F&H Investigations: Case One
So here is the re-worked story of Danni and Brandon
F&H Investigations: Case One
Brandon pulls his car out of the Sonic parking lot. After two hours of driving, the ice cream is needed badly. I happily lick my cone, vanilla soft serve; you don’t get much better than this.
“Ya know,” he drawls, checking his side mirror, before eyeing me out of the corner of his eye, “that would almost be sexy, if it wasn’t for the braces.”
I gave my cone a lick, “Well, you’d almost be sexy, if you weren’t such a bitch.”
“Hey, hey, who’s the one driving you places.”
“Whatever, you wanted to go home too.”
“Yeah, well who drove thirty minutes out of his way, to get you home?”
“And who just bought you popcorn chicken.”
“Hmm,” he twists his mouth to the side. “Point and truce?”
“Truce.”
We shake.
I’m so glad I met Brandon, way back during orientation; he’s been the best friend a girl
could ask for. He’s one of those guys who can be an asshole at times, but overall he’s a great guy.
“What the fuck is going on.”
“Huh?” I push myself up and crane my neck to look around. The campus is packed, there are people and cars jammed everywhere.
“This is gonna take forever,” he moans.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” I pause,” Oh, wait, you can’t help it.”
“I hate you. I’m never giving you another ride. Anywhere.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
We ended up parking halfway across campus.
“What’s going here?”
“Yeah, who died?”
A girl in front of me whirls around. “That’s not funny.” Her cheeks are streaked with mascara tears.
“Did someone die?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
Brandon pipes in, “We’ve been gone all weekend.”
She brings her thumb up to her mouth, and starts gnawing on it. “It’s horrible. There were more than thirty of them, and they’re all dead.”
“What happened?”
But it’s too late; she is sobbing, big gulping breaths wracked with tears.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I don’t even know this girl, should I hug her? I glance at Brandon; he looks as uneasy as I do. I never know how to handle crying.
“Char,” another girl calls, launching herself at the crying girl. She wraps her arms around her. I mentally give a sigh of relief.
Brandon and I wander through the crowd, I’m afraid to ask anymore people what went on. You always hear about shootings and bombing, but you never think it will happen to you.
I spot a tall man, probably a professor from his glasses and sports jacket, he’ll know what’s going on.
“Um, excuse me, Dr.?” I’ve gotten into the habit of addressing every older person with Doctor, whether they are or not.
He turns to look at me, his face ashen.
“Yes?”
“What happened?”
“Some students were protesting, and they fell off the Lodge.”
“Oh.” I turn to Brandon. The Lodge was the newest dorm on campus; it was about fifteen stories high.
“Come on Danny-girl, let’s get back to the dorms.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The next day, they released the names of the students in the “tragic accident.” I poured over the names, searching for someone I knew. None of them looked familiar. Thank god. But maybe one of them was in my class. Speaking of classes, they’ve been cancelled for the week.
I’m in the mailroom when Brandon finds me, squatting on the floor by my mailbox.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You wanna hear something weird?”
I glance up; he’s leaning against the mailboxes, arms cross. “Sure.” What is my stupid combination? My thighs are starting to hurt and I decide that the floor can’t be that dirty, and plop down.
I heard there were 42 of them, exactly. 21 girls, 21 guys.”
“So?” Turning the lock, I hope for a click.
“42, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?”
I give him my what-the-crap-are-you-talking about face, and return to my stupid lock.
“Hitchhiker’s Guide?”
“Huh?” Was it 34 or 33? I go with 34. “Oh, wait,” I look up, “Was that the movie where Snape’s a robot?
Brandon sighs and shakes his head, “Alan Rickman, you really need to know your actors.”
“I know the ones that are important.” 12 and 7, I hear the click, and I pull the door open.
“Voila!”
“Anyways,” Brandon ignores my moment of triumph. “I was thinking that maybe it was some kind of cult thing.”
“A cult with only 42 members?” Campus newsletter and ads, nothing else, what a waste.
“Yeah.”
“A cult in Iowa?” I stick out my hand; Brandon grabs it and yanks me up.
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” I brush off my pants, and start to walk down the hall.
“What, how am I wrong?” He jogs to catch up to me.
I hand him the newsletter. The headline screams: Lambda Upsilon Epsilon Initiates Leap from Lion Lodge.
“Well shit.”
“Yeah.”
“The initiates were protesting society’s dependence on electronics,” reads Brandon, “they were each clutching iPods. Sarah Gripes, head of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon, pictured right, says, ‘they were supposed to throw them, I don’t know what went wrong.’ Lambda Upsilon Epsilon is denying any knowledge pertaining to the deaths. ”
I grab the newsletter and study Sarah Gripes she looks like the typical sorority girl, blond hair with those stupid brown stripes in it. “So what’s this Lambda Upsid Epsid?”
Brandon stops walking. “Up-SIL-on Ep-SIL-on and you’re joking, right?”
“No…”
“Only, like the most elite frat and sorority organization. They take the best of the best. Every Greek person wants in.”
