A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (9 page)

I stand next to a tree, hoping its shadow will be enough to keep me hidden from any psychopaths that might be roaming around campus. There is an eerie, absolute silence and dark shapes that move along the sidewalks as the wind blows. It's only the waving tree branches, but it still gives me the creeps.

The door to the building slowly opens. I stand stiff in my hiding spot until a familiar face peeks outside. It's Cole, and he is already inside the building waiting. I step into the moonlight so he can see me. As soon as he does, he waves his hand. I run to the doors as if something might snatch my leg if I don't move fast enough. Cole pulls me inside the building and quickly shuts the door. It makes a clicking noise when it closes. He hands me my own flashlight and nudges me forward.

"How did you get inside?" I whisper.

"I came just before they lock the doors," he responds. "I read ahead for our kitchen management class and hid in the bathrooms when security came and did a sweep a while ago."

"Dang." I gulp. "So what's the plan?"

"Break into Professor Sellers' office," he says casually. I roll my eyes, but I suppose deep down I know it's the only lead we have. That man has to be the thief. And if he isn't the truffle thief, he's hiding something.

"You make it sound so simple."

"I don't know how to pick a lock, but how hard can it be?" Cole whispers back. "
Do you
?" He chuckles to himself, expecting me to say no. I grin and begin walking down the main level hallway.

"It depends on the lock," I say quietly. I shine my light close to Cole and see that he looks surprised. "What? You think
every
girl that goes to ballet school wears pink and watches dance movies?"

"I'm not even going to ask." He walks next to me pointing his flashlight down at the floor. We pass our usual classroom. I cringe as I think about all the times I've heard those freakish noises. If it happens tonight, I don't know if I will be able to compose myself.

The professor's office isn't far from the kitchens. As we pass the locked kitchen where Cole and I had attempted to investigate the source of the mysterious sounds, my stomach churns. My gut tells me that we shouldn't be here. I remind myself that there's no other way to make sure my name is cleared. I don't want to be labeled a thief and kicked out of the one place I thought could change everything for me.

"Right over here," Cole whispers.

We come to the door to the professor's office. Cole tries the door knob. I watch anxiously, hoping we will get lucky. Cole frowns. The door is locked.

"Let me try," I sigh. I examine the doorknob and find that the lock is a fairly easy one to pick. "We lucked out that this is a very old building. Give me your wallet." Cole raises his eyebrows. "Relax, I just need one of your credit cards."

"Do you prefer Visa or American Express?"

I put my hands on my hips. Cole quickly pulls out a random card and hands it to me. I yank at the door handle and try to push down the lock. It takes me a few tries, but the door finally creaks open. Cole looks impressed as the door swings in, revealing our professor's tidy office.

"Sometimes, when I was in college, I would come home after curfew," I say. "My roommates always locked me out."

"Sure," he teases.

We step into the Professor Sellers' office, and I am not surprised that everything is perfectly organized in file folders and on shelves with labels. I start with his desk, running my fingers over his keyboard and reading a few of the sticky notes stuck to his monitor.

Order more bread flour.

Pay phone bill.

Out of toilet paper.

I wrinkle my nose.

"Find anything?" Cole asks. He continues skimming through the professor's files.

"No, unless running out of toilet paper counts as something suspicious."

"T-M-I," he mutters. "There's nothing over here. Just class schedules and paperwork."

"Well, there has to be
something
that might give us a clue. See if you can figure out where he lives or something. He wouldn't leave the truffles sitting in his office overnight." I shake my head. "Cole, I don't want to be expelled. I
know
Professor Sellers has something to do with this. I mean for starters, he hates me."

"He doesn't
hate
you, Poppy."

"Okay, well I am definitely not his favorite."

"That's not a bad thing," Cole responds. "Trust me." He opens a few desk drawers and skims through a few more papers. "Georgina and her flying monkeys aren't going to win the dessert contest. They aren't creative enough to pull it off."

"I don't know," I argue. "I overheard her saying that she's using a custom-made serving platter."

"Ooooo," Cole chants. "I forgot that fancy dishes make food taste better."

"Shut up," I mutter. I slump my shoulders but immediately catch myself doing it. We just violated a ton of school rules for nothing. We aren't going to find anything in here. I rub my forehead, starting to feel even more anxious. My palms are clammy, and my chest feels like it's carrying a ten-pound sponge cake.

Cole and I are interrupted by a shrieking noise.

I fall against the desk, nearly hitting my head on a jagged edge. The loud scream came from the kitchens. I look at Cole. His eyes are wide, and his face is going pale. I can tell he's frozen in place just like me, because he hasn't taken a breath yet.

"Did you?" I gasp. My voice is shaky, and I was barely able to force the words out of my mouth.

"Yeah," he whispers.

