Paul slid the paper into the front pocket of his jeans, and said, “Mr. Culpepper.”
I chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? Blaming the maintenance man—I mean you might as well say the butler did it.”
“You know he’s a Metus demon?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s my point. He’s too easy a scapegoat. Just because Metus demons get their power by feeding off others’ fears doesn’t make him the killer.” I knew I was being a bit defensive, but I couldn’t help it. Most darkkinds got a bad rap because of the parasitic way their magic worked. I might be a halfkind, but my magic came from my darkkind side.
“Yes,” said Paul, “except there’s the small matter of Culpepper lying about his alibi.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought he was fixing a problem in Flint Hall?”
“He was. Except the Flint students have him leaving around midnight, and he didn’t report finding Rosemary’s body until after one. Claims he stopped by the maintenance garage to drop off some tools, but nobody believes it would’ve taken him that long, and it’s way out of the way. So what was he up to?”
“Good question.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking it over. Was it possible the F in Rosemary’s diary referred to Culpepper? I wondered what his first name was. Only, I couldn’t imagine him being the secret lover. Culpepper had to be at least thirty or older. He wasn’t necessarily bad-looking when he kept the demonish parts of his anatomy hidden behind a glamour, but he’d never struck me as attractive. Still, he did work for the school, making it a good bet he’d been on campus this summer. And attraction was subjective. Maybe Rosemary had a thing for scary-looking older dudes.
“Not only that,” Paul continued, waving a hand through the air, “but the coroner put her time of death somewhere in that time frame.”
“Hang on. How do you know so much about it?”
“My uncle’s a magistrate. All of the Magi are getting updated on it. I pay attention.”
“Oh. Right.” Maybe I should reconsider going out with him. Magistrate was one rank beneath consul—too much potential for my life to become a West Side Story parody. Then again, how often was I going to get a chance to date a guy who was both good-looking and smart? Not to mention, extremely easy to talk to. I was surprised at how relaxed I felt around him. It had been awhile since any boy had shown an interest in me. Thoughts of Eli tried to force their way into my brain, but I pushed them out.
Paul said, “And did you know Culpepper was a sniper in the Marines?”
“You mean like United States military?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, but that’s not surprising. A lot of magickind enlist.” The Magi Senate encouraged enlistment, especially to demonkind. It was an easy way for some of them to fulfill their magical needs without doing anything illegal. No doubt that had been the reason Culpepper had signed up.
Paul leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, yeah, but my point is he’s sort of a trained killer.”
“Maybe when he was fighting ordinaries. But Rosemary was magickind. How could he have done it?”
Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. But somebody did. The Will or no.”
“True.” I glanced down at the suspect graph, reading the column names for at least the hundredth time. I looked back at Paul. “So have the cops found anything on him?”
“Not yet. They searched his house and office but came back with nothing.”
I rolled the pen between my fingers, my thoughts churning. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about Keeper spells, would you?”
“What’s that?”
Well, it had been worth a shot. “Never mind.” I wrote “Culpepper” in the Name column beneath F, then put a check mark under Opportunity. I set the pen down, feeling a thrill of both excitement and trepidation at my progress. Maybe I had a knack for this detective business after all.
Then again, maybe not.
9
Stakeout
Tailing somebody was a lot trickier in real life than in TV shows and movies. What with classes, homework, and a regular dream-feeding schedule, I could only spy on Mr. Culpepper in short bursts. Monday, I spotted him on the way to some repair job on campus and followed along behind him, hoping to catch him doing something suspicious. Just what exactly, I had no idea, but I figured I would instinctively recognize this suspicious behavior when I saw it. The next day, I walked by his office in the maintenance garage and saw him sitting behind the desk writing in the leather-bound notebook he’d been carrying the day before. Wednesday, I didn’t find him at all. Thursday, he was in the office writing again.
The notebook interested me. Why carry it around everywhere? It wasn’t like he could use it to fix a leaky faucet. But if Culpepper was involved in a secret love affair with a student, he might have chronicled it in a diary, too. And his first name was Faustus.
Finding out wasn’t too hard. The school’s directory listed the first and last name of all the faculty and staff, and I amused myself for nearly twenty minutes looking up the names of my teachers. Some of them were pretty funny, like Wilhelmina Norton and Ignatius Fritz, even Arturo Ankil.
I knew I needed to get a peek at that notebook, but didn’t have a clue how to do it. By Thursday night I came to the conclusion that I needed to devote a whole day to following him. I was tempted to ditch Friday’s classes, but Selene reasoned me out of it.