SCORPIO

24

OLMSTEAD SECONDARY WAS NOT a place Hetty had visited before, despite hearing so much about it. Unlike other schools that started in a basement, Olmstead always owned its building and enjoyed healthy donations and patronage since its opening.

In the foyer, an abundance of sunlight streamed in through the window. It was a very plain space. The walls held no decorations save a small portrait of the school’s namesake, James Olmstead, a double agent during the Revolutionary War, whose talent with Celestial magic made it easy to obscure messages from the British army.

Next to the principal’s office, a woman sat at a desk. By the twisting of her mouth, she looked ready to set the typewriter in front of her on fire. Having used a typewriter herself, Hetty sympathized. These newfangled machines were just so difficult.

“May I help you?” the poor woman asked, clearly eager to have a distraction.

“What classes are in session? I’m looking to meet with one of the students.”

The interest in the woman’s face faded right away. “Literature and alchemistry should almost be over. Literature to the left, alchemistry opposite.”

Hetty didn’t need much more direction than that. For while each door had nothing to mark it as different from the others, only one had George Needham standing outside of it, his foot tapping against the floorboards as he peered through the open doorway.

Inside the classroom, Benjy explained the alchemy that would be used in a steam propulsion system for a streetcar, and related alchemical concepts. He rattled off the terms as he drew along the board, with confidence and complete obliviousness to the students staring up at him from their desks. Benjy, flushed with the excitement of explaining the alchemistry at work, commanded their attention easily, his intensity spilling freely throughout the room.

Hetty wasn’t surprised to see many entranced faces. She would be among them if George weren’t quietly seething next to her as he watched.

Darlene’s husband was far from Hetty’s favorite person. He was a stubborn mule of a man with a mouth that always managed to say the wrong thing, and half the time Hetty spoke with him, they argued. But George had a kind heart, best seen in the way he rearranged his life so Darlene could paint without worries. So Hetty tolerated him, although sometimes he wasn’t the easiest person to abide.

“I see your husband has come to take my job,” George bristled.

“He doesn’t want a teaching post.”

“Are you sure?” George jabbed a hand at the room. Benjy had stopped the lecture long enough to take questions. There were several hands raised, all with enthusiastic faces. “He seems to be enjoying this an awful lot.”

“He likes people paying attention to his words.”

George pulled the door shut. “I hesitate for a single moment on a tough question, and there he is with all the answers.”

“Why are you so upset? Alchemistry was never one of your favorite subjects.”

“Math would be my favorite subject if it got me the post.” George sighed.

“Why did you take it then?” Hetty asked, carefully neutral.

He gave her an odd look. “Raimond Duval died, and suddenly there was a spot to fill. And it looks like it’s a good thing that I took the job in the first place.”

“Darlene told you about Valentine’s death?”

“Of course she did. We talk about everything. She didn’t mention you would be coming here too, but with both of you here, I think I can guess why.” He gave her a smug grin. “You need my help!”

“Don’t make me jab you with a hairpin.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Hetty reluctantly admitted. “You’ve been here for the past few weeks. Have you seen anything that could be related to either Raimond’s or his son’s death?”

“Certainly not. But there are a few things Raimond left in his desk you might find interesting.”

George took her into a large room that served as the office for the teachers. Luckily, there was no one else besides them in the room. One bookshelf crammed with books lined the room, and a narrow window let in a surprising amount of light. Six desks were squeezed into the room, and Hetty knew all the teachers didn’t regularly go about in skirts, for she had a bit of a struggle as she walked between them to meet George in the back corner of the room.

George opened a drawer and took out a worn leather-bound book. Without a word, he handed it over to Hetty. Raimond’s journal, Hetty realized as she flipped through the pages.

“Why is this still here?”

George shrugged. “No one wanted to touch anything. His son was supposed to come around, but he never found the time.”

“But isn’t this your desk? Why are things still in here as if it was Raimond rather than his son who died yesterday?”

George’s shoulders sagged. “I saw no reason to make the effort. I don’t think I’ll be here for the new school year. Things have not been good, even without me having such big shoes to fill.”

“What will you do, then? Start your own school again?”

“I don’t think I could. I couldn’t keep it up the first time. To be frank, it was only floating along because I was getting money from Charlie and Clarence.”

