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Then I could write a report about him, unveiling the man behind the hood at long last. What would Jill say to that? Likely it’d render him speechless, and I was all for it. I glanced toward my University of Party, Lectures in Life column.
Students would eat up news of a campus vigilante. There’d sure be no laughing.
I dodged a whack from a piñata baton and darted behind the trunk of a neighboring pine.
I should have been looking forward, not over my shoulder and jumping at any little shadow that moved. Freddy wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t.
Straightening my shoulders, I jog-walked across the front lawn toward the crisp sounds of live salsa music.
Inside, I asked for the host, Alyson, and was steered into the kitchen to a Hispanic girl. The girl was applying ruby-red lipstick that matched her slippers and the tiny flowers threaded on one side of her dress.
I extended my hand. “Liam Davis, from the Scribe. I write the party page—”
She cracked a large smile, and capped her lipstick. “Stephy! Our party’s been chosen for the party page!”
An animated shriek sounded in response, and from around the corner walked Alyson’s sister, who looked exactly like her, from her eyes and mouth to the dress she wore. “Party page. So freaking awesome.”
Before I knew it, I was showered with questions, and Stephy handed me a cocktail, which I gripped like a lifeline. “Have fun, and if you need anything, we’d be totally happy to help out!”
I shifted the cocktail to my other hand. “Actually, I do have a question. Have either of you heard any rumors about The Raven? The campus vigilante?”
The girls exchanged a look, and their faces sobered as they faced me again. “We’ve never seen the guy, but,”—Stephy inched closer, her voice softening—“we were at a party a few weeks back, and Dylan, this guy we know, said he saw The Raven throwing some guy up against the wall.”
I pushed up my glasses. “Where was this? Is Dylan here tonight?”
She shook her head. “It happened down Walnut Street. He’s away on some field trip.”
Alyson looped an arm around her sister. “He got a photo with his phone. He printed it and stuck it in his dorm room. He’s all proud of it, but it’s really blurry.”
“What’s his last name and what dorm is he in?”
“MacDonald. Beckman Hall.”
“Thank you, ladies. You’ve been a big help.” It looked like I’d soon be visiting Beckman Hall. Who knew, I might even have the mystery wrapped up in under a week.
And now to find an angle for next week’s party page.
I slipped out of the kitchen and roamed the large downstairs dining room that opened into a sitting room via a large archway. This party was all about style. No beer here, only cocktails with—I lifted the little umbrella sitting on top of the drink—speared pineapple.
I ate the pineapple.
But what to do with the drink? It probably wasn’t professional to drink on the job, after all.
He doesn’t know what it means to cut loose, to party. . . .
I stared at the liquid for a moment, and hesitated. Then, shrugging internally, I raised the drink and took a small sip.
Fruity. Not bad.
I took another sip, and scoped out the room. Dancers filled most of it, jumping up and down and spinning about. Wow, actually . . . some of them were good. Such an interesting mix of people too. Very . . . multicultural. Maybe that could be my angle—
Distant voices drifted over the dancing crowd—familiar voices, snarky edged with sweet. Two steps forward and a splash of cocktail on my white shirt, and there they were. Shannon and Quinn.
They danced in the center of the group, looking close and comfortable as they laughed and grooved.
Shannon’s blue-streaked hair was pinned up. With dark pants and T-shirt, she dressed simply, but her confidence made her stand out amongst the sea of cocktail dresses.
“Ouch, Shan, you did it again.”
Shannon stepped off Quinn’s foot. “Well if you’d let me lead,” she said, “it wouldn’t happen.”
Quinn looked down his thick lashes at her, shaking his head. “That’s where I draw the line, darlin’. I need to lead. It’s built into my core. Can’t change it.”
She slapped his shoulder. “Liar. Admit it, you just can’t figure out how to do the steps in reverse.”
Quinn scowled at her. “I’m not admitting anything. Now turn.” He spun her under his arm, his muscles rippling all the way up and under the sleeve of his brown T-shirt. Shannon’s hearty laugh whirled with her.
When she came to a stop, she leaned into him. “Now it’s your turn.” She startled the guy by whipping him around.
“Jesus, Shan,” he said as he came full circle, grinning. “You’re strong.”
I sucked a piece of ice down my throat and coughed. The empty glass was light in my hand. I finished it already? Let’s hope it’s not very alcoholic.
