Bess and George laughed—but a moment later George sat up like she’d just been struck by lightning. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “You don’t need us, Nancy—you’ve got Iris! She’ll be your wing-girl for this caper. Won’t you, Iris?”
My heart lifted a little, a bit of light peeking through the clouds.
Iris looked back and forth between us, and then put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m still going to have to go to class here and there—but of course I will!” she finally said. “I’m sure I can squeeze a little private investigation into my schedule. But I have to see if I’ve got any detective wear in my wardrobe. A girl can’t solve a crime in just any old thing!”
And just like that, Iris cleared out my dreary mood like a fierce wind blowing away the clouds. “Oh, Iris,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’m so glad.”
“Sure you are!” she replied. “Now, what do you think . . . a brown tweed pantsuit? Or is that too on-the-nose?”
Later that morning, after I’d seen George and Bess off in a bus back to River Heights, Iris and I were walking down a path from the president’s mansion to the campus quad. Maple trees on either side of us created a canopy above us, their fiery orange leaves heralding the coming season. All the world was perfumed with the smoky, crisp scent of autumn. I took a deep breath, hoping the fresh air would give my tired brain the jolt of energy it needed to start thinking about the case.
“You want to pick up some coffee at the campus café?” Iris asked.
“You read my mind,” I replied.
A few minutes later we’d arrived in the center of campus, which was crowded with students and professors heading to their morning classes. A squat, cylindrical building stood in the middle of it all, with the redbrick academic buildings radiating out from it like spokes on a wheel. Iris led me inside the central building, the Commons, which housed administrative offices, the campus store, and an eatery. The café stood under a sign picturing a cartoon Sphinx holding a mug of coffee.
“Drinx?” I read with a smirk.
“Yeah,” Iris said with a groan. “It was Dad’s idea. He’s got the cheesiest sense of humor. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so adorable.”
We each bought a large coffee and found an empty table. After a few rejuvenating sips, I set down my cup and said, “Okay, let’s get down to business. I need to know more about Bash to figure out who would want to hurt him. With Bash out of the way, would that leave an opening for another student to be the star of the department? Do you know of anyone who might be jealous of his success?”
Iris tapped her chin with one manicured finger. “I suppose someone could be jealous of Bash, but there isn’t anyone who springs to mind. He’s a shy, sweet guy. Not exactly a show-off who rubs people the wrong way.”
I bit my lip. “Okay, maybe we’re just looking at a prank gone wrong?” I guessed. “I mean, I’ve heard of all kinds of awful pranks happening on college campuses—maybe this could have been one of those? Someone could have wanted Bash to fall but didn’t realize how much it would hurt him to hit the ground from that height.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Actually, if they knew he was going to be wearing the Icarus costume, maybe they thought it would be funny to replicate the events from the myth itself—the fall of Icarus.”
Iris took a sip of coffee. “It’s possible,” she said. “Though not the norm here at Oracle. But you never know—students here are very competitive. If you want to sniff around, you could start by going to the coed dorms at the top of the hill—that’s where Bash lives. His girlfriend, too, I think. She might be able to give you some insight.” Iris glanced at the clock on her phone and gasped. “Shoot, I’m going to be late for class! I’ve got to run. But it’s a good time for you to do some snooping around—text me after and let me know if you find anything. We’ll meet up in the afternoon once my classes are done.”
I nodded. “Just keep your eyes and ears open—you never know what you might overhear. Sometimes insignificant details can turn out to be crucial clues later on.” I bit back more instructions—I didn’t want to sound as if I was lecturing her like one of her professors.
“Yes, Detective Drew,” Iris said, saluting, her mouth pressed into a hard line. “Whatever you say, boss!”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. I guess I needn’t have worried. “Don’t let me down, kid,” I said in a mock-serious tone. “I’m counting on you.”
Iris chuckled and patted my hand. “Seriously, though, I’m your girl, Nance! If there’s a clue to be found, I’ll sniff it out.”
