Murder Mystery of Arck

Black Coffee and Studies

“I am genuinely honored that you have come to meet me, Rose,” Courtney Winning says with a huge smile on her face. I return her smile, though it doesn’t stretch across my face as it normally would have.

“Sorry to tell you this but I have come for something else,” I say, looking at her with guilt in my eyes.

“I’d be worried if you did come to meet me and not for something else,” she remarks, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and starts walking.

“You’re making me feel guilty, Court,” I say, sending her an apologetic smile as I match my steps to her steps.

“Making you feel guilty is part of my master plan of befriending you,” she states, smirking as she looks straight ahead, “But, seriously, I can’t believe we are still not friends. I am the friendliest person you can find in this damn school.”

I chuckle, silently agreeing with her. She indeed is one the friendliest persons I have ever had the privilege of meeting. But we were, as she pointed out so bluntly, not friends. It’s not her fault, and it rarely is.

“So, what has my dear soon-to-be friend come for?” she asks, unwrapping her arm and looking at me completely as we stop near the entrance of the school building. I look around hesitantly, afraid that someone might hear us.

It was both a reasonable and an unreasonable doubt I have in my mind. No one knows that I know who had potentially killed Mark Gardener, other than Sebastian. Unless and until either of us discloses that information, no one would know.

I still feel the need to be careful about the steps I should take to understand why Mark died in the way he did.

I looked at Courtney, who was waiting for an answer from me, and suggested, “Why don’t talk outside?” She shrugs and gestures to me to walk out. I never know how to interpret Courtney.

She is a difficult person to understand. Her expressions were in contrast with her true emotions. At this very moment, I could see her trying to understand the situation. She glances subtly at me every now and then as we walk towards the huge garden in front of us.

She always looks like she couldn’t care less, much like me and so many others, but there is a corner in her mind that explodes with doubt and searches for everything that could happen because of something she says or does.

The worry constantly bothers her but she can’t get rid of it no matter how hard she tries to actually not care about something. The constant nervousness and awareness of her surroundings forced her to stay alert and it gets exhausting after a while. But there’s nothing she can do about it.

I know this because I know the feeling and I know when someone suffers from the same problem. We sit down on the ground with our legs crossed. I notice Courtney fidgeting as her gray fingers play with each other.

There is nothing in the world that could be loved by Courtney Winning more than her love for sketching. It isn’t just love for sketching; it is an obsession, an addiction for her. She told me that it helped her express the feelings she couldn’t through her words.

Courtney and I are much more similar than I acknowledge. She is not good with words and neither am I. I feel like there are some emotions that don’t have words and some things that are better said through something other than words.

Saying things exposes us and makes us vulnerable, which is a feeling I dislike, if not despise. I like to keep intimate things unspoken, but I know I need to say it once in a while so that the person I love understands that I love them even when I don’t say it.

She feels the same; I can feel it in the way she sketches things that make no sense and make sense at the same time.

“I need to talk to you about Mark Gardener,” I say, picking the grass. I cannot stop her curiosity from surfacing just like I cannot stop her hesitation. But I can’t satisfy it by telling the truth. I don’t want to drag her into this; I have already dragged in Sebastian.

“The boy who died-” she says, stopping herself mid-sentence, “Sorry that was-”

“It’s fine. You put it the way it is,” I interrupt her, giving her a small smile, reassuring her that she doesn’t need to say it in an acceptable manner, “Were you two classmates?”

“Yes. He was in some of my classes,” she answers as she gazes at the grass. I could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to gather everything she remembered.

“He didn’t talk much in class, unless the teacher asked a question,” she says, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, “But he was really, really smart. He always scored good marks and passed the class tests with ease.”

Her eyes widen as she remembers something and she says, looking at me, “He would get in a fight with some older guys from the university. I’m sure you know that.” I nod, confirming her statement and telling her to continue. “He was suspended for a week a few months ago for getting in a fight the nth time,” she adds.

“I don’t remember hearing any suspension of students in the university,” I thought out loud, searching for any memory that would suggest otherwise.

“Because no one was suspended from the university,” Courtney says, shaking her head in disapproval, “The school doesn’t have much coverage, but suspensions from the university are bad for publicity. It’s bad for both the university and the families of the students who were suspended.”

“And the Dean would do anything to stay away from bad publicity,” I say and sigh as I take in what I just said. “Exactly,” Courtney muttered with the same disappointed look on her face my mother gave me when I broke something.

