In The Name Of . . . (Sequel to Fault Line) [Completed]

Chapter Fourteen

Murder and 1882. What do these two things have in common. Not a lot of things in my book. Turning the book to the third and final clue, I read:

You spend your weekends here, just as I used to . . .

I usually spend my weekends in my room or the public library. Now Jane . . . she spent her weekends here at Aunt Mallory's. Mom would leave on the weekends for her job and the only reliable person to watch over us was Aunt Mallory.

That's it.

I open my door and rush down the stairs. Entering the living room, I slide on the wooden floor and kneel before Aunt Mallory's book shelf. My hands run over the old spines of her collection, ranging from twentieth century stories to present day romantic dramas. My eyes look over the titles of the books. Jane gave me those two clues for a reason, she gave me the last one to lead me here. I need to find the book, for whatever the reason.

Rechecking the top shelf, I come to the conclusion that I'm probably going mad. I stand, feeling like I made a big deal our of nothing. Because I am. Turning away from the shelves, a brown book with orange lettering catches my eyes. Murder in 1882. This must be what Jane meant. I grab the book, holding it close to my chest, and quickly climb the stairs up to my room. Closing the door, I drop the book before me on the bed. So this is what holds the clue to whatever Jane wanted me to know.

Without a second thought, I open the book to the first page, reading every word, memorizing them like my life depends on it. I read for some hours, though the book is absolutely boring to me. I would honestly never read anything like this unless it was for a school project or something of that nature. But I guess that when a family member, dead or alive, tell you to do some in their dire need, you do it. Even if it means going out of your comfort zone.

Something knocks my window. Again. And then knocks again. The third knock actually processes through my brain. Grabbing the book and Jane's journal, I throw them under my bed. I open my window, looking down at Lizzy and Richie, who are hidden from every view from the lower floor and only visible to me.

"What are you guys doing here?" I ask, trying not to sound annoyed.

"We have to talk to you." Richie replies. Lizzy stands with her arms crossed, leaning on one leg, totally getting the annoyed vibe off of her.

I nod, taking the screen out of my window frame. Placing the frame against the wall by the foot of my bed, Lizzy climbs in through the window first, followed by Richie moments later.

"So what's up?" I ask, sitting on my spinny desk chair.

"It's, uh, it's stupid, really." Richie takes turns glancing between me and the floor. Lizzy raises her lip in disgust.

"Oh? What is it?" I blink, worry bubbling in my gut.

"It's just, um, someone sent us this message that you were working behind our backs." Richie glances up at me before lowering his gaze again.

I purse my lips. What can I tell them so that they won't be suspicious of me. And what can I tell them without full on lying to them. If I knew that life was going to be this hard for me I would have just not have met them or something, I don't know.

"Oh!" I laugh softly. "I have been researching murder, but for a stupid paper I have to write for school, seeing as I missed so many days I'm behind." A corner of my lip rises.

The two seem to calm down a little bit. Which is exactly what I need at the moment.

"But seeing as I did miss some days, I'm going to need a few days off of Jane's mystery and all of that. I need to catch up with school, keep my life in order, and most importantly regain my family's trust. I can't just up and leave like this all the time, I don't know if you two have family or not, but I do. And it's hard to do this kind of thing when you have one. All I'm asking is that I have a few days to myself to balance my life out, okay? That's all I want."