckled. “I hear you. So listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. My cousin Joe mentioned that dog he’s handling bit someone before he got here, and he thought it might’ve been you. True?”

  Okay, not too subtle. But I wasn’t sure how far we were from wherever this archery club thing was happening. And I didn’t want to miss my chance.

  A brief look of surprise flitted across Ellery’s face. Then his expression shut down again. “Yeah, that was me. Guess I taste like liver.”

  “So did you—”

  “Here we are!” he interrupted loudly. He gestured ahead. “Looks like practice already started. I’d better get over there or I’ll miss all the funny stuff.”

  He hurried forward. I followed more slowly, trying to figure out if his response was suspicious or not. Was he just embarrassed about the bite? Or was there more to that odd look he’d given me?

  The archery practice was taking place on one of the manicured sports fields, which had been cleared of snow. Someone had set up a bunch of round targets at one end, and seven or eight students were aiming their arrows at them.

  As Ellery fussed around setting up his tripod and other equipment, I watched the archers. Lee Jenkins was one of them. He drew back his bow and let an arrow fly. Thunk! It hit the target just a couple of inches shy of the bull’s-eye. Nice.

  Lewis McPherson was also there. He was joking around and laughing as he notched an arrow. I was only a fair shot myself, but even I could tell he wasn’t holding the bow quite right. Sure enough, when he let the arrow fly, it just sort of plopped down a few yards in front of him.

  “Epic fail!” he exclaimed loudly, shouting with laughter. “Dudes, hope you don’t need me to defend this place when the bears take over.”

  A couple of the others chuckled. Lee smiled politely. The rest ignored him.

  “That guy’s a real comedian,” Ellery muttered. “Too bad it’s only in his own mind.”

  “Seriously,” I agreed.

  Meanwhile Lee had lowered his bow and was glancing around. “Hey, where’s Patton?” he asked. “He said he’d be here tonight for sure.”

  Ellery smirked. “Wait’ll you see Peachy try to shoot,” he told me. “Robin Hood he ain’t. He even makes Lewis look competent.” He paused to think. “Okay, nothing could do that. But he makes him look marginally less in competent.”

  “If he’s so bad—Lewis, too—why are they even in this club?” I asked.

  Ellery bent over to adjust a lens. “Lewis does it because it’s the easiest way to get around the PE requirement. He’s lazy as a sack of rocks.” He
shrugged. “As for Peachy, you got me. He probably just wants to suck up to Lee the Wonder Boy and the GTT seniors.”

  I was about to ask him why he’d called Lee a wonder boy when there was a shout from somewhere behind us. Turning, I saw Patton rushing up. His pale face looked even paler than usual beneath his red hair as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the archery group.

  “Guys, listen up!” he called out breathlessly, sounding self-important. “You’ll never believe what just happened. This is terrible!”

  I raised my eyebrows. But most of the others, Ellery included, didn’t react much. I couldn’t help wondering if that meant Patton was frequently breathless and self-important—like the boy who cried wolf. Somehow, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine.

  “What is it, Peachy?” one of the others finally asked, sounding bored. “You lose your room key again?”

  “I’m serious, you guys,” Patton insisted. “You need to hear this. Spencer just got a death threat!”

  Making Tracks

  I was awakened out of a sound sleep by something cold and wet on my face. As I lay there sleepily, I smiled. Okay, so dog slobber isn’t usually my favorite wake-up call. But if it meant Killer was finally warming up to me a little, I’d take it.

  “Good boy,” I mumbled with my eyes still closed.

  Then I heard movement from somewhere across the room. Hmm. If Killer was licking my face, what or who was that?

  I finally cracked open one eye, then the other. That’s when I realized it wasn’t Killer licking me. There was a slimy, slobbery chunk of fabric draped across my face.

  “Ew,” I said, sitting up and grabbing the wet mess.

  It took me a moment to ID it. That’s because it had been chewed and then slimed almost beyond recognition. But I was pretty sure I knew what it was. A sock. Specifically, my sock.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said to Killer, who was sitting over near the door, watching me with his usual look of faint disdain. “Who needs two socks any-way?”

  I swung my legs off the bed, stood, and stretched. It was early. Just as I’d figured, I wouldn’t be able to sleep in with Killer around.

  “Okay, fine,” I grumbled, shoving my feet into my sneakers. Minus socks. I had some clean ones in my bag, but I didn’t feel like digging them out right now. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I headed for the main room, grabbing Killer’s leash on the way. He padded along behind me. As soon as we neared the front door, he suddenly perked up. It was as if someone had flipped a switch and he went from Mr. Aloof to Happy Happy Bouncy Walksies Doggie. Seriously. From grim to joyful in a split second.

  “Okay, then,” I said in surprise. “Guess you’re excited about your walk, huh?”

  I should have guessed again. As soon as I swung open the door, I saw the reason for Killer’s change of mood. Frank was just coming up the front walk.

  “You’re up,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “I thought I’d have to wake you.”

  “Don’t worry. Your best friend already took care of that.” I waved a hand at Killer, who was bounding past me to greet Frank with wagging tail and flopping tongue. I could feel a cold breeze on my bare ankles. It had flurried overnight, and the air was crisp. “And my sock, too.”

  “Sock?”

  “Never mind.” I barged into Frank and Killer’s happy reunion just long enough to clip on the dog’s leash. “By the way, shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “I have a few minutes. I wanted to tell you about something. You know that guy Spencer we met yesterday?”

  “Head of GTT, basic BMOC?” I yawned, wondering if there was any coffee in the cottage. “What about him?”

  “He received a death threat last night.”

