The Diary of Sophie Dayton — Part 11
Shady in red
A humorous, coming-of-age detective story
Sophie Dayton is a totally normal student. Until she isn’t! Expelled from her studies, rendered homeless for reasons nobody can explain, she turns detective to try and find out why. But in the process of looking for answers, she discovers a lot of questions related to parts of her past she’d thought long dead… The story is narrated through the medium of diary entries, interspersed with lists, thoughts and humorous observations.
Part 11 — Shady in red
Sunday 4th Feb 2018
3am.
I’ll say one thing for those stuffy professors, they know how to party. The evening went on very late and I was kept up even later by the others who wanted to sit in the kitchen and natter when we got back. Eventually I excused myself, but it wasn’t to go to sleep. I was feeling far too disoriented to even contemplate it.
I don’t get how I was supposed to recognise that agent. I kept my eyes open. I looked at every person who attended that event, including the staff members. No-one was wearing a helpful ‘It’s me’ badge. There wasn’t anyone acting suspiciously (for example, looking furtively over their shoulder before sneaking through a fire escape door).
In any case, a secret agent’s job is to stay hidden. If I could recognise them then they’re obviously shit at their job. And surely Mana wouldn’t hire shit people.
Except me that is. I’m hoping they’ll hire me and so far I’ve been pretty shit at this.
No wait, the trouble is I was too good at solving the first task and that’s why Adam gave me such a horribly hard one for the second. He probably trusted me to pass this one with flying colours. Instead, I’m crawling away from the finish line in 50 shades of no luck.
Note to self: Check whether Tesco’s are still hiring.
Morning
I woke with a brilliant idea! My secret agent career might still be salvageable. Layla took tons of photos of the event — perhaps there’s something in the scenes she captured that will help me to identify the agent?
Spurred on by fresh hope, I bounded out of bed without delay and knocked on her bedroom door. It was Dylan who answered. And when I say answered, I mean that he opened the door a crack, growled at me and then slammed it shut again. It was only then that I checked the clock. 7:50am. Oops.
I was too excited to sleep again so I pottered around aimlessly and ended up in the kitchen. Layla’s camera was lying on the table but I was terrified of touching it in case I did something wrong and accidentally wiped the memory card.
I was on my second coffee when Tessa appeared. She bounced in and greeted me with her standard level of enthusiasm. Must be a fine day for science. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then her attention was caught by the coffee machine. Frowning, she darted over and spent a good few moments fiddling with the settings, her dark curls bowed in concentration as she squinted 2 inches away from the display. I watched her in for a few moments. “You’re welcome to take coffee. I made a pot.”
No response.
Suddenly, she turned whirled to face me. “Sophie, did you disrupt the heat immersion ratio?”
That combination of words didn’t mean anything to me. “Huh?”
She sighed. “It’s okay if you did, Sophie, but I’d just like to point out that the water temperature and filter timing have a significant impact on the intensity and flavour of the coffee. Layla and I worked out the optimal settings together and we prefer to keep it that way.”
Her glare was seriously intimidating. I shook my head emphatically. “Honestly Tessa, I haven’t changed any settings on the coffee machine. I only pushed the start button.” Something struck me. “We brought a friend back here for a coffee late last night. Maybe he changed something?” I had a vague memory of Ethan fiddling with the coffee machine.
“Hmm. Obviously someone with no regard for well-made coffee.” This inexcusable disruption to her well-ordered existence had obviously ruined her morning. She didn’t take any of the sub-optimal coffee, instead pouring herself a bowl of muesli and adding various types of seeds from neatly labelled jars.
Note to self: Don’t ever ever touch coffee machine.
Tessa joined me at the table. “And how was last night? I heard that you and Layla attended an event at the university.”
“We did. And it was good, thanks.” I glanced at Layla’s camera again. How long would it take for her to wake up and come give me permission to look at the photos?
Tessa noticed my fidgeting. “Did Layla take pictures last night?”
“Yeah, she had a photographer pass.”
She scrutinised me. “And how did you get a ticket? I thought you’d given up studying. Did Layla get it for you?”
“No, I got mine from a friend. I mainly went out of interest. It’s sort of fun watching all those people do their thing at an event like that. A glimpse into another world. Do you know what I mean?”
