Study Hall Smoke (5 of 10)

"They are in the book stacks..." Dawn said the words aloud in her girlish voice, small and delicate in the empty Study Hall. She wasn't talking to anyone in particular. She was trying the phrase out, tasting in on the tip of her tongue as she scratched an itch on the end of her cute little nose. She was repeating the words that her teacher, Mr Carmichael had said.

"They are in the book stacks... what did he mean by that?" Dawn whispered to herself. It was a habit she acquired with all the time she spent sleuthing on her own. All the girl detectives that she read about and looked up to as role models did it, so it was only an eventuality that her young impressionable persona would adopt a similar trait. Dawn wanted to be great. She wanted to be like her heroines.

Licking her pink glossed lips, she furrowed her eyebrows and thought about the words. Mr Carmichael had slipped into the Study Hall to meet with that mysterious handsome young stranger in the nice suit. He called the man his nephew Bryce, but Dawn knew that couldn't be true. Mr Carmichael's lie was as flimsy as year old nylons. It was obvious to Dawn. The way that he spoke to the Head Mistress, his tone was brittle and dashed together. It was clear he was not expecting her to interrupt the clandestine meeting.

So what was that meeting all about? The young man mentioned his mysterious "employer." Who could THAT be? They sounded ominous, powerful... dangerous. Dawn's emerald eyes scanned the Study Hall as she played back the secret encounter in her mind.

Snap! Her fingers gestured as she figured it out. "Of course! The bookshelves!" She smiled and allowed herself a girlish giggle at unravelling a clue like a real girl detective. There were a few sets of bookshelves that lined the back wall of the Study Hall.

Her black dress flats pressed into the old polished wood of the floorboards as she approached the tall shelving units. They stood a good few heads above her slender feminine stature. Nimble manicured fingers traced over the various books, her eyes narrowing in search mode through the lenses of her glasses.

"Hmmm..." she murmured as she checked for clues. "It wouldn't be so obvious I don't think... no... it would probably be..." Dawn narrated her inner sleuth before settling on a theory. "Mr Carmichael said it was the type of information he didn't want to be caught carrying around, so if he was going to hide it in a public space, it wouldn't be completely in plain sight... so... that would probably mean... ooooof!"

Dawn continued airing the thoughts bubbling in her little blonde head before she began reaching up to the top shelf of the book stack. It was taller than she could see from her eye-line, so she had to reach up high.

"Not quite..." she grunted. Boy this top shelf sure is high! She could drag a chair over and stand on top of it, but she didn't want to make a whole ton of noise. And besides, her school flats had atrocious traction. I'd just end up toppling off and with my luck, breaking my neck! Dawn thought with a shiver at her imagined morbid demise.

Instead, she impulsively raised one leg and placed her foot on the bottom shelf of the book case. The other foot tipped up on her toes, springing for every possible inch her little body could give. With her leg raised, she could feel the hem of her skirt sliding up the slippery surface of her sheer offblack pantyhose. Damn these school uniforms! Thank GOD I'm in here alone. Sleuthing in a short skirt is frustratingly impractical and enough to make a girl want to die from humiliation. We are taught that our tights protect our modesty, but if I'm caught scampering up this book stack with my control tops on full display I'll be crying into my pillow all night wishing I had been a more well behaved proper girl!

As Dawn's mind contemplated the perils of being a girl detective, and the hurdles of hems, hosiery, heights, and humiliation, she reached around the top shelf with her searching fingers. Her hand opened and closed like one of those claw machines at a carnival or an arcade. She was grabbing for her prize. Little grunts and gasps came out of her mouth as the muscles in her legs began to burn with the strain of the stretch. Her shoulder was sore because she was asking every last inch of her reach. She could feel the sweat breaking out on her brow. Dawn groaned.

Almost out of... stamina... can't... keep... this... up... much---

"Got it!" Dawn quite literally gasped letting her modest body weight fall back, her foot coming down off the bottom shelf of the book stack, once again, two feet flat on the hardwoods (where they belonged). In her trembling hands (I'm not scared, it's a side effect from the exertion) was a brown folder tied with twine.

Dawn unraveled the string, and opened the folder, eyes scanning the contents.

"What the heck?" she murmured, staring at the papers with confusion. She flipped through, green eyes tracking like a typewriter clacking along the page. "This is personal information on the girls at the school. Names, addresses, and... what? Why are these numbers highlighted? Huh... there's a handwritten note in the corner here. What's this? It says that the numbers are the security codes to the homes. Garage door codes, alarm passwords, time stamps. Time stamps indicating arrival/departure times? Is Mr Carmichael selling information to that stranger? Why would he be doing that? Is this meant to be used to rob the homes of my classmates? Who is this information for? That stranger in the suit, he said something about his 'employer' -who in the world does he work for?"

"I need to tell the Head Mistress about this!" Dawn gasped, suddenly feeling very afraid and vulnerable to be holding such sensitive information. It felt so violating and not for her eyes.

Just then, there was a sound at the door. Dawn was deep in scandalized thought, her nose buried in the pages of the school files. She registered the sound at a delay, reacting after the fact.

"Huh?" she said, a tinge of molasses in her words and brain.