“How do you know about this?’
“My father was a member, and, I was, kind of, supposed to rush that one.”
“Your dad wanted you to be in a frat?” I stifle a giggle, Brandon may look like fraternity on the outside, but on the inside he’s a totally dork.
“Yeah, when I told him I was gay, he tried to convince me that I could meet a lot of guys in a frat.”
“Nice.”
“I know, good old dad, right?”
“Hey, does he know about what happened?”
Brandon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I should probably call him.”
“Do you think he’ll have any idea behind what happened here?”
“Maybe.” He walks ahead of me, and I grab his arm.
“Dude, I just had a great idea, we should totally investigate.”
He strokes his chin. “Mm, I’ve always wanted to be a gay detective.”
“Investigator,” I correct in my best imitation of Sebastian Spence from Shock to the System.
“I get to be Donald Strachey.”
“It was my idea.”
“You can’t be Strachey, you’re not a guy or gay.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter, my idea, I’m in charge,” I grin, “You can be Kenny.”
“Kenny’s a slut.”
“And you have a problem with that?”
“Whore.”
“Bitch.”
“Fag.”
“Hag.”
I stick out my tongue. “You’ll make a good assistant.”
“Office manager,” he mutters, folding his arms.
And we laugh.
“God, we’ve seen that movie way too may times.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon called his dad. It turns out that when his dad had been at school here, there had been an accident also. It wasn’t as major as what happened here. There was this girl, Tara Samson. She’d been an initiate, who had mysteriously died. Apparently, her boyfriend, Travis Walker, had tried to get Lambda Upsilon Epsilon disbanded, because of neglect.
“Sounds like motive,” says Brandon.
“Perhaps.”
Brandon and I’s investigation is not going anywhere. We decided to take a break and reevaluate the situation and what it means to be a detective. First we re-watched Third Man Out and Shock to the System. To get into the head of a detective we reasoned, and then I decided we needed to make a run to Borders, because really, through reading we can learn more about being a detective. We’re such bullshitters. But, on the bright side, I got a new book, it’s by Meg Cabot. It’s a mystery chick-lit, Heather Wells, and I can’t put it down.
I’m walking and reading, something I’ve perfected over the years. I’m glad I’m reading because I’m about to pass the Lion Lodge and that place still freaks me out.
“You know what they call it,” sneers a voice from behind me. I turn and see some guy, nudging his friends, his smug face and frat tee-shirt screams asshole.
He smirks, “Lemming Lodge.” Then he and his buddies start laughing.
I want to scream at him or slap him or do something, but I can’t move. Fucking asshole is on the tip of my tongue, but when I finally find my voice, he’s too far away for it to have any effect.
I throw my book. What is wrong with people? Don’t they realize real people died here? I take a deep breath. My book is lying in the grass; I walk over to get in. Bending down, I scoop it up. My eyes go to the memorial that’s set up, I haven’t been there yet. Slowly, I walk over; the wall is covered in pictures and letters. Forty-two lives rest on this wall, captured in photos and in the words of those left behind. Brandon’s dad had wanted him to rush, what if he had been there. What if he was one of these pictures?
I shiver, and turn away. And then back. Wait a second. One of these pictures is not like the others. I push aside a note overlapping it. It’s a grainy, actual photo with rounded edges of a girl with big hair and soft smile. Most of the ones up are digitals printed out on regular paper. I take a quick look around, before plucking it off the wall. I look on the back.
Tara 1978
My phone is out before I know it and I’m calling Brandon. This investigation is finally underway.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon meets me outside his dorm. He’s practically bouncing. “Danni-girl, I want you to meet someone.” He grabs my arm and pulls me in and through his dorm.
Sighing, I say, “Really, Bran,” I dig my nails into his arm to get him to release me. He gives a cry and lets go. “Now’s not the time for the potential boyfriend.”
He scoffs, rubbing his arm; he’s so dramatic. “Please, I’m not that…” He trails off at my raised eyebrows. “Shut up.”
“I love you, honey bear.”
“Love you, pookie,” he responds, knocking on a door.
“Come in,” shouts a voice.
The room smells stale, like most guy’s dorms, at least this one didn’t have the sock smell also. Hunched over a desk, is a guy, a mop of curly hair and thick rimmed glasses, typing furiously on his laptop.
“Danni, this is David Kirs-” He makes some kind of guttural nonsense noise, and finishes with “Jewish last name.”
I roll my eyes up in disgust, “Nice, Edward Norton, American History X.”
David smiles and waves a Red Bull in a whatever gesture. “Kir-schen-baum,” he enunciates, “it means cherry tree.”
“That’s why I call him Cherry,” Brandon flops down on David’s bed. “And because he is one.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek. Poor David blushes.
“Don’t be a dick,” I tell him. “Anyways, why I am here?”
“Cherry’s like a techno genius.”
“I prefer geek,” David smiles. Aww, he’s kind of cute.
“Why do we need a techno geek?” I wave the picture I found.
“That’s Tara?”
“Yep, which means that she’s somehow connected.”
