The Cereal Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

wanted to grow up and be Bob Woodward. He wanted to be such a famous investigative reporter that whenever there was a scandal, they'd say, 'Better give Andrews a call.' Like he was the Red Adair of the world of journalism or something."
     
     
Schulz pursed his lips. "Know anybody he was investigating? Anybody he offended?"
     
     
Julian shrugged, avoiding Schulz's eyes. "I heard some stuff. But it was just gossip."
     
     
"Care to share that? It might help."
     
     
"Nah. It was just... stuff."
     
     
"Big J. We're talking about a death here."
     
     
Julian sighed bleakly, "I think he was having his share of problems. Like everybody."
     
     
"His share of problems with whom?"
     
     
"I don't know. Everybody, nobody."
     
     
Schulz made another note. "I need some specifics on that. You tell me, I won't tell anybody. Sometimes gossip can help a lot, You'd be surprised." He waited a beat, then clicked the pencil and tucked it in his pocket. "So the lights came back on, the girl said no to you. Then what?"
     
     
"I don't know, I guess I like, talked to some people - "
     
     
"Who?"
     
     
"Well, jeez, I don't remember - "
     
     
"Keith?"
     
     
Julian reflected, then said, "I don't remember seeing Keith around. You know, everyone was talking about the lights, and saying, see you Monday, and stuff like that. Then I came out to check if Goldy needed help."
     
     
"Time, Miss G?"
     
     
I looked at my watch: eleven o'clock. Schulz cocked his thumb over his shoulder. When had Julian come out to the kitchen? I said, "I don't know. Nine-thirtyish."
     
     
"Did anyone go into the kitchen looking for Keith? This girl you mentioned, for example?"
     
     
We both said no.
     
     
"Okay, now, Julian," Schulz said impassively, "tell me who Keith's enemies were."
     
     
"God, I told you, I don't know! You know, he was kind of holier-than-thou. Smarter-than-thou too. You, know. Like, we watched an Ingmar Bergman film in English class, and the film's over for like two seconds and Keith's talking about the internal structure. I mean, huh? The rest of us are going, okay, but what was it about?" He grimaced. "That kind of smart attitude can lose you some friends."
     
     
"Who, specifically?"
     
     
"I don't know, you know, people just get pissed off. They talk."
     
     
"What about the National Merit Scholarship?" I said before I remembered I wasn't supposed to talk.
     
     
"What about it?" Julian turned a puzzled face to me. "It's not like they're going to give it to somebody else now.... Keith was number one in our class, president of the French Club. He did after-school work for the Mountain Journal. People can hate you just for that."
     
     
Schulz said, "Why?"
     
     
"Because it makes them feel bad that they're not doing it too." Julian said this in a way that made it clear any fool would reach the same conclusion.
     
     
Schulz sighed, then rose. "Okay, go home, the two of you. I'll be talking to the rest of the guests over the weekend, then I might get back to you depending on - "
     
     
"Schulz!" boomed an excited voice from down the hall. "Hey!" It was the deputy.
     
     
We found him looking at the coffeepot that had fallen out of the front hall closet.
     
     
"Oh, that's my - " I began. I stopped.
     
     
"Your what?" demanded the deputy.
     
     
"'Coffeepot," I answered inanely.
     
     
The deputy regarded me with deepening skepticism. "Y'had a couple of extension cords on it?"
     
     
"Yes, three, actually. You see, they have a problem with fuses - "
     
     
But the deputy was holding up the machine's naked plug. Belatedly, I realized where the extension cords had ended up.
     
     
3
     
     
Julian led the way out of the parking lot in his four-wheel-drive, a white Range Rover inherited from wealthy former employers. I could see him checking his rearview mirror for me. My van crawled and skidded down the prep school's precarious driveway. Overhead, cloud edges glinted like knives. The moon slipped out and