Author's Note: Sorry that I updated in a while. My life has been crazy. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I recently realized that I have not been giving credit to my amazing beta, cosette141.

Chapter 3

Steve's POV

"So how did you know the stuff about my mom's cats? Are you sure you're not psychic like me?" I asked. We had been talking for about thirty minutes now, still standing in the parking lot. She had been telling me about some of the basics I'll need to know for class. I don't even know why she's here. She already knows everything.

She leaned back against her car and gave me a look. "I'm not psychic and neither are you. You're just highly observant and happen to have an eidetic memory. And your family's probably been training you to use that memory since you were a kid." she stated, as though she were stating facts instead of making guesses.

"Yeah. I always wanted to learn how to—" What is wrong with me?! I'm not supposed to admit to that! "Uh, I mean— well, I'm— You can't tell anyone! No one's supposed to know that. I don't know why I said anything. I'm such an idiot." Dad can never know about this conversation or I will never, ever be involved in another case again. He didn't even tell Mom until years after they met.

"You're not an idiot, Steve." She frowned in concern. "Besides telling me doesn't even count. I already knew. Nothing you could have said would have changed that." she responded, trying to console me.

"How did you know?" I inquired. "And don't try to duck the question." I insisted when I saw her face. "I just told you a big secret so the least you can do is tell me what made you so sure." I could see my logic winning her over.

"Someone told me a long time ago. That's all I'm gonna say about it. It'll just have to remain a mystery." I could tell that she had carefully chosen those words to reveal the least information possible, but at least it was something. I decided to stop pressing and wait for the right moment to continue questioning her.

"Then it's a good thing solving mysteries is my specialty." I cockily replied leaning back against the car before taking another tart.

"I thought this was your first case. And it's been such a success so far." She shot back, just as cheekily.

"Ah, I'm hurt." I cried clutching my heart in mock agony, making Autumn laugh.

"Seriously, though, I think I should know which of my instructors might be a serial killer. How many people did he kill?" she asked quietly. I could tell that she was already starting to empathize with the victims. No way am I telling her how much they suffered.

"Okay, first thing is that there is very little chance that this is the guy. He's barely even a suspect. His name's Chef Andrew and you don't need to treat him any different, just don't go off alone with him. Besides you're not in any danger. The only victims have been boys." I told her to set her at ease.

She stared at me for a second too shocked to speak. She finally regained her voice. "They were kids! How many?" she exclaimed in horror. So much for setting her at ease. Apparently it's not undercover I'm horrible at, it's human interaction.

"Teenagers. Nine teenagers." I answered quietly, trying not to let my anger with this killer show on my face.

"Nine? How—" She started to ask me something else, but a car pulled into the parking lot. As the car parked, her expression transformed from one of sorrow and horror into one of delight. "I think you ate a least a dozen tarts. You said you like pineapple? I'll try to make something with that soon."

A man in his late twenties climbed out of the car. "Hey, I'm Bruce. Are you two students here?"

"Yeah, I'm Autumn and this is Ethan. Are you taking the baking or the savory concentration?" She asked with a bright smile. It was amazing how she managed to flip herself around so completely. She even went from calling me Steve to Ethan. Definitely a good choice for a confidante.

"Baking. What about you guys?" h e inquired.

"We're both taking baking, too." I answered, thinking that it was about time I said something.

"Would you like a mini pumpkin pie tart?" Autumn offered, taking the container of baked deliciousness from me. "Ethan! There were two and a half dozen tarts in here!"

"And?" I asked innocently.

"There are five left!" she cried in shock. Bruce was covering his mouth and trying very hard not to laugh.

I shrugged. "I skipped breakfast?" I said, more as a question than anything else. Bruce lost it. He was laughing so hard that he was having trouble catching a breath.

"So how long have you two been going out?" he asked as he grabbed a tart.

"No! We aren't—we've never—she—uhh" I stammered, to both Autumn and Bruce's amusement.

"We actually just met this morning. We both got here about half an hour ago." Autumn calmly replied. "We were just about to head inside."

"Oh. Sorry, you just seemed—Sorry. I'm still learning to think before I speak." He apologized as he handed back the container. "The tart was delicious. I can see why he ate so many."

"Thank you. Good thing you showed up when you did or there wouldn't have been any left." She joked.

"It's not my fault they taste so good!" I defended myself. Honestly, though, she might be right. It's a good thing she took them away or I might have finished them off.

"Let's head in. Ethan, we can finish our conversation later." She told me. She is not gonna let this serial killer thing go. At least I get a little bit of time to think about what I should tell her.