We quickly move closer to each other before deciding what to do next. I really hope a human didn't make that sound and that it was just a really hairy cat getting into the ventilation system.

"Should we check it out?" I suggest.

Cole nods as he slowly pushes the door aside and leads the way. I instinctively grab his hand. Our fingers intertwine perfectly as we walk slowly towards the kitchens. I gulp. I can hear myself breathing.

Cole stops suddenly.

The door to one of the student kitchens is open.

Light is flooding through the doorway, and Cole looks back at me.

"I'm going in this time," he whispers. "You stay here and keep watch." Before I can take a breath, I hear the sound of banging pots and pans. It sparks a feeling of terror deep down in my gut. Cole stands up straight. His wide shoulders are flexed, and his fists are clenched.

A part of me is curious, but a part of me is terrified.

I nod without thinking.

"No," I answer, blinking repeatedly in order to clear my thoughts. "You're not leaving me here by myself. No. I'm going in with you."

I follow Cole into the kitchen. My eyes instantly dart from the body on the floor to the open back door leading to the Dumpsters. The kitchen is a mess with pots and pans strewn all over the place. It looks like Cole and I walked in after a food fight.
A deadly food fight.
Baking ingredients are all over the floor. They make clouds of dust with every step we take.

I look at the motionless body on the floor and gasp when I realize it is Professor Sellers. I rush to his side. He isn't breathing as far as I can see. I feel for a pulse, but I can't find one. I start to panic, slapping his face hoping it will work. It doesn't.

"Is he dead?" Cole asks, afraid of the answer.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Call an ambulance!" I shout. I don't know what else to do. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I watch Cole as he immediately pulls out his cell phone and dials 911. His fingers fumble over the keys. His voice is low and quiet as he asks for an ambulance. His face is still pale. He might be in shock.

I force myself to be the calm one.

I take a deep breath and try again to wake up Professor Sellers. There is a bruise forming on his forehead as if he was hit over the head with something hard. The bruise is a distinct shape, but staring at his face too long creeps me out. I shake his shoulders, staring at the splotches of flour all over his clothes. There is so much of it that it couldn't have been an accident. He must have walked in on someone.

My eyes dart down to his hands. One is open, and one hand is clenched around something. I swallow hard as I touch the professor's palm and find a crumpled piece of paper. Sirens ring through the night. I shove the piece of paper into my pocket and join Cole near the back door. The minute we see lights flashing outside, we wave our arms. The ambulance driver sees us and comes speeding onto the sidewalk.

"Over here," Cole instructs them. The color in his face is starting to come back.

A paramedic races to Professor Sellers and shakes his head as he feels for a pulse. Two more paramedics nudge us aside. Cole and I take a few steps back until we are outside waiting for the bad news. A few students are up and are walking towards the flashing lights from their dorms. I gulp and glance at Cole.

"I feel sick," I mutter. "Maybe we should go?"

"Cops," he replies.

"What?"

"Don't you hear that? There are more sirens. The cops will be here any minute."

"Let's go," I respond.
I can't hang around here any longer. I am in enough trouble as it is.

"You do know that no matter where you go, the cops will pull us in for questioning," he states.

"Yep." I take a few more calming breaths, but my head starts to spin.

I think about the scream.

The body.

Getting kicked out of Calle Pastry Academy for being too curious.

Suddenly, I'm having a hard time breathing.

"Poppy," Cole says. "Poppy!"

But the more he says my name the less and less I hear it. Everything seems fuzzy, and my eyelids feel like heavy gallons of cookie dough ice cream. I feel myself falling. I don't know if I'm hitting the ground or if someone caught me because everything goes black before I have the chance to find out.

"Poppy."

I hear voices.

"Poppy, are you okay?"

I open my eyes slowly. Bree is sitting next to me with a worried look on her face. She feels my forehead and reaches for a glass of water sitting on the coffee table. I look around and realize I'm back in my apartment. I am lying on the couch with my hands clasped neatly on my stomach. I sit up, rubbing my cheeks. They are warm, and I am starting to remember bits and pieces of what happened earlier. I glance outside and see that it's still dark.

"Poppy?"

I am relieved to hear Cole's voice.

"Cole," I say. "What happened?"

"You passed out," he replies. "I brought you straight here."

The image of Professor Sellers, cold and lifeless on the kitchen floor, seems like a distant memory. I lie to myself and picture that moment as nothing but a ludicrous nightmare, but I know in my heart that it's not. I also know that if I don't get to the bottom of this right away,
I
or anyone else on campus could be next.

"What's going on out there?" Bree asks. She stands up and walks into the kitchen. She returns with a small plate of lemon bars dusted with confectioner's sugar.

"Lemon bars?" I mutter. "What time is it? Like 4 a.m.?"

