Before long, Fillmore and Ingrid were both examining the not-so-marvelous mural. O'Farrell, meanwhile, did nothing but laugh his brains out.
"Haha whoever did this really likes jokes!"
Ingrid turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. O'Farrell got the message and calmed down.
Fillmore, however, focused more toward the fallen tarp than the mural.
"Check this out." He called toward Ingrid, who quickly ran toward him, crouching down to his level.
"What?"
Fillmore ran the thick sheet through his hands, displaying every inch of it to his partner.
"The mural's all messed up, but check out the tarp."
She did, and quickly looked back up at Fillmore.
"Is this some kind of joke? There's nothing there."
"Exactly!"
Needless to say, Ingrid was beginning to think Fillmore had lost it.
"There's nothing on the tarp. Big deal."
Fillmore sighed. This was harder to explain than he thought.
"It means that the mural was messed up some time before it was covered."
The two looked to each other, then focused toward Sophie Nix, the official artist of the mural, and shy little Cammie Nix, Sophie's twin sister. Fillmore stepped up to Sophie.
"Anyone have access to the painting before it was covered?"
"Only the rest of the art club." Sophie shrugged, looking just as innocently clueless as the girl next to her. "Why?"
Fillmore paused a bit. His eyes were still on Sophie, but they didn't seem to see her windblown black hair, her ice blue eyes, her white shirt with autumn leaves on it, or anything else about her. After a moment of pure silence, he then focused back toward Sophie.
"Uhh, no reason."
"Well anyway," Sophie smiled a bit, "I better get back to class. Torvald asked us to meet him there for group work."
With that, she and Cammie left for the classroom. Fillmore, however, went back to examining the crime scene, which, oddly enough, he had already gone through three times that day. Ingrid looked toward him.
"Stop pushing yourself too hard. Honestly, you've been thinking of nothing but this case all day."
"It's my job." Fillmore walked a few inches away from her. "I can't just let it go."
"Ever stop to think you have another job? One that's more important than anything else?"
Without even waiting for an answer, Ingrid left.
----------------One hour later----------------
Fillmore was getting a bit tired of this. It had been what seemed like the whole day, and the only clue he got was that there was no paint on the tarp. But no matter how things didn't look good, he still kept trying.
His search was cut short when a voice said…
"How's it coming, officer?"
Fillmore, having spent most of the day on the case, was easily caught off guard by the smooth, sensual voice. He looked around to find where it came from, but all that he saw was a faint shadow on the ground. The voice laughed.
"It's OK. I'm not going to hurt you."
The source of the voice emerged, revealing a slim girl, about Fillmore's age, wearing nothing but black. The icy blue eyes of the girl looked straight at him, but they didn't seem to be hostile. As they peeked from above the black veil that was wrapped around the rest of her face, her black-gloved hand brushed back her black hair.
Fillmore slowly got up at the sight of her.
"Who are you?"
The girl put one hand on her hip.
"Typical. We just met, and already you want to know about me. Well OK. My name is best left a secret, but you can just call me Shade."
Fillmore then took a step toward Shade.
"What're you doing here so late anyway? What's going down?"
Shade looked down to check the distance between her and Fillmore.
"That's awfully close, officer. Are you trying to make a move on me?"
Fillmore backed up, annoyed.
"Anyway, what are you doing here?"
Shade shook her head.
"I won't tell you that much. All I'll tell you is this: check the studio of the art club president if you want a lead."
Fillmore stood deep in thought.
"O…K. Anything else?"
Shade laughed.
"Sorry officer, but shadows tell no secrets."
With that, she walked back into the shadows and, almost instantly, she was gone.