Bash’s dormitory was an ivy-covered redbrick building that sat atop a steep hill, its square middle section bookended by two conical towers. Doing my best to look casual and blend in, I waited until one of the residents used his keycard to open the security door and snuck in behind him.
Inside, the hallway was virtually empty—Iris had said that a lot of students would be in their morning classes. The white walls were plastered with colorful flyers advertising upcoming campus events and parties, and many of the apartment doors were decorated with all manner of funny drawings and messages to roommates. Unfortunately, there weren’t any names on the doors. How was I going to find Bash’s room?
My question was answered a few minutes later, after I’d climbed the stairs to the second floor and spied a small shrine erected outside one of the doors. Small bouquets of flowers littered the ground, and the door itself was a riot of different-colored sticky notes, each of them sending well-wishes to the occupant of the room. Which, of course, was Bash.
Well, I thought. Problem solved. I listened at the door for any sound—after all, for all I knew, Bash had a roommate. But there was only silence. Pulling a credit card from my wallet, I checked both ends of the hallway for witnesses and jimmied the lock. Within a minute of finding the room, I was inside.
The room within was small and neat, with a desk facing the window and a twin bed pushed into the corner. Whew, I thought, it looks like a single. No roommate to worry about. I stepped over a pile of white feathers and a glue gun—evidence of Bash’s late-night wing construction—and went to the desk. Bash’s silver laptop sat half-covered in marked-up term papers. Upon closer examination, I discovered that many of the papers were for an ancient philosophy course taught by Dr. Stone. “You can do better,” read one note in purple ink, followed by a large letter B. Considering Bash was the department’s star student, I found the grade surprising. Iris was right, I thought. Dr. Stone really is a tough customer.
I brushed the papers aside and opened up the laptop. I know, I know—usually it’s a big no-no to break into someone’s place and snoop around their computer. But I always tell myself that in the pursuit of justice, some rules just have to be broken.
The desktop blinked on right away, and I began clicking through Bash’s file folders, looking for anything that could be a clue. Curious, I sorted the files by date created, and opened up the most recent one, dated yesterday evening. It was a document full of notes from Dr. Stone’s class. This must have happened right before the gala! Unfortunately, it didn’t prove to be very helpful. Just three pages of lecture notes, followed by a quick rundown of a group assignment due in two weeks. Bash had written down the names of the people in his group—Maria, Gwendolyn, Eleanor, and Mason—and their topic, which was about justice in Plato’s Republic. Frustrated, I closed the laptop and scanned the room again. After five more minutes of searching, I was still empty-handed. Then I heard the murmur of voices outside the door. First very low, and then louder and louder. Checking the time on my phone, I realized about an hour had passed since I’d left Iris at the café. The morning class period must be over, and some students were returning to the dorm! I had to get out of there, fast, before I got caught.
Returning the room to the state that I’d found it, I slipped out into the hallway and was on my way back down the stairs when I heard voices from the landing below. They sounded so familiar that I peered down the stairwell to see who it w
as. Sure enough, there were Daniela and the boy from the gala. Looks like he still hasn’t given up, I thought. Though they were speaking in low voices, the stairwell acted like an echo chamber, and I was able to hear them clearly from my perch up above.
“For the last time,” Daniela was saying, “I’m with Bash now, okay?”
“But Bash might be in the hospital for weeks! Months!” Mason argued. “What are you going to do?”
Daniela huffed. “Oh, I don’t know—live my life? Contrary to what you might think, I can take care of myself, thank you very much. However long it takes, I’ll wait.”
“But baby, I miss you.”
“It’s over, Mason. I’m not your ‘baby’ anymore.”
There was a pause. “You’re making a mistake,” Mason growled.
“No,” Daniela answered. “My mistake was ever dating you in the first place.”