“Well, to answer your question, yours truly,” he pulls on his shirt collar, “found something of interest as well. Show her, Cherry.”
David wags his eyebrows and picks something off of his desk.
“Holy shit. How did you?”
“I have my ways.”
I look at the iPod. “This is just too cool.”
“Tell her the other thing.”
“Tell me what,” I look up at David. Who has taken his seat, eyes on his laptop.
“I was looking at the iPod inners and comparing them to the online schematic that I found.
“See, this…” He turns to face us and stops, he’s staring. I do a quick boob check-still tucked in. I follow his gaze, Brandon’s shirt has risen up and there’s a strip of six pack. Somebody has a crush. I don’t blame him, Brandon’s hot.
“See what?” I ask. His face flushes and he shoots me this desperate look. I give him a smile.
David coughs. “Um, yeah, there’s something extra here.”
I stand up and go to lean over his shoulder.
“See that.” He points to some microchip thingie.
I feign understanding. “Yeah.”
“It’s not supposed to be there.”
“Let me see.” Brandon snatches the iPod. He can be so childish sometimes.
“Hey, I’m not done.” David reaches for the iPod. Grinning, like an ass, Brandon holds it out of reach, using his five or so inches of height difference.
“Don’t be a-” Before I can say ass, Brandon jerks forward violently and topples over. His entire body is shaking. He’s having a fucking seizure. Oh my God. I try to remember what Tina told me about her seizures, something about an epi-pen? And holding her head. Or was it don’t touch her. I can only stare, and I don’t’ even know what I’m saying. And then. He’s still.
“Brandon!” I fall to my knees and help David push him off. Oh my God, he’s not moving, he’s dead, shit where’s his pulse? My fingers fumble to his neck; I can’t find his pulse, shit. How do you do CPR?
And then he takes a gasping breath, like someone who has been underwater for too long.
I collapse on him, and bury my head in his neck. Thank God, thank God.
Tenderly he touches my hair and whispers, “Hey, Danni-girl, I’m okay, I’m okay. I swear.” He wraps his arms around me and scoots himself up so he can lean against the wall. I know I should get up, but I can’t move or speak. His hand cups my cheek and he rests our foreheads together.
“Gosh, Danni,” he says, “don’t be such a girl.”
My laugh comes out more sob, and I scrub my cheeks.
“You okay?” I don’t know if David is asking me or Brandon or both of us.
“Peachy,” we say in perfect pitch, and I try to match his smile, but my mouth doesn’t want to cooperate.
David reaches over and starts to pry Brandon’s hand open. The iPod slips to the floor.
“There’s no mark.”
“Yeah, sometimes there isn’t a mark.” David says, reaching for the iPod.
“Don’t touch it.” I couldn’t deal with another near dead body today.
“It’s not gonna go off.” He seems sure of himself. “Think, you carried it around and I tinkered with it, it didn’t go off until-”
“Brandon held it up,” I finished. “Just like the initiates. Do you know what this means?”
“Murder.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the realization that the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates had been murdered, David figured out the iPod worked. He gave us rather technical report, but basically, when raised it acted like a taser. Brandon commented, “Don’t tase me, bro.” In a failed effort to be funny. David rolled his eyes and I punched his arm.
Then David and I dragged Brandon out the door.
“Come on, guys, I feel fine.”
“I don’t care,” I snap. “You’re going to the health center, and that’s final.”
“Yes, mother.”
“If you’re good,” David says, like he’s talking to a five year old, “you can have ice cream afterwards.”
Brandon sticks his tongue out at me and hugs David from behind; David stumbles a little and his ears pinking. “That’s why he’s my favorite.” He gives him a sloppy kid kiss on his blushing cheek and turns towards me. “So, where do you think the iPods came from?”
“That is the question. We find the provider we find the perp.”
“You’re so 1940’s noir,” Brandon tells me, opening the door to the health center.
Once inside, he saunters over to the receptionist, a guy with a crew cut who must be pinging on his gaydar because Brandon’s got his flirting face on. I sneak a look at David, who seems very interested in the magazine rack. Poor guy. I love Brandon to death but he’s oblivious. I take a seat.
“I’ll be back in bit,” Brandon calls as he follows a lady in scrubs. I wave.
“So, David?”
“Yeah?” He slides into a chair next to me.
“How do you know Brandon?”
“I’m his community assistant”
“That’s cool.”
“You?”
“We met at orientation, he was wearing this ‘I’m Proud of Chad Allen’ shirt and I was like I love Chad Allen. And then I said that by far Shock to the System was better than Third Man Out. And he was like what, no. Third Man Out has Vic from Queer as Folk, who is amazing. And then a friendship was born.” I laugh a little and rub the back of my neck. From the look on David’s face he has no idea what I just said.
The bell above the door chimes, and it saves us from a round of awkward silence. We turn to see who it is.
I slap David’s arm. “That’s Sarah Gripes.”
“Who?”