He said the names a bit awkwardly. As he should, given that Charlie was dead and that it was Clarence who had done the deed and attempted to do worse to Hetty and Benjy back in May. These days Charlie and Clarence were ghosts. None of Hetty’s friends spoke about them anymore, except for George. While everyone else treated it as a delicate matter, he wasn’t afraid to mention the names of their lost friends and he generally refused to pretend the incident hadn’t occurred.

Hetty appreciated that even when it was the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Then you made changes for the best. Darlene is happier these days,” Hetty said crisply.

“And I’m happy that she is happy,” George replied.

“Does Valentine Duval have a desk here?”

“No, someone took it over a while back. He hasn’t taught classes since last term. Nothing of his is here.”

Hetty reached into a drawer in Raimond’s desk and pulled out several flat disks. Checker pieces, she realized as she ran her finger along them. She dug around a bit more and pulled out a small bag, which she upended onto the desk.

Red and black checker pieces rolled in every direction. As she separated them by color, she picked each one up and very gently tapped it against the table.

“What did you expect to happen? That they’ll glow or something?” George asked.

“It doesn’t hurt to check.” Hetty finished her sorting. A few pieces were missing. Two red and one black.

“I thought you were supposed to be looking for clues, not playing with game pieces.”

“I can’t do either of those if you keep bothering me,” Hetty said without looking up.

“No need to be rude.”

“No more than you.” Hetty dropped the checkers back into the bag and picked up the journal. “I’m taking these.”

“What do you think is in there,” George scoffed, “some idea that got him killed?”

“Ideas don’t kill. At least not with such power,” Benjy called from the doorway. He smiled at them, although George grunted as he turned away.

“I could tell you ten different ways you’re wrong,” Hetty countered, “but I think that’ll just start you lecturing again.”

“That was not a lecture. Just a conversation. Those students are rather bright, with ideas for improvements. Flawed, mostly, but in the right direction.”

Holding himself stiffly, George said, “You can have further conversations with them if you like. The class meets three days a week.”

Benjy blinked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the class. I’ve just been thinking about this topic for some time, and there was a chalkboard in there.”

George covered his face with his hands, groaning as he sank into a chair. “Stars save me! How are you content with your life? You could go much further than where you are!”

“And go where? I’m exactly where I want to be. I don’t want your job, Needham,” Benjy said. “You’re not in danger of losing it. Those students wouldn’t be able to ask as many questions as they did without you teaching them.”

“Raimond Duval had them first.”

“Yet they’re still here,” Benjy observed quietly. “And they’re waiting for you to return.”

With a jaunty step and improved spirits, George went back to his classroom, leaving Hetty and Benjy to finish their searching without further interruptions.

“Did you ask the students questions or just lecture them about your theories?” Hetty asked.

“I did both. But they told me nothing of interest about either Duval.” Left unsaid was a comment about his questioning being a waste of time, which Hetty was grateful for.

“Did Sy finally show up?” she asked.

“He did. Everything went as well as could be expected given the circumstances. The Magnolias wanted to keep it quiet.”

“Did Cora tell you that?”

“She wasn’t there. You should go talk to her.”

“I don’t think she has anything to say to me.” Hetty tapped the desk, a bit of the despair that had driven her to spar with the punching bag returning. “I saw Jay at Elmhurst, and he was cool toward me. Cora must have told him what I said last night.”

“Hetty.” Benjy placed his hands on her shoulders, so she had no choice but to look at him. “There is nothing you can say that neither of them won’t forgive.”

“You didn’t hear what I told her.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He looked at her again, and frowned. “Who did you fight?”

“No one.” Hetty fought the urge to touch her face, afraid some scratch or bruise was there, although she didn’t remember taking any hits.

Would Sy have said anything to Benjy about the thief? Sy’s loyalties were skewed in Benjy’s favor, but at the same time, he knew better than to stoke Hetty’s wrath.

“Something happened at the bookshop?” Benjy pressed on, a hair away from asking a question Hetty would need a gentle lie for.

“Did you know that Valentine Duval gave Sy the bookshop?” Hetty blurted out.

The distraction worked. “No, I didn’t. Is this important?”

“Very much so!” Hetty said, with a bit more enthusiasm than what was warranted. “Valentine brought over his father’s books. I encountered a thief when I was looking at them.”

“Someone else was after the books too. Hmm,” Benjy said. “What could be so interesting about them?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. Sy and Rosie said they’ll bring the books over later. But for now, I got Raimond’s journal right here. It was in the desk.” Hetty held it out.

Benjy took the journal from her. “How do you feel about recounting Raimond Duval’s last day?”