Deadly Cool by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday [Halliday, Gemma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Humorous Stories, Girls & Women, Education, Secondary
ISBN: 9780062003317
Google: vUUcOSCqx2MC
Amazon: 0062003313
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2010-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

“SO, WHERE ARE WE GOING?” I ASKED AS I FOLLOWED Chase down the now empty hall. I fought the urge to duck at each classroom window we passed.

“Library,” he said. “We need a computer.”

He led the way out of the main building and to the right. It wasn’t until he made another right into the side parking lot that I realized we weren’t going on foot.

“Oh, no. No way.” I stopped in my tracks.

Chase spun around. “What?”

“No way am I getting in a car with you again.”

He cocked his head, the beginnings of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. “And why not?”

“Because you drive like a maniac.”

“I do not.”

“How many speeding tickets have you gotten?”

“This month?”

“I rest my case.”

“I’m joking,” he said, the grin taking full bloom. “Come on, I’ll drive slow for you, Granny.”

I shook my head. “I’ve seen enough dead bodies for one lifetime, thanks. I think I’ll walk.”

He shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself.” Then he called over his shoulder, “Meet you there!” before continuing on to his Camaro, tucked in the second row between two used SUVs.

I took the sidewalk the two blocks, perfectly content with my decision even when Chase roared past me at decidedly not Granny speeds a couple minutes later. The weather was nice, the street deserted, and the physical exercise was a welcome distraction from the mental workout I’d been doing ever since finding Kaylee. Had the same person killed both Courtney and Kaylee? Why? Had Kaylee known something about the killer’s identity? What had she been doing on the football field? And how did Deep Blogger fit into all this? I didn’t know. And, sadly, by the time I reached the library, I was no closer to figuring it out.

I made my way down to the basement, where the one-hour computers were located. Chase was already typing away at one near the end of the row, and I pulled up a plastic chair and sat down beside him.

“So, what’s your plan for tracking down our Deep Blogger?” I asked.

“We’re going to trace her IP address,” he said, not looking up from the screen. “I should have done this yesterday when the email first came in,” he chided himself, “but I was kind of preoccupied with finding out what she had to say.”

“Well, let’s hope she’s still feeling chatty. How do we find the IP address?” I asked.

“Here’s the original email she sent,” he said, pointing to the screen. “We need to trace where it came from to get to the Homepage’s in-box.” He clicked a couple buttons on the side of the open email in-box window, and another window popped up, creating an email header three times the normal size, filled with tons of numbers and periods in seemingly random patterns.

“What is that?” I asked, squinting at the screen.

“It’s a list of the IP addresses of all the servers the email traveled through.” He stabbed his finger at a line farthest down. “See that one? That’s where it originated. That’s Deep Blogger’s computer.

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