“President of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon. Dude she’ll know where the iPods came from.” I wonder how to approach her. She’s balancing a stack of papers and roll of tape that I just know is going to fall. The tape clinks to the floor, followed by the papers, and I stand up ignoring David hissing my name.
Bending, down I help her pick them up. My eyes glance over the flyer, she’s organizing a candle light vigil for the students, the ceremony is going to be in front of the Lodge on Friday.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, not even glancing at me.
Handing her the flyers, I clear my throat. “You’re Sarah, right?”
“Yeah?” She takes the papers and pats the edges on the ground. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m Danielle Haines, um, I have a question for you.”
Her eyes narrow, “Listen, if it’s about what happened, I don’t know anything, okay.” Her voice is rough and I think she’s been crying. She stands up and strides over to the bulletin board.
“No, wait,” I follow her “Listen, I know it wasn’t a suicide.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
I count to ten; she’s been though a lot.
“What about the iPods?”
“What about them?”
“Where did you get them?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She tapes the flyer up.
I grab her shoulder, turning her to face me. “Because I know that those iPods are dangerous.”
She starts to cry. “I knew they were, I, I, just, they were defects that Lucy got us. But she was one of them, why would she want to kill herself? And the others?”
“Lucy who?”
“Dowells. Lucy Dowells.”
“Do you know where she got them?”
Sarah shakes her head. I pat her arm. I hate it when people cry.
“Thank you.” I say, and she hurries away.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“So how does Lucy Dowells and Tara Samson connect?” Brandon asks, between bites of mystery meat.
“Maybe they’re related?’ David takes a sip of his coke.
“I dunno” I tap the side of the table. “Maybe we should ask her roommate.”
“Do you know who it is?” Brandon asks.
“No.”
We both look at David.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Okay, her roommate is Nancy Cartwright.” David says. “And she is there,” he pointed over at a table where a girl with black hair sipped from a Starbucks cup.
“Dude, Cherry, how did you know where she’d be?”
“Well, Bran, I’m psychic.”
I laugh, “I bet he facebooked her.”
“Guilty. I told her we were investigating Lucy’s death, and she agreed to meet up.”
“Nice job.”
I slide into a seat across from Nancy. “Hey, I’m Danielle, this is Brandon and David.”
“Wait a second, I thought you guys were private investigators?”
“We are.”
“Come on, how old are? Fifteen?”
“No, I’m eighteen.”
“Great, even worst freshmen.”
“Uh, I’m a sophomore,” David points out.
“I should really leave.”
“No, wait, listen, we may be young, but we are so close to solving this case. Can you please just answer one question?”
She sighs, “Fine. One.”
“Where did Lucy get the iPods?”
“Huh?”
“The iPods that were used in the protest.”
“Oh, those, from Dr. Walker.”
That name sounds familiar.
“Wait, Travis Walker?"
“I dunno, that might be his first name.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
If Brandon was really Donald Strachey and I was Heather Wells we would have confronted Walker and gotten a confession on tape or been involved in some climatic life-threatening situation. But we’re not. Instead, we did the smart thing. David, Brandon, and I brought all the evidence to the police, and they arrested Dr. Walker.
“Walker swears he had no knowledge of where the protest would be held,” Brandon reads, gum smacking between words. “He claims that he only wanted to ‘Embarrass the elitists on campus’ blah blah something about the dead girlfriend blah blah, ah here!” He points and David and I lean over to see. “Thanks to amateur sleuths, Brandon Fuller, freshman, Danielle Haines, freshman, and David Kursbam?” He laughs. “Wow, Cherry, no one can get your name right.
David shoves him off the sidewalk into the grass, and I laugh. Brandon retaliates by wrapping his arm around David’s neck and pretending to squeeze.
“Anyways,” Brandon’s arm has moved from David’s neck to drape around his shoulders, he goes back to the newspaper. “Thanks to these young students, the forty-two victims and their families can finally have some justice.” He finishes dramatically and hands the paper to me. I fold it up and tuck it into my bag.
“You know what, I could get used to having my name in the paper. In fact, I think I’m gonna change my major to Criminal Justice” He pokes my side, “You should too.”
“Why?”
“Hello, because we’re awesome, and we make a great team. You and me investigating, and Cherry here making us cool gadgets, we could be unstoppable.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I got it we can form an agency when we graduate. Come on.” He swings his free arm around me. “I even got a name picked up, F&H Inc. What do you think?”
“Fuller and Haines, not very original.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fag and Hag.”
“You’re such a bitch.” I try to hit him, but he dances out of the way.
He laughs. “That’s why you love me.”
Raising my fist, I go in for a punch, but he grabs my hand, and twists me around, tickling me. I curl forward and he lifts me up.
“Come on Danni-girl, please be my partner.”
“No,” I gasp out between giggles.
“Come on come on,” he begs.
“You know you want to.” David gains up with Brandon against me.
“Et tu David? Et tu?”
He shrugs, “It could be fun.”
“Fine, fine, God, put me down.”
Brandon laughs and uses his free hand to take out his gum. “Good,” he says, and sticks it to the bottom of my shoe. “Now you’re a real gumshoe.”
