was taking place in such a populated area of campus. If Marc was capable of violence, he couldn't get away with hurting me right here, out in the open like this.
"Well, yeah. I had a couple reasons," Marc replied, his eyes wide. "One, it was the most humiliating experience of my life, and two, I don't really relish the idea of getting pounded on by Trey Prescott. Cheyenne was his girlfriend last year during the, uh, fourteen-in- fourteen incident. Although I swear I had no idea they were together at the time."
"And that's it. That's the only reason this hasn't come up," I said flatly, thinking of all the times we'd talked about Billings and Cheyenne's death.
Marc stared at me for a moment. "Wait... you think I killed her."
"No!" I lied automatically. "No, of course not."
Was there any other way to answer that question? If he had, I didn't want him to know I suspected him. If he hadn't... well, same deal. Besides, flat-out accusing him with no evidence to back it up was no better than what everyone was doing to me.
"Yes, you do!" Marc leaned back against the metal bar railing in the
110 center of the stairs. He stared at me for a second longer, then laughed. Laughed. Somehow, that seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. "Well, I guess it would be hypocritical of me to be mad."
"Why's that?" I asked. What was up with this guy?
Marc opened his bag and pulled out a yellow legal pad. He sighed before handing it over to me. Scrawled across the top were the words Potential Suspects. My heart skipped a beat.
"You're investigating Cheyenne's murder?" I asked.
"Yeah. I figured it might make a good story," Marc said, his expression apologetic. He shrugged. "I might even be able to sell it to a real paper."
I scanned the list quickly, hungrily, to see if he'd drawn any conclusions different from my own. Unfortunately his list echoed mine. Even Astrid had made his suspect roster. But there were two major differences between Marc's list and mine. My name and Noelle's name were written at the bottom of the page. Noelle's name had been crossed out, but mine had not.
"Sorry. I couldn't play favorites." He grabbed a brown wool hat out of his bag and pulled it low over his ears.
My eyes stung with heat and part of me felt like shoving the pad down his throat. But then I realized he was right. That would have been totally hypocritical, considering I suspected him.
"It's fine," I forced myself to say, handing the legal pad back. "Actually, I've been kind of poking around myself." Marc's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Do you have a list?"
I dug in my bag until I found the folded piece of paper with my
111
suspects on it. Marc looked it over and smirked. "Look at that. You're on mine and I'm on yours. Twice, actually."
I had added Marc's name to the suspect list after seeing James's video, but Marc was now pointing to the initials S.O.
"So you're S.O.," I said, stunned.
"Yep." Marc handed the list back to me.
I was at a loss for words. I knew Trey suspected someone by the initials S.O. had been seeing Cheyenne, and I knew that Marc had pursued Cheyenne and lost. How could the two be one and the same?
"I don't get it," I said finally. "Why S.O.?"
"It's a common code when you want to cover up your identity," Marc said with a shrug, pulling a pair of worn leather gloves from his pockets and tugging them on. "Last letter of your first name and last letter of your last name."
S.O. Marcellus Alberro. It was so obvious now I could have screamed. Was all my paranoia and desperation affecting the logical side of my brain? "Just FYI, I didn't do it," Marc said. "I wasn't even on campus that night. My brother came up from Miami and we went clubbing in New York. He ended up passed out on a bar stool and I had to drag him by his armpits to a cab and take him to the hospital. It was way fun," he added sarcastically. "The cops know all this and have checked it out, by the way."
Apparently the police had been
"Well, yeah. I had a couple reasons," Marc replied, his eyes wide. "One, it was the most humiliating experience of my life, and two, I don't really relish the idea of getting pounded on by Trey Prescott. Cheyenne was his girlfriend last year during the, uh, fourteen-in- fourteen incident. Although I swear I had no idea they were together at the time."
"And that's it. That's the only reason this hasn't come up," I said flatly, thinking of all the times we'd talked about Billings and Cheyenne's death.
Marc stared at me for a moment. "Wait... you think I killed her."
"No!" I lied automatically. "No, of course not."
Was there any other way to answer that question? If he had, I didn't want him to know I suspected him. If he hadn't... well, same deal. Besides, flat-out accusing him with no evidence to back it up was no better than what everyone was doing to me.
"Yes, you do!" Marc leaned back against the metal bar railing in the
110 center of the stairs. He stared at me for a second longer, then laughed. Laughed. Somehow, that seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. "Well, I guess it would be hypocritical of me to be mad."
"Why's that?" I asked. What was up with this guy?
Marc opened his bag and pulled out a yellow legal pad. He sighed before handing it over to me. Scrawled across the top were the words Potential Suspects. My heart skipped a beat.
"You're investigating Cheyenne's murder?" I asked.
"Yeah. I figured it might make a good story," Marc said, his expression apologetic. He shrugged. "I might even be able to sell it to a real paper."
I scanned the list quickly, hungrily, to see if he'd drawn any conclusions different from my own. Unfortunately his list echoed mine. Even Astrid had made his suspect roster. But there were two major differences between Marc's list and mine. My name and Noelle's name were written at the bottom of the page. Noelle's name had been crossed out, but mine had not.
"Sorry. I couldn't play favorites." He grabbed a brown wool hat out of his bag and pulled it low over his ears.
My eyes stung with heat and part of me felt like shoving the pad down his throat. But then I realized he was right. That would have been totally hypocritical, considering I suspected him.
"It's fine," I forced myself to say, handing the legal pad back. "Actually, I've been kind of poking around myself." Marc's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Do you have a list?"
I dug in my bag until I found the folded piece of paper with my
111
suspects on it. Marc looked it over and smirked. "Look at that. You're on mine and I'm on yours. Twice, actually."
I had added Marc's name to the suspect list after seeing James's video, but Marc was now pointing to the initials S.O.
"So you're S.O.," I said, stunned.
"Yep." Marc handed the list back to me.
I was at a loss for words. I knew Trey suspected someone by the initials S.O. had been seeing Cheyenne, and I knew that Marc had pursued Cheyenne and lost. How could the two be one and the same?
"I don't get it," I said finally. "Why S.O.?"
"It's a common code when you want to cover up your identity," Marc said with a shrug, pulling a pair of worn leather gloves from his pockets and tugging them on. "Last letter of your first name and last letter of your last name."
S.O. Marcellus Alberro. It was so obvious now I could have screamed. Was all my paranoia and desperation affecting the logical side of my brain? "Just FYI, I didn't do it," Marc said. "I wasn't even on campus that night. My brother came up from Miami and we went clubbing in New York. He ended up passed out on a bar stool and I had to drag him by his armpits to a cab and take him to the hospital. It was way fun," he added sarcastically. "The cops know all this and have checked it out, by the way."
Apparently the police had been
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