Page 77 of Wicked Little Secret
“Uh… who are you?” Mom asks.
Theron arches a brow, pausing slightly, then steps forward with his hand extended. “I suppose I could ask you the same. I’m Theron Adler, Professor of Criminal Law at Castlebury University. Your daughter, Nyssa Oliver, is a student of mine. One of the brightest.”
“Hmmm,” Mom hums in naked suspicion. She doesn’t shake his hand. “And what are you doing in my daughter’sapartment?”
Theron chuckles. “Didn’t I already make it obvious? I needed to relieve myself. Thankfully, your daughter let me use her bathroom.”
“And what were you doing here in the first place?” Mom’s hands notch at her wide hips, her face sharp with accusation.
“Mom, seriously? Stop,” I scold.
But Theron has it covered. He’s relaxed and confident as he flattens a hand along his tweed jacket and then starts for the door. “Actually, it’s my fault. You see, when I was grading papers, I accidentally gave your daughter the answer key. I was coming by to pick it up and I happened todrink too much coffee. Unfortunately, nature calls at the most inconvenient times. I’m grateful she let me use her bathroom so I didn’t have to use the gas station around the block. Do you have any more questions, Ms…?”
“Oliver,” Mom answers. “Brooklyn Oliver.”
“Ah, I see. Well, you should know your daughter is top of my class,” he says, briefly glancing at me. “She’s quite impressive, in fact. You should be proud.”
“Hmmm.” Mom says nothing else, peering at Theron like he’s the antichrist.
I clear my throat and interject myself. “Anyway,” I say, “Professor Adler was on his way out. Thank you for clearing that mix up.”
“Of course. See you in class, Miss Oliver.”
Theron gives a polite nod to the both of us before he walks out. Mom waits ’til he’s gone before she rounds on me.
“Professor Theron Adler?” she asks. “Do these mix ups happen often?”
My jaw falls open in offense. “Mom, stop right now!”
“Baby girl, I’m worried. I’m afraid you’re letting these people in too deep. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Can I point out you’re not supposed to evenbehere?”
Mom releases the breath she’s inhaled, then tugs her lips into a smile. Her hands come up to cup my face like when I was a kid. “I’m just worried about my baby girl is all. You’re out here living on your own. You’re trying to avenge me. But there’s real danger out there, Nys. These people will protect their own. Now it seems the Valentine Killer is back…”
“I can handle it all. Trust me, okay?”
Mom brushes a stray curl away from my face beforesomething else in her periphery catches her eye. Her hand drops to her side and she breezes past me. I turn around to track her through my apartment.
The stack of old Castlebury newspapers.
She scoops up the edition sitting on the top. The paper’s wrinkled and tinged yellow with age while the ink’s begun to fade, but these things aren’t what bother her most. She reads the headline aloud.
“Valentine Killer Claims Another Victim in Professor Anton Vise.”
“Mom,” I groan.
“Baby girl, why do you have this?”
My skin prickling with heat, I wrench the paper out of her grasp. “Because it’s my right to! I’ve told you I’m doing research about the time period you and Dad went to school. Part of that research includes the Valentine Killer. But it’s not your right to snoop in my apartment.Afterturning up unannounced!”
“If you want to know about your father and what the Valentine Killer did, I’ll tell you myself. Not some newspaper?—”
“Get out, Mom!” I boom, thrusting a finger at the door. “You’ve got to go.”
Mom tries several times to bait me into a conversation about the old newspapers I’ve dug up from the library archives. I’m so heated, so irritated, that I don’t let her. I nudge her past the threshold as she resorts to once again warning me about what I’m getting mixed up in.
“You don’t know these people like I do,” she says. “Any one of them could be Valentine. Baby girl?—”