Free A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) by H.Y. Hanna Page A

this. Why was it so important to find out if my suspicions about the American had been right? Was it Cassie’s sceptical attitude? Or Devlin’s offhand manner with me that morning? Maybe it was just my own nosiness, I thought with a wry smile. My curiosity had been piqued ever since I’d realised that the American was lying yesterday. I don’t know what I wanted to prove or who I wanted to prove it to but… well, the tearoom was closed for the rest of the day, I had no wish to return to my parents, and I might as well do something with my time.
    I headed towards Gloucester College. There was no particular reason for my choice, other than the fact that it was the closest and one I was particularly familiar with—it was where Seth had transferred to. I glanced at my watch. He was probably giving tutorials now. Perhaps I might bump into him in one of the college quads.
    As I approached the huge iron-studded doors that guarded the college gate, I was glad that some perverse impulse had caused me to take out my old University card and slip it into my wallet when I first arrived back in England. Aside from some of the bigger colleges such as Christ Church, most Oxford colleges didn’t allow tourists and the general public to enter. As a member of the alumni, however, I could get in—just as I had as a student—by flashing my old University card. I showed this now to the porter at the gate. He gave it a cursory glance, then nodded and waved me past.
    I paused inside the main quad and considered my next move. To be honest, I had no idea how I was going to find out if the American had been a student here. Then my eyes alighted on a couple of students in a corner of the quad taking a selfie with their phone. That gave me an idea.
    Matriculation photos.
    One of the things that set Oxford apart from many other universities was the Matriculation ceremony when you arrived as a new student. It was your first chance to parade around in the formal academic dress of sub fusc (and do your part for the Oxford tourist trade) as you walked with your fellow Freshers to the Sheldonian Theatre to be given official membership of the University.
    It was custom that after your Matriculation ceremony, you’d return to your college for the official photo: the entire year of new Freshers lined up on a multi-tiered stage—what the Americans called “bleachers”—solemn and proud in their black gowns and mortarboards, all captured by Gillman & Soame, who had been the University’s official photographers for over 150 years. Actually, I had looked at my own Matriculation photo recently, when I first got back home and was sorting through the things left in my old bedroom: my eighteen-year-old face had looked ingenuously at the camera from the top row, where the shortest people were placed. Poring over Matriculation photos and giggling over the way you once looked was a time-honoured tradition for Oxford grads.
    Perhaps if I could look through Gloucester College’s old Matriculation photos, I might be able to find our friend, the American. Again, it was a long shot. I didn’t even know if I would be able to recognise him—judging by his age, he could have matriculated over twenty years ago, and people changed a lot in that time. But I thought it was worth a try. After all, what did I have to lose—an hour of my time?
    On an impulse, I texted Cassie and asked her to send me a picture of her sketch of the American. My phone beeped a minute later and I opened the photo, zooming in and looking at it with satisfaction. The sketch was spare and highlighted his main features, including the sticking-out ears, squarish head, and fleshy cheeks. Even if he had changed a lot since youth, those dominant features were likely to remain the same.
    I walked to the college library and made my way up to the upper gallery. I remembered Seth telling me that this was where the college archives were kept. A middle-aged lady sat at a desk near the front of the room.