Sundays were all about sleeping as late as humanly possible. Although Luke and Oscar had agreed that they had to go find the first wife of Joanna Heckler’s first husband, they still refused to let anything come between them and their slumber. It was literally their one day of rest. There was no required meal, no assembly, just pure peace. And since there was really nowhere to go in town, there was no reason to get up. So at eleven, when there was a knock on the door, they were still under their covers.
Luke incorporated the first knock into his dream, in which he was playing soccer in the World Cup, and the knock was his coach banging on a bench and telling him to get a goal. But when the knock became louder and more persistent, he sat up.
“Come in,” he shouted, rubbing his bleary eyes.
Oscar took his extra pillow and put it over his head. “Make them go away,” he mumbled.
The door opened, and there on the threshold stood Mr. Weymouth, Oscar’s father. He was clad in a blue blazer and a tie, and everything about him from his hair to his polished shoes was meticulous. Basically, he was the exact opposite of Oscar.
“Mr. Weymouth,” said Luke.
Oscar shot up in bed, his hair sticking out in every direction. Mornings were the only time Oscar didn’t look completely photo-ready.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“Hello, Luke,” Mr. Weymouth said, nodding at Luke. “Oscar, get dressed. We need you downstairs as soon as possible.”
“What’s going on?” Oscar slept shirtless, in his boxers, and seeing him barely clothed almost seemed too much for Mr. Weymouth. He looked as if he wanted to reprimand his son, but then he glanced at Luke and remained silent.
“I can go…” began Luke, getting up.
“No need, Oscar will find his clothes and be down shortly.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” demanded Oscar.
“Your mother and I are here with Stan Grossman. You might know him because we play squash together at the club. He’s a lawyer. Headmaster Thompson and the police would like to talk to you this afternoon, and Stan—Mr. Grossman—thought it best that we have a chat prior to this,” said Mr. Weymouth clearing his throat.
“They think I killed Mrs. Heckler,” said Oscar in disbelief.
“I’d rather have this conversation with you in the presence of our lawyer,” said Mr. Weymouth.
“This is so unbelievable.”
“Mr. Weymouth, for what it’s worth, I can totally vouch for Oscar,” said Luke anxiously. “It was my scarf, not Oscar’s.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Luke. Right now we’ll figure things out, then get back to you on that. You’re a good friend.”
Oscar rolled his eyes at his dad, and stood up. Luke watched Mr. Weymouth glance around the room, and immediately felt self-conscious about what a pigsty it was. There was a large pizza box with two slices left on his desk—last night’s post-sleuthing delivered dinner—as well as several empty Coke cans, a half-eaten bag of Doritos, and a bunch of Milky Way wrappers. Both Luke and Oscar’s laundry was overflowing out of their accidentally matching laundry bags, and textbooks were sloppily stacked on every surface. Since they were due for a room inspection this week, they’d have to clean it up tonight for sure.
“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Mr. Weymouth said.
“Fine.”
When he had left, Oscar grabbed his khakis from a pile on the floor and pulled them on.
“This is surreal,” said Luke.
“Dude, imagine how I feel?”
“Just stay the course. You’re innocent. But don’t tell them…”
Oscar turned and glared at Luke. “Of course not.”
They stared at each other without saying anything for a beat. Both of their minds were racing. How did they fall into this mess? They should have never been out there.
“Good luck,” said Luke.
“Yup,” answered Oscar, before heading out the door.
* * *
Luke quickly showered and dressed. Then he paced around his room, attempted to clean up but only got as far as collecting the food wrappers and containers, all as he checked the window thirty times to see if Oscar was back. He chucked the trash and then, after making his bed and folding some shirts, he finally put on his coat and left the room. He was of no use to Oscar in the dorm. The only thing he could do was try to find the real killer. When he had read about Joanna Heckler, it mentioned that she had been married before, and it even had a quote from her ex-husband’s ex-wife. Apparently Mrs. Heckler had broken up their marriage, and she was mighty bitter. She lived only two towns over, and when Luke had found her address online, he decided to pay a visit. He called for a taxi (less trackable than an Uber), and was told he’d have to wait forty-five minutes for it to meet him on campus. Ah, the joys of living in the suburbs. It was a lot easier grabbing a cab or an Uber back home in the city.
Since he had time to kill, he decided to get a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel at the snack shop. When he entered, Andy Slater was sitting with Gupta and Oliver Brooks, another classmate, poring over the newspaper and chowing down on a grease fest of french fries, jalapeño poppers, and bacon.
“Over here,” Andy called.
Luke walked over to their table. “Hey.”
“What’s up with Oscar? Cal said he saw his parents going in to meet with the headmaster,” asked Andy.
“Yeah, um… They just want to talk to him. I don’t know.”
“Was he busted again?” asked Oliver.
“Nah, nothing like that,” lied Luke.
“He’s already got one strike. Leave it to him to do something stupid,” said Andy.
Luke just shrugged. The less he said, the better.
“Did you check this out?” asked Gupta, sliding a copy of the Southborough Courant toward Luke.
The headline said: STRANGLER LINKED TO PREP SCHOOL MURDER. Luke scanned the article. It said that all leads pointed to the Southborough Strangler. There was the position of the body, which was apparently the same as the other two victims, as well as the time of night. It even knew that she had been strangled with a scarf, although it said it hadn’t been able to confirm for sure if it was a St. Benedict’s scarf, but off-the-record reports said it was. This was great news! This could totally exonerate Oscar. Luke wondered if the headmaster had gotten a chance to look at today’s paper. Maybe he had already called Oscar’s parents before it came out, and it was all a big misunderstanding. He hoped that was the case.
“Wow, major drama,” said Luke, playing it cool.
“If it’s the Strangler, there’s going to be mayhem around here,” said Andy, picking up a gooey cheese fry.
“I think my parents might pull me out,” Oliver said. “But how can I write my college essay on surviving a murder if they yank me out now?”
“I know, my mom is all panicky too, like, ‘Sweetie, honey, you take care of yourself,’” Gupta said. “‘Sleep with a weapon under your bed, I know you’re not allowed cutlery, but maybe a flashlight, which can also be used to bang someone over the head…’”
“Your parents must be crazed,” Andy said to Luke. “Once bitten, twice shy.”
“They know I can take care of myself,” said Luke quickly before changing the subject. “How old do you think this Strangler is? If he killed someone ten years ago, he has to be at least what, twenty-eight at the youngest? Or do you think he’s older?”
“Says here in the article they suspect him to be a white male between the ages of forty and fifty-five,” said Andy, pointing to a part of the article that Luke had skipped.
Forty to fifty-five. Dean Heckler fit that profile. Could he have been the Strangler long ago? thought Luke.
“Well, I gotta go,” Luke told his friends.
“You just got here!” said Oliver.
“I know, but I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Dude, you really are a mystery man these days,” said Andy.
“Must be a girl,” Oliver said knowingly.
“I’ll leave you all guessing,” said Luke, slipping away to the counter to order his breakfast before dashing to meet his cab.