F&H Investigations: Case One
Brandon pulls his car out of the Sonic parking lot. After two hours of driving, the ice cream is needed badly. I happily lick my cone, vanilla soft serve; you don’t get much better than this.
“Ya know,” he drawls, checking his side mirror, before eyeing me out of the corner of his eye, “that would almost be sexy, if it wasn’t for the braces.”
I gave my cone a lick, “Well, you’d almost be sexy, if you weren’t such a bitch.”
“Hey, hey, who’s the one driving you places.”
“Whatever, you wanted to go home too.”
“Yeah, well who drove thirty minutes out of his way, to get you home?”
“And who just bought you popcorn chicken.”
“Hmm,” he twists his mouth to the side. “Point and truce?”
“Truce.”
We shake.
I’m so glad I met Brandon, way back during orientation; he’s been the best friend a girl
could ask for. He’s one of those guys who can be an asshole at times, but overall he’s a great guy.
“What the fuck is going on.”
“Huh?” I push myself up and crane my neck to look around. The campus is packed, there are people and cars jammed everywhere.
“This is gonna take forever,” he moans.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” I pause,” Oh, wait, you can’t help it.”
“I hate you. I’m never giving you another ride. Anywhere.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
We ended up parking halfway across campus.
“What’s going here?”
“Yeah, who died?”
A girl in front of me whirls around. “That’s not funny.” Her cheeks are streaked with mascara tears.
“Did someone die?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
Brandon pipes in, “We’ve been gone all weekend.”
She brings her thumb up to her mouth, and starts gnawing on it. “It’s horrible. There were more than thirty of them, and they’re all dead.”
“What happened?”
But it’s too late; she is sobbing, big gulping breaths wracked with tears.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I don’t even know this girl, should I hug her? I glance at Brandon; he looks as uneasy as I do. I never know how to handle crying.
“Char,” another girl calls, launching herself at the crying girl. She wraps her arms around her. I mentally give a sigh of relief.
Brandon and I wander through the crowd, I’m afraid to ask anymore people what went on. You always hear about shootings and bombing, but you never think it will happen to you.
I spot a tall man, probably a professor from his glasses and sports jacket, he’ll know what’s going on.
“Um, excuse me, Dr.?” I’ve gotten into the habit of addressing every older person with Doctor, whether they are or not.
He turns to look at me, his face ashen.
“Yes?”
“What happened?”
“Some students were protesting, and they fell off the Lodge.”
“Oh.” I turn to Brandon. The Lodge was the newest dorm on campus; it was about fifteen stories high.
“Come on Danny-girl, let’s get back to the dorms.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The next day, they released the names of the students in the “tragic accident.” I poured over the names, searching for someone I knew. None of them looked familiar. Thank god. But maybe one of them was in my class. Speaking of classes, they’ve been cancelled for the week.
I’m in the mailroom when Brandon finds me, squatting on the floor by my mailbox.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You wanna hear something weird?”
I glance up; he’s leaning against the mailboxes, arms cross. “Sure.” What is my stupid combination? My thighs are starting to hurt and I decide that the floor can’t be that dirty, and plop down.
I heard there were 42 of them, exactly. 21 girls, 21 guys.”
“So?” Turning the lock, I hope for a click.
“42, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?”
I give him my what-the-crap-are-you-talking about face, and return to my stupid lock.
“Hitchhiker’s Guide?”
“Huh?” Was it 34 or 33? I go with 34. “Oh, wait,” I look up, “Was that the movie where Snape’s a robot?
Brandon sighs and shakes his head, “Alan Rickman, you really need to know your actors.”
“I know the ones that are important.” 12 and 7, I hear the click, and I pull the door open.
“Voila!”
“Anyways,” Brandon ignores my moment of triumph. “I was thinking that maybe it was some kind of cult thing.”
“A cult with only 42 members?” Campus newsletter and ads, nothing else, what a waste.
“Yeah.”
“A cult in Iowa?” I stick out my hand; Brandon grabs it and yanks me up.
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” I brush off my pants, and start to walk down the hall.
“What, how am I wrong?” He jogs to catch up to me.
I hand him the newsletter. The headline screams: Lambda Upsilon Epsilon Initiates Leap from Lion Lodge.
“Well shit.”
“Yeah.”
“The initiates were protesting society’s dependence on electronics,” reads Brandon, “they were each clutching iPods. Sarah Gripes, head of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon, pictured right, says, ‘they were supposed to throw them, I don’t know what went wrong.’ Lambda Upsilon Epsilon is denying any knowledge pertaining to the deaths. ”
I grab the newsletter and study Sarah Gripes she looks like the typical sorority girl, blond hair with those stupid brown stripes in it. “So what’s this Lambda Upsid Epsid?”
Brandon stops walking. “Up-SIL-on Ep-SIL-on and you’re joking, right?”
“No…”
“Only, like the most elite frat and sorority organization. They take the best of the best. Every Greek person wants in.”
“How do you know about this?’
