16
To my surprise, on Wednesday afternoon, Mr. Zimm called to ask if I was free to watch his kids after work. I hesitated. Yes, one hundred percent, I wanted to babysit if it meant going through their house and finding out who killed Professor Zimm. However, I also desperately wanted to rush home and practice scrying. This was the closest I’d ever been to finding Katrina’s killer.
Eventually, I let Mr. Zimm know I’d be there. This could be my only chance to get into the Zimm house. If I said no, he might never ask again. Katrina had been dead for over a year. She wasn’t going anywhere. Her story could wait. Finding Professor Zimm’s killer couldn’t. I didn’t want to attend a school with a murderer running around—nor did I want my classmates in danger. Not even Tiffaneigh. Or probably not.