  That woke me up. “A death threat? For real?”

  Killer was pulling at his leash. Frank and I started walking as we talked, once again sticking to the deserted path at the edge of the woods.

  Frank started out by telling me about Patton’s dramatic arrival at archery practice the night before. “Apparently the threat came via e-mail. Unknown host,” he added before I could ask.

  I nodded. “What’d it say?”

  “Well, I never actually saw it myself,” Frank said with a sigh. “By the time I tracked down Spencer, he’d already forwarded it to Darity. But I managed to convince him I could help—told him I had an uncle in the FBI.”

  “Improvisation.” I smiled and lifted my hand. “Nicely played, bro.”

  He high-fived me. “Thanks. Anyway, he told me it said something like ‘Are you sure you are making the right decisions? Think carefully, Mr. President. It could mean the diff between life and death.’”

  “Making the right decisions, huh?” I mused, tugging on the leash to keep Killer from wandering off into a pile of snow. “What do you think that means?”

  “Not sure. I’m not even sure it’s really a death threat.” Frank shook his head. “It seems pretty vague. Just like the rest of the threats.”

  I nodded. Darity had supplied us with a printout of the earlier messages he’d mentioned. They were all equally ambiguous.

  We discussed the e-mails for another minute or two. Then Frank had to leave for his first class. I finished Killer’s walk, then returned to my cottage.

  “Okay, boy,” I told the dog as we turned up the walk. “Time to drop you off for a nice nap in your kennel, okay? I have some snooping around to do.”

  I’d left the front door unlocked, so I headed in that way. One of the side doors of the house led into the kennel. I planned to kick Killer out there, grab some coffee if I could find some, and then head out.

  But as soon as I entered, I knew something wasn’t right. Killer knew it too. His head went up and his nose started twitching.

  “What is it, boy?” I murmured.

  Then I saw what I’d unconsciously registered at first glance. The container of liver snaps that had been sitting on an end table when I’d left was now on the floor, half its contents spilled.

  At that moment Killer suddenly lunged away, yanking the leash out of my grip. “Hey!” I cried.

  I expected him to dart forward and go for those spilled liver snaps. To my surprise, however, he turned the other way—and dashed out through the still ajar front door!

  “Killer, no!” I shouted. “Stop! I mean, down—come—oh, man . . .”

  I took off after him, my heart in my throat. What if he bit someone else out there? That would be a disaster—for that person, for Killer, for the school as a whole. Not to mention the end of my own undercover gig.

  As I chased Killer across the cottage’s small front yard and down a path, I learned a very important lesson. Dogs are fast. At least this particular dog was. Within seconds, he’d outpaced me and was out of sight.

  I jogged on, stopping at the last spot I’d caught a glimpse of him. Glancing down, I saw several large paw prints in a clump of snow at the side of the path.

  “This is just swell,” I grumbled under my breath, casting my eyes forward for more prints. “A dog is supposed to track people, not the other way around.”

  Thanks to those flurries the night before, there was just enough snow on the ground to make the tracks fairly easy to follow. They led me to the edge of the woods.

  That’s when I spotted Killer again. He was sniffing around near the tree line. He dipped his head, and I was pretty sure I saw him eat something.

  “Okay, boy,” I called out in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “Easy now. Just stay right there. . . .”

  I was within a few feet of his dragging leash when he bolted again. His ears were pricked toward something ahead of him.

  “Aw, man!” I exclaimed. The snow was deeper here. I could feel it on my bare feet as it seeped into my shoes. “Do we really have to do this?”

  I tried to comfort myself with the fact that we were less likely to run into potential bite victims out here in the woods. Or witnesses to my incompetence, either.

  “Killer, wait! Heel
! Come! Halt!” I tried every doggie command word I could think of. Plus a few more colorful phrases brought on by the current situation. For all Killer cared, I might as well have been speaking Swahili. Or maybe Cat. He let out several sharp barks, bounding forward through the snowy underbrush.

  For a second I lost sight of him again. I plowed forward, hoping I was still going the right way. There was another bark, and I adjusted my path.

  A few more steps and some scratches from a thornbush later, I found myself at the edge of a clearing. Killer was there too—and he wasn’t alone.

  There was a woman in the clearing. Her back was to me, so I couldn’t see her face. But she was tall and athletic-looking. There were cross-country skis on her feet.

  As I watched in horror, Killer crossed the clearing in two big jumps. With another loud bark, he leaped straight at the woman.

  “Killer, no!” I howled.

  Bad Sports

  Yo.” Ellery slid into the seat beside me in the dusty old classroom on the second floor of Firth Hall. “You in this class?”

  “I thought I was in the right place.” I checked my class schedule. “But aren’t you a sophomore? I’m supposed to be in third-year English.”

  “You’re in the right place.” Ellery slouched in his chair. “I tested out of freshman English, so I’m a year ahead.”

  At that moment Patton hurried into the room. He was a junior, just like I was supposed to be. Good. At least I wasn’t lost on my first day.

  I checked the teacher’s name on my schedule sheet. “So how’s Mr. Westerley? Is he good?”

  Ellery shrugged. “You’ll find out for yourself in a sec.” He nodded toward a man coming through the door behind Patton.

  To my surprise, I recognized him. It was the pale, skinny guy in the bow tie, the man Joe and I had seen heading into the woods the day before while we were walking Killer. Now that I got a better look at him, my earlier impression was confirmed. Westerley didn’t look like the outdoorsy type. More like a guy who rarely left the library.

  “Greetings, people,” the teacher said as he dropped his leather satchel on the desk at the front of the room. “Everybody please welcome a new student, Frank Hardy.”