“My father was a member, and, I was, kind of, supposed to rush that one.”
“Your dad wanted you to be in a frat?” I stifle a giggle, Brandon may look like fraternity on the outside, but on the inside he’s a totally dork.
“Yeah, when I told him I was gay, he tried to convince me that I could meet a lot of guys in a frat.”
“Nice.”
“I know, good old dad, right?”
“Hey, does he know about what happened?”
Brandon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I should probably call him.”
“Do you think he’ll have any idea behind what happened here?”
“Maybe.” He walks ahead of me, and I grab his arm.
“Dude, I just had a great idea, we should totally investigate.”
He strokes his chin. “Mm, I’ve always wanted to be a gay detective.”
“Investigator,” I correct in my best imitation of Sebastian Spence from Shock to the System.
“I get to be Donald Strachey.”
“It was my idea.”
“You can’t be Strachey, you’re not a guy or gay.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter, my idea, I’m in charge,” I grin, “You can be Kenny.”
“Kenny’s a slut.”
“And you have a problem with that?”
“Whore.”
“Bitch.”
“Fag.”
“Hag.”
I stick out my tongue. “You’ll make a good assistant.”
“Office manager,” he mutters, folding his arms.
And we laugh.
“God, we’ve seen that movie way too may times.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon called his dad. It turns out that when his dad had been at school here, there had been an accident also. It wasn’t as major as what happened here. There was this girl, Tara Samson. She’d been an initiate, who had mysteriously died. Apparently, her boyfriend, Travis Walker, had tried to get Lambda Upsilon Epsilon disbanded, because of neglect.
“Sounds like motive,” says Brandon.
“Perhaps.”
Brandon and I’s investigation is not going anywhere. We decided to take a break and reevaluate the situation and what it means to be a detective. First we re-watched Third Man Out and Shock to the System. To get into the head of a detective we reasoned, and then I decided we needed to make a run to Borders, because really, through reading we can learn more about being a detective. We’re such bullshitters. But, on the bright side, I got a new book, it’s by Meg Cabot. It’s a mystery chick-lit, Heather Wells, and I can’t put it down.
I’m walking and reading, something I’ve perfected over the years. I’m glad I’m reading because I’m about to pass the Lion Lodge and that place still freaks me out.
“You know what they call it,” sneers a voice from behind me. I turn and see some guy, nudging his friends, his smug face and frat tee-shirt screams asshole.
He smirks, “Lemming Lodge.” Then he and his buddies start laughing.
I want to scream at him or slap him or do something, but I can’t move. Fucking asshole is on the tip of my tongue, but when I finally find my voice, he’s too far away for it to have any effect.
I throw my book. What is wrong with people? Don’t they realize real people died here? I take a deep breath. My book is lying in the grass; I walk over to get in. Bending down, I scoop it up. My eyes go to the memorial that’s set up, I haven’t been there yet. Slowly, I walk over; the wall is covered in pictures and letters. Forty-two lives rest on this wall, captured in photos and in the words of those left behind. Brandon’s dad had wanted him to rush, what if he had been there. What if he was one of these pictures?
I shiver, and turn away. And then back. Wait a second. One of these pictures is not like the others. I push aside a note overlapping it. It’s a grainy, actual photo with rounded edges of a girl with big hair and soft smile. Most of the ones up are digitals printed out on regular paper. I take a quick look around, before plucking it off the wall. I look on the back.
Tara 1978
My phone is out before I know it and I’m calling Brandon. This investigation is finally underway.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon meets me outside his dorm. He’s practically bouncing. “Danni-girl, I want you to meet someone.” He grabs my arm and pulls me in and through his dorm.
Sighing, I say, “Really, Bran,” I dig my nails into his arm to get him to release me. He gives a cry and lets go. “Now’s not the time for the potential boyfriend.”
He scoffs, rubbing his arm; he’s so dramatic. “Please, I’m not that…” He trails off at my raised eyebrows. “Shut up.”
“I love you, honey bear.”
“Love you, pookie,” he responds, knocking on a door.
“Come in,” shouts a voice.
The room smells stale, like most guy’s dorms, at least this one didn’t have the sock smell also. Hunched over a desk, is a guy, a mop of curly hair and thick rimmed glasses, typing furiously on his laptop.
“Danni, this is David Kirs-” He makes some kind of guttural nonsense noise, and finishes with “Jewish last name.”
I roll my eyes up in disgust, “Nice, Edward Norton, American History X.”
David smiles and waves a Red Bull in a whatever gesture. “Kir-schen-baum,” he enunciates, “it means cherry tree.”
“That’s why I call him Cherry,” Brandon flops down on David’s bed. “And because he is one.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek. Poor David blushes.
“Don’t be a dick,” I tell him. “Anyways, why I am here?”
“Cherry’s like a techno genius.”
“I prefer geek,” David smiles. Aww, he’s kind of cute.
“Why do we need a techno geek?” I wave the picture I found.
“That’s Tara?”
“Yep, which means that she’s somehow connected.”