I was startled when she leaned forward and grabbed my arm. “I know exactly what you mean. Anthropology is a hobby of mine. I love studying behaviour and spotting patterns.”
I leaned back. “Wow, that’s… cool.” It made a kind of weird sense. What hobby could be more appropriate for a science genius than another scientific field? But her words had given me an idea. I leaned forward. “Tessa, would you be interested in helping me with something? I have an idea about Layla’s pictures. When she wakes up I was going to analyse them to see whether I could spot patterns in the behaviour of the guests at the dinner last night.”
The magic “A” word did the trick. She looked flattered. “I’d be honoured to help you, Sophie. I have a bit of time this morning. Let’s we look at them now, shall we?” She grabbed Layla’s camera, knocking the lens cap off and then entangling the strap on the back of a chair.
“Erm are you sure she won’t mind?” I had to stop myself from grabbing the camera out of her clumsy hands. My whole future rested on being able to check through those photos!
“No of course she won’t mind,” said Tessa. “She loves it when people admire her pictures. Now what was it you wanted to find out?” She’d turned the camera on and had already started scrolling through the photos. The last few were from the kitchen last night when Layla, Dylan and I had brought Ethan back for a drink. Tessa skipped through those and started scrolling through the ones from the gala dinner.
Even at the speed Tessa was browsing, I could tell that Layla had outdone herself on the photos. The shots were expertly focused and beautifully composed, capturing various attendees and members of the university board as they grimaced and gestured earnestly, locked deep in discussion.
I realised Tessa had stopped scrolling and was looking at me, waiting for an answer to her question. “Right,” I said, improvising fast. “Well… it’s like this. I mean we know why most people go to an event like that, don’t we? For the big names and high profile alumni, it’s all about networking and visibility. But then a few people like Layla were there to work,” I paused, wondering how to phrase it. “I was thinking… maybe there were even people there for other reasons. Like me for example. I was just there to look at everyone and experience the atmosphere. I wondered if anyone else was there for other reasons, and I thought maybe we could tell people’s motives by looking at their body language. It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
For a moment Tessa stared at me and I wondered if I’d lost her, or worse, blown my cover. Then she drew in a breath. “That is such an interesting idea. Let’s go back and look at them from the start” She jumped up and came around the table to sit next to me and we began browsing slowly through the pictures, occasionally stopping to discuss one or another. After just a few photos, Tessa stopped on a particular one. It showed people applauding one of the speakers who had just finished a speech and was descending from the podium. “That guy.” Tessa said, pointing to a guy in a red dinner jacket sitting between two older ladies.
I couldn’t see anything unusual about him. “What’s special about him?”
She flicked through a few photos of the same scene. “Just look at his gaze. Everyone else is looking at the woman who’s just finished speaking. But the guy in the red jacket is watching that other man down the table.” She pointed out another male guest wearing a standard black suit, who seemed to be the object of red-jacket-guy’s interest.
We went through the rest of the photos and in almost every case, the red-jacket-guy was on the sidelines. None of the photos showed him networking or chatting. He was always standing by himself and watching the room. Could he be the one? Strange that I don’t remember seeing him. I would have thought someone like that would stand out. Especially as he seems to be doing exactly what I was doing at the event and just watching people. How did he escape notice so effectively?
“Morning guys,” Layla strolled into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. She came up behind us and stuck her head between us, spreading her arms across our shoulders. “Are you playing nice with my camera?”
“We’re just admiring your genius,” I say. “Can I have copies of some of these photos?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Pretty please?”
“Oh alright, you’ve convinced me.” she yawned. “I’ll send you a link to the folder on my cloud drive and you can take the ones you want.”
“Excellent!”
Layla started chatting with Tessa but looked up again when she realised I was still standing there. “What?”
“Um… when are you going to send me the link?”
Notes to self:
1. Cultivate more patience.
2. Buy Layla a nice present.
As soon as I got the link I fired off a quick email telling Adam that I had the answer to his second riddle. He replied telling me to meet him in the same cafe tomorrow. Apparently even secret agents don’t work on Sundays.
Slackers.
(To be continued…)
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