Bravestone Academy's Club for Detectives

CHAPTER TWO

Rosie is throwing up in the bathroom while Flynn’s body is being zipped up in a body bag. Max stood waiting for her outside the door while she let it all out. The image of Flynn’s face floods her mind as she flushes the toilet, exhausted from the morning events. She breathes, sitting on the cold floor in the bathroom. Her blazer is sitting beside her, and her sleeves are rolled up. Sweat drips down the front of her face. 

There is a knock at the front door, “Rosie, are you okay?” Max’s voice echoes in the girl’s restroom. He enters through the door, unbothered.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she says from her stall.

“I don’t care. The crime scene out there is getting too chaotic for me to handle,” Max steps closer to her stall and knocks, “Can I come in?”

“So, you can mock me?” She chuckles, “Nope.”

“No one is mocking you. You just saw a dead body.” He says. Rosie searches for the lie and finally unlocks the stall.

He comes in and leaves the stall door open. He proceeds to sit down on the floor in front of her. His knees are up, shifting uncomfortably in his khaki pants and blue blazer. He is too tall for this space.

“I can’t believe he is dead,” Rosie says, resting her head on the wall, her eyes closed. She can’t find the reason why she feels like she could cry, but she swallows the rock in her throat anyway.

“Who do you think did this?” Max asks, moving his brown hair.

“No idea,” She shrugs, the thought scaring her. The killer is now on the loose, running all over Bravestone’s halls and laughing at how crazy everyone is being.

“You missed the show Lindsey put on,” Max tells her, referring to Flynn’s girlfriend. Flynn and Lindsey were probably the hottest couple at Bravestone. They were like B-list celebrities that only South Carolina knew about. But still, even the freshmen knew who they were. Rosie almost laughs thinking about the theatrical performances they would put on in the hallways. Lindsey would be screaming at Flynn about something stupid, and it would become a drama play. They were like improv actors here to entertain the people who went to class.

“What did she do?” Rosie asks, her eyes still closed, fighting the possible second round of vomit.

“She ran into the school and collapsed to the floor, sobbing her eyes out and screaming her head off,” Max starts to laugh again. The whole thing isn’t funny, but it makes Rosie laugh anyway because of how Max is telling it.

“You should’ve videoed it for me,” Rosie says, finally opening her eyes to see his blue ones.

“I really should have,” He is laughing harder now and then it deflates, and he starts to look sadder. The grief is starting to settle inside of him.

“He was once one of us,” Rosie says, remembering the moments of her childhood.

Flynn used to be friends with Max and Rosie before Bravestone. The three of them had a club. It was a club for mystery detectives.

Rosie and Max became best friends because they had one thing in common. They both loved mysteries an insane amount. Rosie liked to read great and famous novels like Agatha Christie or Nancy Drew. The kind of stories that made her think. It was like a puzzle inside of her mind and everything connected perfectly in the end.  Little did she know, real-life mysteries were just the opposite. The mystery of Flynn’s death would not come together smoothly like a neat bow.

However, Rosie couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she and Flynn became friends, but she knew it was since they were seven years old.

Rosie, Flynn, and Max would go exploring through each other’s houses, finding hidden compartments and making up mystery stories.

They all made homemade mystery kits, each kit had a magnifying glass, a little notepad with a pen, and little sandwich bags to collect evidence.

The moments when Flynn would play dead for their next game in Rosie’s yard have become all too real.

There is a knock at the restroom door that brings Rosie back to the present day.

“Miss Rosie,” A woman says, “It’s Detective Sullivan. I need to speak with you about Flynn Wright. Are you feeling well enough for that?”

Rosie clears her throat, thinking through the events once more, “Umm…yeah, I can.”

She raises, her head throbbing now. Her stomach is uneasy. Max follows behind her.

“You know, if you don’t feel well, you don’t have to,” Max whispers to her.

 She stops at the door, “I need to. It’s okay.”

When Rosie exits the restroom, she is face to face with a middle-aged woman dressed in a pantsuit. Her brown hair is in tight curls.

“Hi, Rosie. Would you mind coming to the station? We can get you something to calm your stomach.” Detective Sullivan suggests. Her voice is light and sweet. Her patience seems to calm Rosie’s stomach more.

Rosie nods, “Okay.” Her voice is soft and shy.

Once at the station, Rosie’s nausea starts to evaporate. They supply her with some ginger ale and saltine crackers for her stomach.

Detective Sullivan and another officer sit in front of her with a notepad.

“Hi, Rosie. First of all, I’m sorry for your loss,” She smiles.

“Thank you,” Rosie says, unsure of how to respond.

“How well did you know Flynn Wright?” she asks, getting her pen ready. Rosie starts to search the walls above their heads for cameras, then back at the table. A part of her is wondering if she even knew the answer to that.

She brings her hands together, locking her fingers on the table, “Flynn and I were best friends from the ages of seven to fourteen. Now, we aren’t.”

Detective Sullivan tries her best to paraphrase her answer, “Would you consider your relationship acquaintances or…frenemies?”

Rosie almost laughs at the thought of Flynn being an enemy. He was far too stupid to seek vengeance on anyone.

“Flynn is…was not my enemy. We worked on the newspaper together, but we were not enemies.” Rosie straightens herself up in the chair, proud of herself for setting the record straight.

“So, acquaintances?” She continues writing.

“What does this have to do with me finding his body?” Rosie leans forward, her hand resting on her chin.

“I’m just trying to get a feel of your relationship with him,” She explains. Rosie’s blood starts simmering. She is starting to feel like she is a suspect.

“What happened to Flynn was a tragedy. I wish I knew who did it, and I wish I had all the answers for you, but I don’t,” Rosie clears her throat again, feeling foolish for even trying to clear her name. She has nothing to hide.

“Tell me exactly what happened when you came into school today?” Detective Sullivan searches Rosie’s eyes for any secrets. However, she didn’t have any and she was certain of it.

“Well, I woke up and I got ready to go to the newsroom before classes. I do this every Monday. You can ask the staff of the newspaper. It is where I publish the weekly news and tie up loose ends. When I went to the newsroom, I found Flynn face down on his desk and I called the police. Pretty explanatory,” Rosie lays back, trying to be as casual as possible.

“Why would Flynn be in the newsroom? Does any of the staff work on the weekends?” Detective Sullivan continues.

“Flynn isn’t the type to work on the weekends, so I don’t know why he was there in the first place,” Rosie shrugs.

“Since Flynn’s blood is so fresh, we suspect that he was killed in the middle of the night or early morning. Do you have any alibis we could contact?” She asks her. Rosie’s throat tightens, searching through any reason why they would think she would do this to her childhood friend. They could take any speculation and build a whole conspiracy theory on it. Sitting in the police station, she says a silent prayer that they are nothing like the police she sees on TV shows.

“Yeah, Max Roswell. He is my best friend. We were hanging out last night at the student lounge and he fell asleep on the couch. I woke up later too and saw that he was there. I think that was about one o’clock in the morning,” Rosie starts thinking through last night’s events.

“Thank you very much,” Detective Sullivan flips through her notes and finally her pen collapses beside her notepad. “I think that is all the questions at this time. You are free to go.”

“Thank you, Detective. Let me know if you need anything,” Rosie smiles, feeling a sense of relief knowing she can finally escape.

“Thank you, Miss Pullman,” She smiles back, and Rosie feels it is her cue to leave.

She exits the police station with her head low. She finally feels like she is able to breathe a little better. Although Rosie is still worried that this would not be the last of police interviews.