The next afternoon, I find myself standing in front of a weathered door marked with a carved question mark with a signage pinned on the door reads Riddle Club– the entrance to the Riddle Club's headquarters. Taking a deep breath, I knock three times.
The door swings open to reveal Mimir's bright grin, his red hair sticking up in his usual messy style. "Right on time! We've been waiting for you."
Inside, the room hits me like a wave – walls lined floor to ceiling with dark wooden shelves stuffed full of thick case files, their spines labeled with dates and case numbers. String lights crisscross overhead, casting warm glows on dozens of photos pinned to corkboards that cover every inch of available wall space. Some are crime scene shots – marked with red evidence tags – while others are portraits of victims, suspects, and maps with colored pins tracing movements and connections. Old newspapers detailing solved cases are framed and hung alongside award certificates from local police departments. A large whiteboard dominates one wall, covered in dry-erase notes, timelines, and circled names connected by a web of red and blue lines.
In the center of the room sits a heavy oak table cluttered with laptops, magnifying glasses, fingerprint kits, and stacks of documents held together by bulldog clips. Two other boys turn to look at me as I step in – one tall and toned with jet-black hair, leaning against the whiteboard with his arms crossed; the other with neck-length dark hair styled in the rough, effortless way you'd see on a bad boy character in a romance novel, spinning a pen between his fingers as he studies a file.
"Zoey Lopez, here to consult on the Hannah Montes case," Mimir announces, leading me to the table and clearing a space among the files. "This is Blake Logan – our evidence analyst, and son of Inspector Logan – and Rafael Eldritch, our lead investigator."
Blake stands and offers his hand, his firm grip matching his solid build. "Pleasure to meet you. Your impressive deduction in the Moonlit Dormitory case is unforgettable."
My cheeks warm instantly, and a flutter of nerves dances in my stomach at his compliment. I manage a small smile as I shake his hand. "Thank you… I just did what felt right."
Rafael just gives a slight nod, his dark eyes assessing me carefully before gesturing to the table. "Mimir says you've got something that might change everything about the case. Let's see it."
I pull out my phone and set it on the table next to their organized stack of Hannah Montes case materials – including glossy 8x10 prints of the crime scene, autopsy reports, and witness statements bound in a blue folder marked EA-729. On the corkboard behind them, Hannah's photo is pinned alongside Xander's, with a red line drawn between them and a question mark circled in black marker.
"I think the girl who fell from the building wasn't the real Hannah Montes," I say, sliding my phone across the table, still trying to steady the slight flutter in my chest.
Blake raises an eyebrow, pushing away from the whiteboard to lean in closer. "That's a big claim. What makes you think that?"
"Compare these," I say, pulling up a photo I downloaded from Hannah's social media – a picture of her laughing while holding a cup of coffee at a café, her left palm clearly visible as she gestures animatedly. "Now look at the crime scene photo you have here."
Blake picks up both the digital image on my phone and the physical print from the table, holding them side by side under a desk lamp with a magnifying lens attachment. "Wait a minute – there's a small, dark mole on her left palm just below the thumb in the social media shot, but not in the crime scene photo. It's not faded or covered – it's just… not there."
"Not just that," I add, scrolling to another photo on my phone – a close-up from Hannah's junior high graduation, where her hair is pulled back tightly in a ponytail. "See this – there's no scar along her hairline here. But your post-mortem photos show a faint, silvery surgical scar just above the temple. According to her social media profile, she never had any head surgery – that scar belongs to the girl in the crime scene, not the real Hannah."
Blake spreads the crime scene photos out across the table, his eyes scanning every detail with sharp focus. He pulls out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket – a small touch that contrasts with his rough appearance – and leans in closer. "The facial structure matches almost perfectly – same eye shape, same nose, same mouth. But these small details… the missing mole and the extra scar… they prove this is two different people. Someone found a lookalike who had that surgical scar, staged her death to make it seem like Hannah was gone, and hid the real Hannah somewhere else."
Rafael leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the table as he processes the information. "Or even more likely – someone underwent plastic surgery to look exactly like Hannah, and the existing scar was something they couldn't fully remove or chose to keep to make the disguise more convincing. The whole point was to make it look like Hannah died at the hands of her boyfriend instead of from something else entirely – it's a calculated move to redirect blame and cover up the true murder."
I stare at him in amazement, impressed by how quickly he'd hit the nail on the head. That possibility hadn't even crossed my mind, but it made perfect sense – someone going to such extreme lengths to frame Xander would explain every discrepancy we'd found.
"Which means what we thought was Hannah's suicide was just a cover-up for the real murder," Blake says quietly, already typing notes into his laptop while pulling up Hannah's medical records on the screen. "I just checked her file – no mention of any head surgery or scars. Whoever did this knew exactly what to look for in a double, but missed the mole on her palm."
"Whoever did this went to incredible lengths," Mimir mutters, pulling up Hannah's complete school records on his own laptop. "They must have had access to her personal files – someone who knew those small details existed and knew no one else would notice the discrepancies."
My mouth opens slightly, the words sitting on the tip of my tongue – Vince and Dinah did it. I want to tell them about the fragments I saw, how I know exactly who was responsible for Hannah's death. But I bite my lip hard, stopping myself. If I told them how I knew – that touching Vince had let me see his memories – they'd think I was crazy, or worse, they'd want to know more about my strange ability, something I've kept hidden my whole life. And even if I did speak up, I have no concrete evidence to back it up – just visions that no one would believe.
