Page 26 of Dean's Delinquent
Fuck it all. Of course, this involves Marnie fucking Dupire. I know Louis told me to drop it, but now that I have a nosey little reporter asking about her, he’ll need to know.
“Oh.” Her voice is so small, so soft, I nearly miss it.
“Not the answer you were expecting?”
“No. It’s not that. I mean... She basically said the same thing.”
My chest loosens a touch as I expel a deep breath. “She’s been in contact with you?”
“Yes, but it’s weird.”
“Show me.”
As if she’s the perfect, most dutiful submissive, she rises from her chair and walks over. No fighting, no fussing, just pure obedience. Fuck, it’s gets me just as hard as when she brats against me.
“If you look at the messages before and then the ones from today, the tone is all different. The cadence is wrong. The word choices are just crass. I... It’s not the Marnie I got to know. But then, how much can you really learn about a person in the beginning of a semester?”
I can hear the unspoken questions in her voice. It doesn’t take a genius to know what she’s really asking, what she so desperately wants me to say. She wants me to give a reason for it all, to confirm that Marnie is okay, and to corroborate her brain in believing that she just didn’t know the girl.
How I wish I could give her those answers, but I don’t know her either. I have no words of wisdom I can give to make this all better. Damn Louis. Damn the Order of Ravens and Wolves. Most of all, damn me for wanting to gather Ashleigh into my arms and give her so many other things to think about.
Instead of allowing my baser urges to muddle my brain, I put my attention to the screen. I can see what she means. It’s as if two different people texted from this number.
“What do you think it all means?” I inquire, not wishing to give her any further ammunition.
“I think she was also a victim that night. I’m worried her ‘family emergency’ is her having to go detox. Why else would she act like this? Isn’t that how people in detox respond? Don’t they lash out at people?”
An odd tiredness slides over me as I run my hand over my face. At least she’s not worried about anything major. Honestly, I suppose my mind is just running away with me at this point. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that she knows all about their secret society and is close to finding out mine.
Foolish, I know.
Another sigh slips through my lips as I lean back in my chair. “I can’t speak to what she does in her spare time, but I’m almost positive she didn’t get any drugs at the party. My guess is she’s actually in the middle of an emergency and not in a very good mood. Now that this part of the mystery is concluded, it’s time to see to your punishment.”
I never expect anyone to just stand there and take what’s coming, but as Ashleigh rises, her back ramrod as she stiffens up by my desk, that sinking feeling comes over me again. Last time, she seemed curious, almost welcoming as I took my paddle to her backside. Now, she stares at me with her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“How do you know she didn’t get any drugs? Were you there? Did you see what happened?”
“This again? It’s as if you have some odd conspiracy theory about what went on that night. Please enlighten me. Though nothing you say will spare my rod on your backside.”
Even though that pretty flush reddens her cheeks again, she takes in a deep breath to begin her tirade. “You don’t think it’s at all odd that only one person overdosed and no one else had any effect, as if they’ve taken anything?”
“They don’t pay me to think about what’s odd and what’s not. They pay me to hire professionals to make those conclusions.”
“Then let me see the police report. ME’s report. Something!”
“I’m sorry. Is this a sitcom? Do you think I can just produce these things in midair at your insistence? Once more, you seem to be under the misapprehension that I’m here to serve you, to obey your every whim. That’s not the case, and the sooner you get that through your head, the better.”
“And you don’t seem to understand that I can just go look for the police report myself. All crimes and incidents reported on a university campus must be reported. According to the Clery act, if a school wishes to continue to receive federal funding, they must keep a daily log and other reports.”
The little spitfire has a point. It’s a wrong point, but I can’t help the burgeoning admiration for her as she stands there spouting her research. Until now, I thought she was just play acting at all of this, but it seems as if she’s serious. She earnestly wishes to find the truth and won’t stop until she has it.
“I must admit you are right, Miss Hartwell.” I certainly don’t miss the smug tilt to her chin. “Unfortunately, you are also wrong.”
This seems to have taken her aback a bit. “Wrong? I’m not wrong. I researched this myself.”
“Ahh, but did you also research Loftry a bit better? We do not receive federal funding. No such logs are required here.”
For a moment, she merely stares at me, her jaw slightly slack and her eyes wide. “But... But...” she sputters, scrolling through her phone. “You can’t just brush this under the rug.”
