The Mystery of Whitefield (continued from issue 2)

By: Remi Lewis and Rosalind D’Avolio henderson

Yesterday I was filled with a strange feeling, almost of hope. Now I feel nothing but dread. I hold the lantern I found in my attic above my head, but I can barely see 5 feet in front of me. Still, I can hear the soft pads of footsteps. These footsteps are running, probably in a hurry.

I hear a sharp voice,

“Turn off the lantern, will you?”

I would know that voice anywhere. It's one of the only ones I hear. It belongs to Paige.

Chapter Two

I flick the switch that turns my lantern off. Paige, holding her own smaller, dimmer lantern, places her hand to her lips. I do as I’m told and don’t make a noise. 

She grabs my hand and pulls me into the cover of bushes. 

“We’ll be safe here”, she says, her voice barely a whisper.

I try to speak, but after years of saying only “Yes, maam” and “No, maam” and the occasional “I can grab the paper, maam”, the only word I can manage is a small “Yes.”

I want to ask her why she brought me here, what she needs me for, how I can be of use, but my voice doesn’t yet have the capability of this yet. Luckily, she seems to know what I want to ask without me saying it outloud. 

“You want to know why I brought you here, why I need your help, is that right?”

I nod. My hands haven’t yet recovered from being scared to death. That’s probably why Paige made me turn the lantern off. A bright light bouncing up and down quickly was like a giant sign that said ‘We’re right here, come and get us!’

“Don’t talk much, do you?” she asks.

“No, I don't,” I say, trying to use as many words as I can.

“I need your help with the case I put in your dog’s locket.”

Of course, why did I forget about the locket! It would have been easy for Paige to slip a scrap of paper in there, as he was almost always outside. And Paige could probably have seen that I was surprised and in a hurry when I went downstairs the other day.

“Are you a detective or something?” I manage to choke out.

“I’m not playing a game.” She grits her teeth together.

“So why do you need my help?”

“It’s none of your business.”

          “Come on, if I’m going to help you I at least need to know why it has to be me.” 

“Fine. It needs to be you because you're rich and connected and probably really smart.”

“The last one is true, but I haven’t got a penny, it’s all locked up in some bank account that will go to my husband because my parents are dead. Ms. Clauenfeld is only my governess because she needed some way to repay my parents. For what I don’t know. As for being connected, I’m never let out of the house. Ms. Clauenfeld says that when I turn 16 I will go to a coming of age ball, which will be my first time out of the house in years.

“Why do you even want to solve this? It's an old case.”

“I have my reasons. And you’re going to want to solve it too.”

“And why is that?”

Paige smirked. “Because those are your parents.”

My parents are murderers?

….

I got back to my house without Ms. Clauenfeld knowing. I agreed to help Paige, but I’m not exactly sure why. I know my parents weren’t murderers. I wish she would just tell me the reason that she wants me to help her, instead of lying to me. But then again, I don’t even know my own last name. I’ve always just been Aspen. Every time I’ve tried to ask Ms. Clauenfeld, she says it's for my own good that I don’t know. 

So does this mean that she’s not lying? We’ve agreed to meet up in my backyard next Tuesday when she delivers the paper. There is a child sized hole in my fence that Ms. Clauenfeld hasn’t noticed yet. 

This is stupid, and I don’t even know why I’m doing it. Probably because I don’t have anything better to do. All I usually end up doing is sitting in my room and writing in my diary.

Anyways, I need a friend.  Can’t keep just talking to Ticket, who usually snorts in reply and walks off. I watch from my window friendships grow, and old friends playing with each other, but I have never had a friend. It's hard to, when I'm stuck in this darkened house. Once I turn 16, I'll be able to go out and about, but do I really want to wait months for a friend?

So yeah, maybe I do want to help her because I'm lonely, but who knows? Maybe solving a mystery could be fun.

I realize that if our murders really are my parents, maybe I should look around the house for anything they may have left behind. I'm not even sure if they lived in this house, but maybe there might be something I could find. 

The dark gray house with black trim on the windows that I live in is at the end of a cobbled street, towering over the smaller houses below it. My room was on the very top floor, in an attic of sorts. On the bottom floor was Ms. Clauenfelds room, a sitting room with a fireplace and cozy chairs where she did her crosswords, and the kitchen. 

I creep outside, technically I’m allowed to be out here, but I don’t want Miss Clauenfeld to be suspicious, because I haven’t come out here in years. Paige is waiting for me, a big mail sack slung around her shoulder. I brought a loaf of bread and jam outside, to give to her, which I now hand over to her. She accepts it with greedy eyes.

“Where did you get this?” she says, practically drooling.

I laugh. “There is so much bread and jam in my basement. I can bring you more, if you want.”

Returning to how she normally is, she says, “Thank you, that would be wonderful,” with a grim smile.

Returning to business, I pull out the newspaper clipping. 

“Yes, I’ve seen that before,” Paige snaps.

“I was thinking we could search it for clues.” I say, pulling out my favorite fountain pen.

“For one thing,” she says. “Do we know what gender August was?”

“I’m assuming a guy? I mean that was supposedly my dad, right?”

“How do you know that you didn’t have two moms?”

I blush, embarrassed. I guess I didn’t think about the possibility of my parents being gay, it's just nobody really is. But I guess Paige is opposed to that.

“Okay. I might have had two moms. But, we need to do some investigating. I would ask Ms. Clauenfeld, but she probably wouldn’t tell me. Whenever I try to get her to talk about my parents, she just gets kind of quiet and stops talking.”

“Who’s Ms. Clauenfeld,” Paige snaps, confused. “You keep talking about her.”

“My governess? The one who gets the paper from you?” 

“Ohhh, You could’ve said that you know.”

“Oops sorry, my bad.” I roll my eyes.

To be continued…

Authors’ Note: Hi! Sorry That this chapter is kind of short. We’ve been very busy, but next edition we will try to enter more.