I look down at the table, fidgeting with my phone case as I force myself to stay quiet. There'll be time to reveal what I know once we have proof – for now, I need to let them work through the clues the way they know how.
Rafael looks at me with new respect, tapping his pen against the table. "So when you asked us about cuts on the face and drowning… what made you think of those specific details?"
My heart racing as I try to think of an explanation that won't give away my secret. Panic flutters in my chest, and out of desperation, words spill from my lips before I can stop them. "I-I heard rumors… about a ghost in the old swimming pool area. Students say she has a cut on her face and looks like she drowned. So I thought it might be Hannah."
Rafael lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as he leans forward. "Ghosts aren't real, Zoey. Every story like that has a logical explanation – usually just students spreading tall tales to scare freshmen, or shadows playing tricks on tired eyes."
I force a small smile and nod along, but inside I silently disagree. Because as he speaks, I can see Hannah sitting right beside me – translucent and pale, with water still dripping from her hair and a thin, dark line cutting across her cheek. She looks at me with sad, pleading eyes, and I have to look away quickly to keep from reacting.
Blake's jaw tightens slightly at the mention of the pool. "My dad mentioned Dinah was seen near the west building that night, but she said she was just passing by. Never thought to look deeper into her – or connect her to the old pool area."
Rafael stands up, gathering the files and photos into neat piles as he issues instructions with natural authority. "We'll reopen the investigation immediately. Blake, you track down all missing persons reports from the past month – see if anyone matches the description of the girl who fell, including that surgical scar. Mimir, pull all access records for Hannah's medical and school files. I'll look into any connections between Hannah, Vince, Dinah, and their group – find out who had the means and motive to pull off something this elaborate. And while ghosts aren't real, we'll check out that old pool area too – there might be physical evidence there someone's been hiding."
He turns to me, his expression softening slightly. "Thank you, Zoey. I know it might sound crazy to some, but –"
"It doesn't," I cut in, packing up my phone as I glance around the room, trying not to look at where Hannah is still sitting. "Good detectives know when something doesn't add up. You've given me a place to share what I know – and now you've given Hannah a chance at real justice."
As I leave the club room and head toward the school gate, the setting sun casts long shadows across the courtyard. Hannah follows quietly beside me, her form flickering like candlelight in the breeze. Someone steps out from behind a pillar near the art building, blocking my path – it's Dinah, her usually perfect makeup smudged under her eyes, and her hands trembling slightly as she clutches the strap of her bag.
"I saw you going in there," she says, her voice low and tight as she glances toward the club room door. "What were you doing with the Riddle Club? Especially with Blake – his dad's the inspector."
I stop walking, keeping my expression calm even as my guard goes up. "I was consulting on a case – Hannah Montes' case. I noticed some things that didn't make sense."
Dinah's eyes widen as she looks around nervously, as if expecting someone to appear at any moment. "That case is closed. They found her boyfriend guilty – he even confessed. There's nothing left to look into."
"I don't think so," I say steadily, taking a small step forward. "I think the girl who fell from the west building wasn't Hannah at all. She had a surgical scar on her hairline that the real Hannah never had. The real Hannah might have died from something else entirely – something no one knows about."
Dinah's face pales, and she steps closer, her voice sharp with agitation as she lowers it even more. "You don't know what you're talking about! You're new here – you don't understand how things work. You need to stop digging into things that don't concern you – before you get yourself hurt."
I raise an eyebrow, meeting her gaze directly without flinching. "Why are you so scared, Dinah? Is this case about you after all? If everything's as closed as you say, why do you care what I'm doing?"
She flinches as if I've slapped her, then straightens up, trying to look intimidating as she squares her shoulders. "I'm warning you, Zoey – stay out of this. Some things are better left alone, and some people you don't want to cross."
I take another step forward, my voice cold and clear. "Or what? Are you going to slice my face with a knife before throwing me in the pool?"
Dinah's eyes go wide with pure terror – she stumbles back, tripping over the edge of a flower bed and barely catching herself on the fence. "I-I don't know what you're talking about! You're crazy!"
She turns and runs, her shoes slapping against the pavement as she disappears around the corner of the gymnasium. I stand there for a moment, watching where she went, my hands clenched at my sides. Hannah moves to stand in front of me, her hand reaching out as if to touch my shoulder – even though I know she can't. Her reaction confirmed everything I'd suspected – she was involved in Hannah's real death, and she knew we were getting closer to uncovering the truth.
Just then, footsteps hurry toward us from the direction of the cafeteria. Sabrina rounds the corner, her eyes red-rimmed and her hands wrapped tightly around her backpack. She stops a few feet away, looking at me with a mix of hope and fear.
"Zoey… is what I heard true?" she asks quietly, her voice catching slightly. "Did you really just confront Dinah about Hannah?"
I nod slowly, and Hannah's ghost moves to stand beside Sabrina – though of course she can't see her friend there. "The Riddle Club is reopening Hannah's case. We have reason to believe the girl who died wasn't her at all."
Sabrina's face crumples, and tears start streaming down her cheeks as she sinks onto the edge of the flower bed. "I knew it… I knew something was wrong. Xander would never hurt her, and Hannah wouldn't just… leave like that." I sit down next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders, letting her cry into my shoulder as Hannah reaches out, her translucent fingers hovering just above Sabrina's hair as if she could comfort her too.
After several minutes, Sabrina pulls back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and taking a shaky breath. Her expression shifts from grief to determination, and she looks at me with serious eyes.
"Zoey… I have something to say," she whispers, glancing around to make sure no one else is nearby. "Something I've been keeping to myself."