“Well, to answer your question, yours truly,” he pulls on his shirt collar, “found something of interest as well. Show her, Cherry.”
David wags his eyebrows and picks something off of his desk.
“Holy shit. How did you?”
“I have my ways.”
I look at the iPod. “This is just too cool.”
“Tell her the other thing.”
“Tell me what,” I look up at David. Who has taken his seat, eyes on his laptop.
“I was looking at the iPod inners and comparing them to the online schematic that I found.
“See, this…” He turns to face us and stops, he’s staring. I do a quick boob check-still tucked in. I follow his gaze, Brandon’s shirt has risen up and there’s a strip of six pack. Somebody has a crush. I don’t blame him, Brandon’s hot.
“See what?” I ask. His face flushes and he shoots me this desperate look. I give him a smile.
David coughs. “Um, yeah, there’s something extra here.”
I stand up and go to lean over his shoulder.
“See that.” He points to some microchip thingie.
I feign understanding. “Yeah.”
“It’s not supposed to be there.”
“Let me see.” Brandon snatches the iPod. He can be so childish sometimes.
“Hey, I’m not done.” David reaches for the iPod. Grinning, like an ass, Brandon holds it out of reach, using his five or so inches of height difference.
“Don’t be a-” Before I can say ass, Brandon jerks forward violently and topples over. His entire body is shaking. He’s having a fucking seizure. Oh my God. I try to remember what Tina told me about her seizures, something about an epi-pen? And holding her head. Or was it don’t touch her. I can only stare, and I don’t’ even know what I’m saying. And then. He’s still.
“Brandon!” I fall to my knees and help David push him off. Oh my God, he’s not moving, he’s dead, shit where’s his pulse? My fingers fumble to his neck; I can’t find his pulse, shit. How do you do CPR?
And then he takes a gasping breath, like someone who has been underwater for too long.
I collapse on him, and bury my head in his neck. Thank God, thank God.
Tenderly he touches my hair and whispers, “Hey, Danni-girl, I’m okay, I’m okay. I swear.” He wraps his arms around me and scoots himself up so he can lean against the wall. I know I should get up, but I can’t move or speak. His hand cups my cheek and he rests our foreheads together.
“Gosh, Danni,” he says, “don’t be such a girl.”
My laugh comes out more sob, and I scrub my cheeks.
“You okay?” I don’t know if David is asking me or Brandon or both of us.
“Peachy,” we say in perfect pitch, and I try to match his smile, but my mouth doesn’t want to cooperate.
David reaches over and starts to pry Brandon’s hand open. The iPod slips to the floor.
“There’s no mark.”
“Yeah, sometimes there isn’t a mark.” David says, reaching for the iPod.
“Don’t touch it.” I couldn’t deal with another near dead body today.
“It’s not gonna go off.” He seems sure of himself. “Think, you carried it around and I tinkered with it, it didn’t go off until-”
“Brandon held it up,” I finished. “Just like the initiates. Do you know what this means?”
“Murder.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the realization that the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates had been murdered, David figured out the iPod worked. He gave us rather technical report, but basically, when raised it acted like a taser. Brandon commented, “Don’t tase me, bro.” In a failed effort to be funny. David rolled his eyes and I punched his arm.
Then David and I dragged Brandon out the door.
“Come on, guys, I feel fine.”
“I don’t care,” I snap. “You’re going to the health center, and that’s final.”
“Yes, mother.”
“If you’re good,” David says, like he’s talking to a five year old, “you can have ice cream afterwards.”
Brandon sticks his tongue out at me and hugs David from behind; David stumbles a little and his ears pinking. “That’s why he’s my favorite.” He gives him a sloppy kid kiss on his blushing cheek and turns towards me. “So, where do you think the iPods came from?”
“That is the question. We find the provider we find the perp.”
“You’re so 1940’s noir,” Brandon tells me, opening the door to the health center.
Once inside, he saunters over to the receptionist, a guy with a crew cut who must be pinging on his gaydar because Brandon’s got his flirting face on. I sneak a look at David, who seems very interested in the magazine rack. Poor guy. I love Brandon to death but he’s oblivious. I take a seat.
“I’ll be back in bit,” Brandon calls as he follows a lady in scrubs. I wave.
“So, David?”
“Yeah?” He slides into a chair next to me.
“How do you know Brandon?”
“I’m his community assistant”
“That’s cool.”
“You?”
“We met at orientation, he was wearing this ‘I’m Proud of Chad Allen’ shirt and I was like I love Chad Allen. And then I said that by far Shock to the System was better than Third Man Out. And he was like what, no. Third Man Out has Vic from Queer as Folk, who is amazing. And then a friendship was born.” I laugh a little and rub the back of my neck. From the look on David’s face he has no idea what I just said.
The bell above the door chimes, and it saves us from a round of awkward silence. We turn to see who it is.
I slap David’s arm. “That’s Sarah Gripes.”
“Who?”
“President of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon. Dude she’ll know where the iPods came from.” I wonder how to approach her. She’s balancing a stack of papers and roll of tape that I just know is going to fall. The tape clinks to the floor, followed by the papers, and I stand up ignoring David hissing my name.
