2

I walked to the library, set my case against the slant of the steps leading to the weathered oak doors, and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I dialed a number.

My mom answered. "Hey mom."

"Oh, hi honey! How are you?"

"Good, mom. Hey, I w--"

"There was something on the news about a murd--"

"Yeah--mom, tell me about that."

"You don't know? Well, let's see, they've been teasing us on the radio every ten minutes without actually reporting on it, but on the TV...hmm...OK, uh, 'murder at local college'...'students in panic'...mmm, looks like one of your custodial staff was killed. That's all they really say."

I looked out at the silent campus. A dull wind swept across the ground, tossing leaves against buildings and making the yellow tape bob in the distance. "I'm not sure 'panic' is the best of terms, mom."

"Oh, honey--" She sounded as if someone was dragging the wind out of her like a rope.

"It looks like the police are doing OK here, mom. Please, don't worry about me. OK?"

"I still will. You should call home more often."

"I will mom."

"We can send you some cookies."

"I'd love that, mom. I love you, mom. Tell dad I miss him too."

"I love you too, honey. Come visit us some time. We like to hear about what you’re doing at school."

We hung up. I didn't remind my mom that I didn't have a car, but that was the last thing she needed right now. She had worry to keep her company. Too bad worry isn't a good companion.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and grabbed my backpack and case, headed up the stairs to the library, and snuck through the doors after prying it open with my foot. My dress shoes made thin clicking sounds against the smooth stone under foot. The librarian behind the main desk shot me a dirty look and held it on me as I let the thick door glide shut behind me.

The periodical room was off to the left; I crept in, swooped by several students studying at a nearby table, slapping one in the elbow with my guitar case as I passed.

"Sorry," I mumbled. The student mumbled something back that I chose to ignore.

The newspaper rack stood in front of me, a sentinel amongst the magazine bays dotting the room. I scanned the nationals (nothing) and paused on the few area papers. Nothing stood out, so I set my gear on the ground and pulled out each paper, flipping through the local news sections and eyeing headlines. Nothing. Unless there was a late-breaking afternoon edition--something that never happens, ever--I'd have to wait 24 hours to see what happened in print.

I gathered my things and stepped outside. The wind was consistent; I had to hunker down to the side of the steps, near a bench, to cut some of the chill down. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought.

A murder on campus, early this morning. Somebody wanted someone to be dead. How do we know it wasn't an accident? We don't. Or suicide? Again, we don't. Then add conflicting reports; Matt said it was a student. Mom heard it was college staff. What if it was neither?

I rooted around in my backpack and pulled out a small tablet I used in journalism class and a pen, jotting down some of the questions as they came to me. I put the pen in my mouth and jiggled the end.

In the distance, I could see Matt walking toward me at a fair--nix that--fast clip. He started speaking just as he came within earshot.

"...found some things."

"Same here," I said, shouldering my pack and propping my case against the stairs.

"You go first."

Right. "Called my mom. She said they're saying it's a janitor on the news--"

"Dammit!"

"--and I also checked in the library. Found zip with the papers."

Matt leaned on one foot. "OK, your mom is lying."

What--"You can't be serious."

"Maybe she isn't lying. OK, she isn't lying. The news is messed up. I've definitely heard from several sources that it was a student."

"'Sources.'"

"Yes." Matt looked like something was distracting him.

"Elaborate, please."

"If you must know, both several people in the student activities department--"

"--when have they ever done anything right?--"

"--and Jim Cathoway--"

"--and your bullshit detector should've been in the red--"

"--have heard it was a student."

"--and I can't believe you buy any of this."

Matt crossed his arms. "I do. I'll wait 'til someone proves me wrong."

I smiled. "This should be easy. You buy the first line of crap that comes out of someone's mouth, especially if that someone is Cathoway?"

"Er, I mean, he--"

"Exactly. OK, now your turn."

After taking a moment to notice the wind, Matt stepped behind the cover the steps provided. "I couldn't exactly call my parents--out of state, and all--but I did hit the Snack Shack. Word is, whoever it was, someone caved their head in with a pipe."

"Oh." I put my arm on the concrete banister, inhaled, exhaled. I had taken what had happened lightly, but the actuality of the events accelerated toward me like the wind that was burning my cheeks. Someone had died on campus, close enough that I could still see local law enforcement infesting the scene. And it was possibly a murder.