"It's not
that
late," Cole blurts out, grabbing a bar. Bree smiles as she watches Cole take a bite of her lemony dessert. She hands him a napkin to wipe his face.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"These are
really
good," Cole admits.

"Award-winning good?" She waits anxiously for him to answer.

"I thought you were entering your red velvet cake in the contest?" I frown. I was looking forward to tasting her practice cakes.

"I'm starting to second guess myself," Bree mutters, looking down at the floor.

"What?" I respond.

"And," she adds. "I might have overheard someone else in our class who is making the same thing as me."

"Who?" Cole asks. "I'll crush him."

Bree smiles. Her cheeks go rosy as she sets her plate of lemon bars on the coffee table.

"It doesn't matter," she answers. "What matters is that Poppy is okay."

"Yeah, I think so." I try standing, but my legs are a little wobbly.

"Good." Bree looks at me and Cole with her hands on her curvy hips. "So, are you two going to tell me what's going on? Don't say it's nothing, because I know there is something you are not telling me."

"Well," I sigh. I glance at Cole. He stares at me. I know he's trying to tell me something with his facial expressions, but I don't catch on. I have no clue what he wants me to say. Bree looks in Cole's direction.

"I knew it," she says, giggling. "You two were off fooling around, weren't you?"

"What do you mean, exactly?" I respond.

Her face turns red. She turns away from Cole, so she's looking at me only.

"You know," she mutters. "You two are…"

"What?"

"For heaven's sake, Poppy, don't make me say it." Bree stamps her foot. "If you guys are friends with benefits just say so. We are all adults here."

My eyes go wide. The thought of me and Cole together sends my heart racing, but I quickly shake my head. I have much more pressing things on my plate right now than homework and silly crushes.

"No," I respond. "We're not…"

"She's right," Cole chimes in. "We aren't…you know."

"Okay," Bree says, looking suspicious. "Then what were you doing out so late?"

"What do you think?" I ask Cole.

"Once we tell her, she's part of it." Cole takes a deep breath and scratches his chin.

"Part of what?" Bree asks.

I debate whether or not to say anything. I don't want my problems to get in her way. Bree is one of the best chefs in our class. She's a perfectionist when it comes to sweets, and I've never met anyone who has baked as many chocolate chip cookies as she has.

"Bree, you know how I was practicing for the contest the other night?"

"Napoleons," she says. "Let me guess. They didn't turn out? Honey, I told you they were difficult."

"Well, apparently I was the only student in the building that night and…" I look up at Cole. "That's the night that a $20,000 package of black truffles was stolen from the student kitchens. Mr. Dixon thinks it was me. If my name isn't cleared soon, I'll be expelled."

"No," she gasps. "I knew you were lying. You should have just told me the truth."

"It gets worse," Cole adds. He looks at me. "I'm sorry, Poppy. I'm sorry that I suggested we go snooping in the first place. This is all because of me."

"It wasn't your fault." I stand up and look out the window at the night sky.

"Poppy," Bree scolds me. "Tell me what happened tonight."

"The afternoon the black truffles were stolen, there was another person in the building. But Mr. Dixon said
he
wasn't being considered a suspect." I frown. "It was Professor Sellers." I pause to wait for her reaction. She patiently waits for me to continue, though a look of distaste spreads across her face.

"So," Cole continues. "
I
suggested that we try to clear her name, starting by snooping around Professor Sellers' office. That's what we were doing tonight. I thought that we might find a clue or something linking him to the theft." He pauses to take a deep breath. "While we were in his office we heard…a scream. That's when we found the professor on the floor in one of the student kitchens. He was dead."

"Dead?" Bree quietly repeats. She looks at me as if waiting for me to say
April fools
. Cole and I stay silent as she swallows the information. I nervously tap my foot and pick at my nails, waiting for tears. For her to start yelling. Crying. Acting hysterical. Something.

She opens her mouth.

"Well, if he's dead then of course he was involved," she responds. "I'll bet you that whoever murdered him is the thief."

Cole and I look at each other.

"Um…" I am at a loss for words.

"Well," Bree goes on. "What did you see? Tell me everything. Did you see anybody else? Did you hear the killer escape?"

"You did hear what I just said, right? One of our teachers is dead. Are you sure that you
are feeling alright?" Cole says looking at Bree.

"Oh, please." She laughs. "I live alone with three cats, and I spend my weekends making my own chocolate molds. This is the most exciting thing that has
ever
happened to me."

I try not to laugh with her.

"So you're not freaked out?" I ask.

"You two aren't the murderers, are you?"

"Gosh
no
," I blurt out. "How could you even ask that?"

"Yeah," Cole adds. "I'm insulted."

"Then it looks like we have a mystery to solve," Bree responds. "And fast—before you two are pulled into the police station for questioning."