I saw Mason turn away and throw open the stairwell door, slamming it against the wall. He stomped out, disappearing into the first-floor hallway. Whew, I thought. Mason sure picked the right costume for the gala. After all, Ares was the fierce, aggressive god of war—not someone you wanted to run into in a dark alley.
Taking a deep, silent breath, I waited a few seconds before making my way down the stairs to where Daniela was still standing, her eyes burning a hole through the door that Mason had just left through.
“Oh, hello again, Daniela!” I said brightly.
Daniela jumped a little at the sound and turned to see me. Recognition flickered in her eyes. “You’re the girl from the gala, aren’t you?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m staying with Iris Pappas and touring the campus. I’m considering applying to Oracle next year, but I wanted to see it in action first.”
Daniela looked uncomfortable. “Right . . . um, you didn’t hear anything from upstairs, did you?”
I made my face as blank as possible. “No,” I lied. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Daniela answered, visibly relieved. “Actually, I’m just on my way to visit Bash at the hospital. I know he’s still unconscious, but they say hearing familiar voices help people wake up.”
She was starting to turn away, but I reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “I don’t want to hold you up, but would you mind answering a couple of questions about the school? I want to know what it’s really like—can’t always trust what’s in the brochures, you know?”
Daniela smiled politely. “Sure, I’d be happy to,” she said.
“Thanks. So, I really want to join a sorority, but all those hazing stories really freak me out. Do the Greek groups on campus do that sort of thing?”
Daniela shook her head. “I’ve never heard of that happening here—Oracle is a very serious school, not a lot of time for partying and getting in trouble.” She chuckled. “We don’t even have a football team—our big sport is chess.”
“That can still be pretty competitive,” I commented.
“Oh yes, don’t get me wrong,” Daniela replied. “Oracle is very competitive. Students vying for grants and scholarships, stuff like that. Unless you’re like Bash and you can’t help being the best.” She sniffed, and blinked rapidly.
“You must like him a lot,” I said carefully. “I’m hoping my boyfriend and I can attend college together. He’s special too—so much more of a gentleman than my last boyfriend.” Of course, this was a lie. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend. He goes to River Heights University and is a total gentleman, but I had a feeling saying this would help Daniela open up.
Daniela nodded furiously. “Right? You met my ex back at the gala. Mason. He won’t leave me alone! He’s had it in for Bash ever since we broke up. Always trying to one-up Bash or make him look bad, like it would matter if he did. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” She sighed. “Anyway, it was nice running into you again. Hope you like the rest of the campus!”
I waved good-bye and quickly exited the building. Suddenly that “prank gone bad” theory sounded a lot more probable. Outside, I pulled out my phone and started a text to Iris. FIND OUT EVERYTHING YOU CAN ABOUT A CLASSICS STUDENT NAMED MASON, I wrote. HE JUST MADE IT TO THE TOP OF MY LIST OF SUSPECTS.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Feathered Philosopher
I WAS EATING A SANDWICH in the commons later that afternoon when my phone buzzed. GOT SOME INTERESTING INFO FOR YOU, Iris’s text message read. MEET ME AT THE CLASSICS BUILDING IN 15. After finishing up the last of my lunch, I gathered up my things and walked over to the classics building on the west side of the campus. On the outside, the four-story redbrick structure looked very much like every other academic building at Oracle, but once I walked through the doors, it was abundantly clear what the people were there to study. The front vestibule was festooned with posters for PhD programs in ancient studies, and a large plaster bust of Aristotle stood on a pedestal in the center of the room.
A few students, on their break in between classes, were hanging out in the hallway comparing notes and sipping coffees from Drinx. One of them wore what looked like an athletic T-shirt, but on the back it read TEAM SOCRATES. I couldn’t help but smile. On the wall next to the stairwell, a white marble plaque was set, engraved with a quote from Plato’s Republic. “ ‘The beginning is the most important part of the work,’ ” I read to myself.
