“Sure. Lily Patel. Why? What is so vital about talking to Lily?”
“Her dad,” Sherlock said. “The body in the park was her dad.”
x x x
I somehow managed to shoo Sherlock out of the theater with promises to keep our meet-up at the boat dock. At that point, I was so desperate to rid myself of him that I would’ve agreed to meet him in the Queen’s bedchambers had he asked. But his revelation changed things a bit for me. The crime was more immediate. Closer. The pieces were in reach, not far flung and remote. Instead of continuing to obsess over a way out of the game, I was suddenly focused completely on Lily Patel and how I could manage to question her without seeming to. Of course, I wished to do it in a way that wouldn’t also escalate her grief, but that wasn’t top priority.
A mostly simple plan unfolded in my mind, starting with finding out where she lived. I was still backstage, surrounded by side-stage draping, stagehands, and costumed classmates. I grabbed the arm of the next person who rushed past me and tried to remember if I’d ever heard Lily’s boyfriend’s name. I was pretty sure I’d never written it down, or I’d remember for sure. I knew he was in this course. It was John something or other— “Watkins?” I said as a question to the arm I’d grabbed. I was hoping the arm’s owner would point me in the right direction and maybe even confirm that was the boyfriend’s name. Turns out I had unfortunate luck.
He scowled. “I’m Watson. But I prefer John, if it’s all the same. Let go of my arm.”
I wasn’t entirely sure this Watson was the one, so I said, “The bloke Lily dates. You remember his name?”
John’s eyes narrowed and he pulled his arm from my grasp. “What do you want with her?”
“I don’t want anything with her. At present, I want to know the name of her boy.”
John sighed and shook his head. “I’ll give you a hint: His name isn’t Watkins.”
“It’s you, then?”
He seemed to grow more suspicious with my smile, so I dropped it. “What do you want with her?”
“Nothing, I said. It’s just that . . . well, I’ve just heard about her dad.”
“That’s none of your business.” He started to walk away, which sent my mind spinning for a way to stop him.
“Wait.” I didn’t mean to grab his arm, but he was forced to pull free again, this time stepping out of my reach and deepening his frown. I was evidently rubbish at getting information out of people. “No, I know. I just felt I should give my condolences or something. I mean, we’ve been in school a few years together.”
John’s expression melted into either mild distrust or acute wariness, whichever kept his eyebrows from sinking permanently into the cavernous wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well, I’ll tell her.”
“I’d like to tell her myself,” I said quickly. “Will she be back to school soon?”
He shook his head. “Not for a while yet.”
“Will there be a memorial?”
He stared at me through his bangs with pursed lips. I stared back. “Saturday. Two p.m.”
Chapter 6
The rest of drama practically dragged on forever. I couldn’t seem to sit still out in the audience, like I normally would’ve, watching as each of those students wanting to be graded as a director ran a scene, none of which included Lily’s character. My attempts at standing side stage quickly turned into a kind of rocking, twisting dance that irritated even myself. At last, I gave up and took to pacing behind the backdrop curtain, until I spotted a rodent-type animal that looked at me in a rather threatening way as I neared it. I tried glaring back, but it stood its ground until I was obviously forced to spin around and flee with my life.
Rodents. Horrible, pointless things.
Finally, the bell rang, and it was all I could do not to rip the costume from my body the minute I got into the dressing room. No idea why it was suddenly so urgent for me to be at the Regent’s Park boat dock with the speed of the demons. Thankfully, I caught myself before I got too near and was able to slow my pace to a disinterested stroll. Just because I had some sort of news didn’t at all mean that I would be joining Sherlock’s game.
Or tell him about it.
“You’re here,” he announced as I walked up.
“I promised.”
“Yes, well, promises, in my experience, mean very little. Still, well done.”
Honestly, he was the most infuriating, condescending, ridiculous—
“Shall we?” He waved toward the little boathouse, ignorant of my internal ranting.