I look at Courtney and ask, “Anything else?” She shrugs and shakes her head. “He just used to get in a lot of trouble. Sometimes for no reason and sometimes because he provoked them first. That’s all I know.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me this,” I say, grateful that she shared this information with me. She nods in acknowledgement and asks, without any hesitation, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you want to talk about Mark?”

I exhale sharply and look away from her burning stare. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” I say, hopefully convincing her enough to leave it alone.

“Are you okay, Rose?” she asks, resting her hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Laws similar in principle to FEPC?” Sebastian asks, without looking up from the notes he is writing. We are in the library to study and discuss the things we found out.

I don’t have much information on Mark. No one seems to know him very well. And if Courtney had so little information, there is a slim to zero chance of anyone knowing more than her.

I don’t know how she keeps up with all that is going on in the school and manages everything with such ease. I should start taking lessons from her.

Sebastian is helping me revise the Fair Employment Practices Commission, for which I am very grateful. As if our lives weren’t hard enough, someone heard professor Stone saying that he was going to conduct another test on Monday. I would like to thank the person who invented Sundays.

Professor Reed has already annouced that there will be a test on Monday. There is a reason why i like Professor Reed and it is because he cares for his students' marks and hates giving surprise tests.

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more tests we have to give this week. At this point, I just hope I make it through this semester in good health.

“May? The answer?” Sebastian says, tapping on the table to get my attention. “Huh? Oh! Uhh- The Hitler Nuremberg laws and laws in Southern states,” I answer, resuming writing my assignment, not looking at Sebastian.

“You’re not paying attention,” he says, resuming his work as well. “Admirable observation, Worde,” I say sarcastically, putting down my pen as I finish the last assignment for the day.

I look behind me at the clock hanging on the wall. It was half past seven in the evening. We finished our dinner around six thirty and came here to study.

I don’t understand how Sebastian has managed to remain unbothered about anything that has happened in the last twenty four hours, but it would be nice of him to share the secret, because I am not able to deal with the reoccurring thoughts.

“Did you study for Monday’s test?” he asks, arranging the papers scattered on the table after putting his pen aside. “I am going to start after we are done,” I answer as I look back at him, “Why do you ask?”

“Are you sure you can manage it?” He questions, pushing the bundle of papers in front of me, “Economics notes of the coming lectures.” I look at the paper and at him with a smile on my before hugging the papers in content.

“I’ve left some space for you to write your arguments,” He adds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “I want to read your opinions.”

I give him thumbs up before scrolling my eyes through the notes he has written. He is always neat with his work, so I have never faced a problem in understanding his notes. He is thorough and he summarized everything nicely.

“Thanks. I mean it,” I say, putting away the paper with my other assignments, “And, of course, I can manage it. What do you take me for?”

“You are sleep deprived,” he answers as he closes his eyes, “And you haven’t been eating right. Do you need me to tell you that you need to be in good health to give the midterm?”

“I know that,” I exclaim, massaging my shoulder as I feel it aching, “It’s just because of what happened. I haven’t been-”

“You haven’t been eating properly for the last month now, May,” Sebastian interrupts me, “Don’t get me started on your sleeping patterns.”

He sighs before opening his eyes and leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “So what did you find?” he asks, changing the topic as he rubs his eyes. And he talks about my sleeping patterns.

“Not much. He was smart. Never really talked to anyone,” I state, grabbing my thermos from the ground and passing it to him.

“Much like you,” he says, accepting the vessel and looking at it with questioning eyes. I roll my eyes at his comment, knowing it to be true.

“Black coffee,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I found it difficult to visit the kitchen after every lecture to get my coffee, so I decided to store a lot of it in my flask. It proved to be beneficial as I hoped it would. But, I think it has made me more of a caffeine addict than I already was.

“Thank you,” he says before taking a sip from the flask, “And you are not getting this back. You need to control your caffeine intake.”

“He got in trouble a lot, like I told you. But sometimes he initiated the arguments,” I continued, thinking back on everything Courtney had told me as I tried to snatch the flask out of his hand, “He was suspended a few months ago for getting in a fight, for about a week. Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Hmmm. Vince didn’t do it,” he says, his hand covering his yawn as his other hand moves the thermos out of my reach. I frown, knitting my eyebrows together and squinting my eyes in confusion at what he said. “What?” That's all I manage to say as my brain processes what Sebastian just said.

“He was in his class when it happened. In fact, he hadn’t been anywhere else between classes. Just one class to the next,” he says, rubbing his forehead.

There goes our only lead.

“I think you’re going to need more than just my help,” he adds, looking at my dumbfounded expression.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~