Confessions About Colton (Wattpad Books Edition)

Chapter 4

On the far side of the kitchen wall was the cuckoo clock. It had once been painted vibrantly, but the colors had faded, and a layer of dust coated the roof. It was almost as if the little bird hadn't come out of its house in years.

Maybe it hadn't.

I lifted a chair from the breakfast bench, moved it over toward the wall, and climbed up. My fingers shook as I started winding the minute hand, heart hammering in my ears. I was desperate to piece the puzzle together, but I wasn't sure what to expect. Would I find another letter accompanied by something? Like a photograph, or a piece of Colton's clothing, or a tissue with a smear of his blood?

I didn't have time to worry about how long to keep winding because once the hand was pointing at the twelve, the small wooden bird sprang out. The mechanics were a little rough and, luckily, the cuckoo didn't sing its song, but the bird was out now, and I had to work fast. I had only a few seconds to discover whether it held a secret. The first place my eyes were drawn to was its beak. Empty.

Soon the bird made its swift departure and it disappeared inside its little house. I then searched the entire front of the clock, from its worn exterior to the design details. But nothing could be found. Trying to swallow my discouragement, I searched the body of the clock. I ran my fingers down its smooth sides, feeling the even texture of the shaped wood as if the physical contact would give me some sort of clue.

And it did.

My hands ran up against something rough underneath the clock, and sharp edges pierced my skin. There was something engraved into the side near the bottom, so I quickly crouched to see if it was a clue. With my face pressed against the wall, and my eyesight adjusting to the lighting, I saw small scratchy letters, making up a short sentence.

This clock has The wrong Time.

The little cuckoo clock had stopped working years ago. So technically, the time was always wrong. This made no sense as a message to let people know the clock was broken—why not just take it down? It must be from Colton's killer. It must be a clue.

That meant that Colton's killer was someone who had been invited into his house, but that didn't really rule anyone out. Colton had people over all the time. He had hosted club meetings, social events, and school projects at his house over the years. Practically half of our school had been there.

Or maybe someone else had found a letter in their jacket pocket. Maybe I wasn't the only one who had it. Did other people know about the letters, the confessions? Were they trying to lead me to the next clue or pull me further away from it?

A million questions ran through my mind, but before I could comprehend any of them, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I jumped from the chair and rushed it back into place. I didn't know what to do with my hands, where to stand, where to keep my gaze. I shoved my hands into my pockets and prayed my face didn't betray my guilt, because my body sure screamed awkward.

Mrs. Crest appeared, carrying a tray of meat in her hands. She looked at me with a slight frown. Her eyes scanned around the room like she was looking for something. Maybe even looking to see if something was missing. A wave of panic washed over me as I wondered if I had left anything out of place, anything that gave away that I had been searching her house.

But just like that, the frown was replaced by a warm smile. "How does roast sound for dinner?"

"Sounds great," I managed to choke out.

Mrs. Crest set the meat down on the kitchen counter. "Would you mind giving me a hand?"

"Sure," I said, feeling my heart rate slowly decrease back to normal.