"Look at you," I say. "I never thought my roomie would turn out to be a Nancy Drew enthusiast."

"Sherlock Holmes," she corrects me. "I've never actually read
Nancy Drew
."

"That makes two of us," I say.

Cole stares at us like we're crazy.

"Back to the murder," Bree says casually. "Tell me everything you saw."

I take a deep breath and look down at my pocket. My fingers reach for the piece of paper that was in the professor's hand. I quickly open it, careful not to damage the paper. A name is written on it.

"Shurbin Farms?" I say out loud. Bree turns to look at me.

"We buy our peaches from them," Bree says.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"The student bakery. I was asked to start my rotations early, remember?"

"Oh, right," I respond. The words are written by hand, probably in Professor Sellers' handwriting.

"Where did you get that?" Cole asks, staring at the crumpled piece of paper.

"It was in the professor's hand," I answer. "I put it in my pocket. I don't know why I did that."

"It's a clue." Bree jumps up and grabs a notebook and pen. "Anything else?"

"Well, the kitchen was covered in flour?" Cole adds.

"And the professor had a bruise on his head like he was knocked out with something heavy." I watch Bree scribble everything down.

"Kitchen equipment?" she suggests.

"Probably." Cole finally sits down and allows himself to relax a little. "I wonder if he walked in on…" Cole looks at me, and this time I understand what he's thinking. He makes the same face he did the night we heard the ghost of
Old Man Thomas
.

"He wasn't murdered by a ghost," I reassure him.

"You better hope not or else the killer will never be caught."

"Hold on," Bree interjects. "Am I missing something?"

"Yeah," I gulp. "That story about how the ghost of Old Man Thomas still haunts the kitchens. It's true. Cole and I heard the banging around one night, and when we went to see what it was no one was there."

Cole looks down like he would rather not talk about it.

"Ghost of Old Man Thomas," Bree mutters. "That's absurd."

"Then what do
you
think happened?" Cole waits for her to come up with something better.

"There's always an explanation. And if there really is a ghost hanging around the student kitchens, someone else would have noticed too."

"They would probably run off rather than admit to that," Cole comments.

Run off?

"Tomorrow, or I guess
today
, we should all go to classes like normal." Bree jots down a few more things and starts twirling a strand of her strawberry blonde locks.

"Except it won't be normal," Cole mutters.

"I will snoop around the kitchens and see what I can find," Bree continues, ignoring Cole's comment. "Poppy, try not to look so…" She looks me up and down. My eyes are red and puffy, and I am pretty sure I have mascara smeared across my face from rubbing my eyes repeatedly.

"Guilty?" I guess. "Messy?"

"Yeah, all of that." She raises her eyebrows and closes her notebook. "Let's get some sleep, everyone."

"Easier said than done," Cole responds.

*  *  *

I pace back and forth outside my front door. The sun is shining brightly, a little too bright for a day like this. The day I might possibly be hauled off to jail for a crime I definitely didn't commit. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep at all, especially since one of the last things Cole mentioned before he left the apartment would not stop racing through my mind when I closed my eyes.

There was a student who ran off last semester without any explanation, and his name is Tom Fox. Figuring out why he left, and if it had anything to do with a kitchen ghost, is a good place to start. This is why I jumped out of bed early this morning and got one of the upper level students to let me into the bakery long enough to grab Tom's poster. I remembered that there was a contact number on it. I look down at the piece of wrinkled paper containing the phone number of someone named Brooke. I don't know a Brooke, nor have I heard that name thrown around in the hallway.

I bite the nail of my index finger, wondering if this is a stupid idea. It's a better idea than most and it's one that won't get me into trouble. The worst that could happen is that this Brooke woman hangs up on me. I don't have much more time before class, so I anxiously dial the phone number on my cell phone. It starts to ring, and immediately my chest begins thumping like a hearty loaf of sourdough being tossed on a counter.

"Hello?" It's the voice of a woman, and she sounds as if she's just waking up. She clears her throat. "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi," I answer. "I'm calling for someone named Brooke."

"I'm Brooke." She pauses and waits for me to state my business.

"Oh, hi," I say again.

"Hi," she answers a second time. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm calling because I saw your name on a poster at my school. It was for a missing student? Tom Fox?"

The line becomes eerily silent. I hear a few voices in the background and the sound of a bell chiming before I hear the distinct sound of a door slamming shut. "Hello?"

"You know Tom?" she whispers. She breathes heavily as I shake my head, disappointed that I don't have some actual information for her.

"No, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about him."

"I need to take that damn poster down," she replies. "I get prank calls, misdials, and booty calls up the yin-yang."

"Please," I blurt out before she hangs up. "I'm…writing a story about it." The lie slipped from my tongue out of desperation. "About the pressures of CPA…Calle Pastry Academy."