Evelyn turned to me, looking serious. “That might be a deal breaker, honey. Bridget’s got her heart set on joining a cricket team.”
It took me a moment to catch on. Apparently, I was following Evelyn’s lead instead of the other way around. “Oh, yes,” I said, letting my lower lip jut out in a pout. “I’m afraid our girl takes after my beautiful wife here.” I patted Evelyn’s good arm affectionately. “Bridget’s dying to play cricket. I’m not sure field hockey will do the trick.”
“Perhaps I could convince her,” Evelyn said to me in a low voice as if trying to keep it between us. “If I could see the field, I might be able to swing the discussion in a positive light. Otherwise, we’ll have to enroll Bridget elsewhere.”
“I could show you the hockey field!” Elsie offered at once. She popped up from her seat behind the desk. “It’s not that far of a walk. Would you care to see it?”
“I would love to,” Evelyn replied. To me, she said, “How’s that blister of yours doing, my love?”
“Uh—”
“The one on your heel?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, communicating telepathically with me. “You said it was painful to walk. Would you like to stay here?”
“Ah, yes.” I faked a wince and rubbed the back of my ankle. “I’ll wait for you. Take pictures please.”
Evelyn kissed my cheek. Then Elsie led her out of the office. I watched through the window as Evelyn chatted Elsie’s ear off. Once they were far enough away, I checked the room for cameras and dove behind Elsie’s desk.
She’d left the computer unlocked in her haste to show the hockey field to Evelyn. I brought up a search menu and typed in “Prefects 2019.” Right away, a list popped up of the current students who held that position. One of them—Matthew Thompson—had been crossed off with a thick red line.
I went back to the student directory and searched Matthew Thompson. He was a senior student with impeccable grades until he started tanking at the beginning of this semester. He had been in detention twice within the last week. According to his file, if he broke one more school rule, he would be expelled from Saint Francis. Something told me this kid might have lost his prefect pin on purpose.
I checked Matthew Thompson’s schedule. If he bothered to attend class, he would be leaving the arts building, right across from the main office, in five minutes. I closed the open computer windows and headed outside to wait for him.
When the bell rang, students poured from the arts building, eager to take a break before their evening activities. I craned my neck, looking through the crowd for a glimpse of Matthew. Minutes later, when most of the students had dissipated, I finally spotted him.
He looked nothing like the picture on his student ID. For one, his hair was dyed purple, rather than its natural deep brown. He had lost a lot of weight, especially around his face, which made him look older than Bertha’s hairy friend Fred. His clothes hung loosely around his frame. He also was the only student who didn’t carry a backpack. As he passed me, I shot up from the bench I’d been waiting on.
“Matthew!” I called.
He turned to face me, shielding his light eyes from the slanting sun. “Do I know you?”
Instead of answering, I held up the prefect pin. “Is this yours?”
Matthew stared at it. “Where did you find that?”
“29 Hanbury Street,” I said. “Where Rosie Brigham was murdered last night. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
His gaunt face was almost unreadable. Almost. A subtle twitch—one people often performed to stop from crying—gave him away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tried to walk around me, but I blocked his path. “Really? Because I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Were you in Whitechapel the night of Rosie’s murder?”
“Who are you?” he demanded hotly. “Because if you don’t have a police badge to show me, I’m not saying anything.”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“That means nothing to me.” He walked around me again. “Leave me alone, freak.”
I grabbed him by the arm and yanked. “Tell me what you were doing in Whitechapel.”
“Get off me!” he yelped.
Evelyn jumped in out of nowhere, using her broad body to separate me from the teenager. Once he was free, Matthew Thompson clumsily ran off. Evelyn blocked me from following him.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she growled under her breath. “Accosting a kid like that?”
“He’s hiding something,” I said. “He was there that night! I know it.”
“He’s just a kid, Jack.” She pulled me toward the car park, away from Matthew Thompson. “You can’t do that to a kid. Let’s go.”
10
The hems of Mum’s trousers were soaked in mud, but she didn’t mind. She skipped along the riverbank, her laugh echoing across Windsor. A light drizzle fell from the sky, frizzing her hair. When she spun around in a light-footed pirouette, her rain jacket flew around her waist like a ballerina’s tutu. She lifted her face to the clouds and laughed again.
“Come on, Jackie!” she cooed, beckoning me closer to the river’s edge. I looked into the water. It rushed by, faster than rapids. Was the level rising? “Follow me, Jackie!”
The rain intensified, and Mum drew farther ahead, the distance between us growing larger. I tried to run faster, but the ground beneath my feet kept elongating. My legs ached as Mum wove in and out of the rain’s gray curtains.
The river steadily filled, growing more turbulent by the second. White-capped waves washed around my feet, soaking my shoes and socks. The water was nearly the same height as the muddy path we walked along.
“Keep up,” Mum called, her voice echoing from far away. She’d vanished somewhere ahead.
“Mum?” I shouted, squinting through the rain for a glimpse. “Wait for me!”
Her laugh, lighter than air,
