44. Line of Sight

44

I stared at my half-packed suitcase and disheveled bed sheets. Only that morning, I'd made love to Chance in that bed, but it felt like a lifetime away. I couldn't make sense of anything.

Even being in my room, knowing Chance wasn't next door, or up in the lounge, or even nearby on campus, filled me with an aching dread.

How had things gone so wrong?

Without a way to get ahold of Chance, I had no hope of sorting through the mess.

But I had one mission left in me.

Grabbing my phone, I headed for the bathroom. I needed to figure out where those photos had been taken in the lounge.

I stood behind the study table, trying to recall the framing. It had to have been from behind the couch, or the shots would have been much more graphic.

I remembered Chance prattling on about techniques he used to define his style as a photographer. One of the things he had mentioned was the line of sight. Similar to how he'd line up his shots while playing pool, there had to be a direct line of sight connecting the photographer to their view of us on the couch.

Following the imaginary line, I found myself in front of one of the bookshelves along the shared wall between the lounge and the other side of the attic space. Crouching, I tried to see at what point my vision was cut off from view by the gaming tables, and when it was too high to mimic the photos I'd seen in the headmistress's office.

Narrowing the area of search, I stared at the target area, then spun around slowly, trying to look for something I'd missed. I was certain if someone had been up in the lounge, we would have heard or seen them. Yes, we had been distracted, but I had been in Chance's lap, facing directly toward the camera, for heaven's sake.

I turned back toward the bookshelf.

"Could they have shot through the wall?" I asked aloud to nobody in particular.

I walked closer to the shelves. When the police had searched the lounge, they hadn't displaced all the books, just enough of them to aggravate me and necessitate two weekends' worth of reorganization.

Going shelf by shelf in the area of interest, it didn't take long for me to find an odd gap in the books, which I'd never noticed. One book was wedged at an angle in the gap, covering a small hole that had been cut into the drywall and through the bookshelf itself.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." I reeled back, staring at the gap in disbelief.

The hole was just big enough for a charging cable, which could have been plugged in on the other side. The photos the headmistress had shown me had been grainy, and I wondered if they were from a webcam, or even a small spy cam, that could explain the low resolution images. Whatever had been used to take the photos was long gone, but the evidence of its existence remained.

How long had it been there? How long had someone been spying on us?

A wave of disgust and the thick feeling of being violated coursed through me. I could only hope that photos were the only evidence of our affair. I couldn't handle the thought of a video existing on the internet of Chance and me together like that.

I was a teacher. If it was out there, I knew it was only a matter of time before a student found it. The photos were bad enough. They would, without a doubt, make the rounds within the board. I'd have to worry about that later.

Circling back to the bookcase, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned on the flashlight. My heart began to beat out of my chest as I peered through the small hole. I'd only viewed the room on the other side while watching Daniel's video, as Chance had refused to let me see what was up there after his discovery, both to save me the trauma and to make sure I didn't inadvertently leave any evidence.

Why would he have protected you if you had meant nothing to him?

After the police presence left, I didn't dare cross the caution tape that was still up, blocking the door. I was pretty sure the investigation had been closed, but nobody had bothered to come back and take down the tape.

The room was dark, even with my flashlight. I couldn't make out much through such a small hole, even with a bit of dim moonlight filtering through the dirty glass of the windows, as the police hadn't closed the curtains before they'd left.

I pulled back, leaning against the pool table as I ran through what I knew.

After we'd discovered the bodies, it hadn't taken long for the whole school to be made aware not just of the scene, but of the lounge's existence. So it could have been anyone who snuck in and took the photos.

But then I remembered something from the photos. The Christmas tree had still been up. Only Chance and I had taken it down the weekend after school was back in session after winter break, which would have been mid-January. And that was before we'd discovered the bodies.

Whoever had taken those photos had known about the lounge before . Which meant they had known about the bodies.

"The killer took the photos…" I choked. "But the photos arrived today…" And I hadn't seen any postage on the envelope under the photos on the headmistress's desk.

Looking around the lounge, I felt suddenly exposed. Whoever had killed Daniel, at the very least, was still around, and they could have been watching me at that very moment.

With shaky legs, I bolted down the stairs, barricading the door to the bathroom with my desk, as the wardrobe had been too heavy for me to push by myself.

Huffing with the exertion, I tried to remember who had known about the lounge before the police. But other than Chance and Lenny, the only person I'd told was…

"Jolene…" I whispered.

And then everything began to click into place. Pieces of the puzzle that had always been there suddenly fit together where they hadn't before.

She'd known about the lounge.

She'd known Chance was really Alexander Roberts.

She had lied to me about attending Montgomery, and given her age, she would have attended the school around the time the Marshall twins had gone missing.

I recalled our conversation after the headmaster had died. I'd thought she might have been Daniel's source, and perhaps she had been, but she'd seen and heard everything that had gone on in the admin offices. She'd had access to everything and everyone.

She'd found both Claire and the headmaster.

She could have easily pushed Claire, and deduced she was working with Chance based on what I had told her.

As for the headmaster, she'd been perfecting his handwriting for the better part of twenty years to take care of his correspondence because he was too lazy to do all the paperwork himself. Whether she'd been the one to pull the trigger or not, I was positive she'd forged the note and left it behind to cover up everything else.

I didn't know her motive for the twins or Daniel, but if she'd known about the bodies, she'd had to have been involved. It was all too much when you put it together.

I needed help, and I didn't know who I could trust. A thought occurred to me then. I whipped out my laptop, remembering that Chance had emailed me before, from his personal address.

I let out a cry of relief when I located it, writing a quick reply:

I don't care if this was all a joke to you, please come back to Montgomery to pick me up. I think Jolene killed Daniel. I don't know who else I can trust. Help me!