Bending, down I help her pick them up. My eyes glance over the flyer, she’s organizing a candle light vigil for the students, the ceremony is going to be in front of the Lodge on Friday.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, not even glancing at me.
Handing her the flyers, I clear my throat. “You’re Sarah, right?”
“Yeah?” She takes the papers and pats the edges on the ground. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m Danielle Haines, um, I have a question for you.”
Her eyes narrow, “Listen, if it’s about what happened, I don’t know anything, okay.” Her voice is rough and I think she’s been crying. She stands up and strides over to the bulletin board.
“No, wait,” I follow her “Listen, I know it wasn’t a suicide.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
I count to ten; she’s been though a lot.
“What about the iPods?”
“What about them?”
“Where did you get them?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She tapes the flyer up.
I grab her shoulder, turning her to face me. “Because I know that those iPods are dangerous.”
She starts to cry. “I knew they were, I, I, just, they were defects that Lucy got us. But she was one of them, why would she want to kill herself? And the others?”
“Lucy who?”
“Dowells. Lucy Dowells.”
“Do you know where she got them?”
Sarah shakes her head. I pat her arm. I hate it when people cry.
“Thank you.” I say, and she hurries away.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“So how does Lucy Dowells and Tara Samson connect?” Brandon asks, between bites of mystery meat.
“Maybe they’re related?’ David takes a sip of his coke.
“I dunno” I tap the side of the table. “Maybe we should ask her roommate.”
“Do you know who it is?” Brandon asks.
“No.”
We both look at David.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Okay, her roommate is Nancy Cartwright.” David says. “And she is there,” he pointed over at a table where a girl with black hair sipped from a Starbucks cup.
“Dude, Cherry, how did you know where she’d be?”
“Well, Bran, I’m psychic.”
I laugh, “I bet he facebooked her.”
“Guilty. I told her we were investigating Lucy’s death, and she agreed to meet up.”
“Nice job.”
I slide into a seat across from Nancy. “Hey, I’m Danielle, this is Brandon and David.”
“Wait a second, I thought you guys were private investigators?”
“We are.”
“Come on, how old are? Fifteen?”
“No, I’m eighteen.”
“Great, even worst freshmen.”
“Uh, I’m a sophomore,” David points out.
“I should really leave.”
“No, wait, listen, we may be young, but we are so close to solving this case. Can you please just answer one question?”
She sighs, “Fine. One.”
“Where did Lucy get the iPods?”
“Huh?”
“The iPods that were used in the protest.”
“Oh, those, from Dr. Walker.”
That name sounds familiar.
“Wait, Travis Walker?"
“I dunno, that might be his first name.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
If Brandon was really Donald Strachey and I was Heather Wells we would have confronted Walker and gotten a confession on tape or been involved in some climatic life-threatening situation. But we’re not. Instead, we did the smart thing. David, Brandon, and I brought all the evidence to the police, and they arrested Dr. Walker.
“Walker swears he had no knowledge of where the protest would be held,” Brandon reads, gum smacking between words. “He claims that he only wanted to ‘Embarrass the elitists on campus’ blah blah something about the dead girlfriend blah blah, ah here!” He points and David and I lean over to see. “Thanks to amateur sleuths, Brandon Fuller, freshman, Danielle Haines, freshman, and David Kursbam?” He laughs. “Wow, Cherry, no one can get your name right.
David shoves him off the sidewalk into the grass, and I laugh. Brandon retaliates by wrapping his arm around David’s neck and pretending to squeeze.
“Anyways,” Brandon’s arm has moved from David’s neck to drape around his shoulders, he goes back to the newspaper. “Thanks to these young students, the forty-two victims and their families can finally have some justice.” He finishes dramatically and hands the paper to me. I fold it up and tuck it into my bag.
“You know what, I could get used to having my name in the paper. In fact, I think I’m gonna change my major to Criminal Justice” He pokes my side, “You should too.”
“Why?”
“Hello, because we’re awesome, and we make a great team. You and me investigating, and Cherry here making us cool gadgets, we could be unstoppable.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I got it we can form an agency when we graduate. Come on.” He swings his free arm around me. “I even got a name picked up, F&H Inc. What do you think?”
“Fuller and Haines, not very original.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fag and Hag.”
“You’re such a bitch.” I try to hit him, but he dances out of the way.
He laughs. “That’s why you love me.”
Raising my fist, I go in for a punch, but he grabs my hand, and twists me around, tickling me. I curl forward and he lifts me up.
“Come on Danni-girl, please be my partner.”
“No,” I gasp out between giggles.
“Come on come on,” he begs.
“You know you want to.” David gains up with Brandon against me.
“Et tu David? Et tu?”
He shrugs, “It could be fun.”
“Fine, fine, God, put me down.”
Brandon laughs and uses his free hand to take out his gum. “Good,” he says, and sticks it to the bottom of my shoe. “Now you’re a real gumshoe.”