I was mulling over the meaning of those words when the door of the building slammed loudly, making everyone in the hallway jump. I turned to see Dr. Stone rushing toward the stairwell, a steaming coffee cup in one hand and a thick packet of files cradled in the other. Her gray-white braids were loose this time, and she wore a magenta-and-gold African print dress, tied with a matching sash in the back. In her haste, she failed to notice the files sliding out of her grip, and before I could say a word of warning, they spilled onto the floor with a crash. “Oh—!” Dr. Stone exclaimed, probably biting back a curse as she surveyed the mess.
“Let me help you with that,” I called out. I knelt at the professor’s feet and began assembling the papers back into a neat pile. Most of them were student papers, all covered in handwritten comments and edits in purple ink.
Dr. Stone bent down to pick up the rest, and she gave me a strained smile as I handed the files back to her. Her skin was shiny with perspiration, and her hands shook as they held the papers. “You’re that girl from the gala,” she said matter-of-factly. “You asked me if I was all right, and I was abrupt with you. And now, here you are, being kind once again to the mean old professor you’ve probably heard so much about. Why?” She looked me square in the face, as if anticipating how I might respond.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other students who had been loitering in the hall slink away, clearly wanting to avoid being caught in Dr. Stone’s crosshairs. Pushing away my sense of unease, I took a deep, cleansing breath and thought about her question. After a moment, I said, “I don’t reserve kindness only for people who are nice to me. And I don’t believe everything people tell me. I like to make judgments for myself.”
Dr. Stone’s eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure, and she nodded. “You seem wise beyond your years—” She paused, lifting her eyebrows in a question.
“Um, Nancy. Nancy Drew.”
“Dr. Stone. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Nancy,” she said, shaking my hand. “And good heads are hard to come by nowadays.” She gave Aristotle’s bust a little pat, like it was a puppy. “And to answer, truthfully, your original question from the gala: no, I am not entirely all right.” She seemed to deflate at that confession and wiped the growing perspiration from her temple. “Now, this has been a pleasant chat, but I must get to my office. . . .” She made for the stairwell once again, her steps shaky.
I darted forward to take the files back from her hand. “Why don’t I carry those things for you—just until you get upstairs?”
Dr. Stone looked affronted for a moment, but then relented. “You certainly are an impertinent young woman,?
?? she said grumpily, but I could see a sparkle in her eye as she said it. A few moments later we’d reached the second floor, and Dr. Stone opened the door to her office. The room was an exercise in orderliness. Not a paper was out of place, not even a single pen cast aside on the desk—graded papers all lay stacked neatly in an out-box, and a platoon of uniform red pens stood at attention in a wooden cup next to the computer. Even the books that took up an entire wall, I noticed, were shelved according to subject matter and labeled with handwritten stickers—suggesting that Dr. Stone created her own library system for her collection. Dr. Stone entered the room briskly and bent to snatch a lone sticky note from the floor where it must have fallen. “Excuse the mess,” she said, throwing the offending note in the garbage.
The only thing that did not fit into this picture was the large silver cage in a corner of the room. It was occupied by a steel-gray parrot, who was busy grooming the red feathers of his tail when we walked in. “Hello, Sophocles,” Dr. Stone said, her voice softening with affection. The bird’s head perked up immediately at the sound of his mistress, and he began hopping from one foot to the other in excitement.
“Agatha! Ya! Ya! Ya!” the bird said.
I looked questioningly at Dr. Stone, who replied, “Sophocles knows how to speak English and Greek phrases. ‘Ya’ means ‘hello.’ ” Dr. Stone pulled a peanut out of her purse and handed it to the parrot, who took it and began tearing into the shell with his beak. “Good boy,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.
“What kind of parrot is he?” I asked.
“African gray,” Dr. Stone replied. “One of the smartest birds in the world. He’s family, you know? I’ve had him for ten years now, but he’s still just a baby. For all I know, the little rascal may just outlive me.”
“Outlive you!” Sophocles crowed.