Читать книгу The Suicide Club - Gayle Wilson - Страница 9

Ms. Sloan’s got a boyfriend.”

The comment came out of the blue during the last seconds before the tardy bell for second period. Lindsey looked up to see who’d made it, but half the class was sniggering.

The masculine half, she realized. And the voice that had made that announcement had definitely belonged to one of them.

“Ms. Sloan! Have you been keeping secrets from us?”

Renee Bingham was the prototype for the American cheerleader. Blond, blue-eyed, and slightly buxom, she was also enormously popular. And one of the nicest people Lindsey had ever known. No matter where someone ranked on the school’s rigidly established social ladder, Renee was friendly to them.

That same friendliness extended to her teachers, whom she was apt to treat with a familiarity that had nothing to do with disrespect. Since Lindsey was aware the girl’s taste in literature ran to supermarket celebrity magazines, she knew any gossip pertaining to a teacher’s love life would be irresistible.

She was grateful when the tardy bell sounded, bringing the last few stragglers to their desks as well as giving her an excuse to ignore Renee’s question. She opened her grade book, willing the telltale flush in her cheeks to subside.

“Paul Abbott.”

“Here.”

“Ms. Sloan, you aren’t just gonna call roll and not tell us.” Renee’s tone was indignant, as if an injustice had been done, to her and the class.

“Tell you what, Renee?”

“About your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. And if I did, that would hardly be something I’d discuss with y’all.”

“He’s the new detective in the sheriff’s office. From somewhere up north.”

Lindsey was surprised that Steven Byrd had been the one to share that information. He seemed to have little use for the rumors that ran rampant in the high school—who was dating whom, which couple was breaking up, which was reconciling.

“When I first saw them together,” Steven continued, his eyes shining mischievously behind his glasses, just as they had when he’d seen her and Jace that morning in the office, “I thought Ms. Sloan was in trouble with the law. Lucky for her, that wasn’t what the detective was investigating.”

There was a masculine chorus of “ooohs” from the back of the room in response to his slightly suggestive statement. Lindsey could feel the color rising in her cheeks again.

“That’s enough.” Lindsey looked down at her grade book in an attempt to gather her composure. “Leslie Arnold.”

“Here. Is that the guy you were with at the game?”

“I sold tickets at the game,” she said evenly. “I wasn’t with anyone. And I’ll repeat for those of you who don’t seem to get it, my social life isn’t any concern of yours.”

By now she realized she’d bungled this. If she’d made a joke, said something clever, claimed to be smitten, they would have let it drop. Instead, she’d stupidly added fuel to the fire by trying to quash it. Then she’d fanned the flames by letting them see that she was embarrassed by their teasing.

“We’re just glad to know that at your age you can still get a date.” Roy McClain’s comment drew laughter, still good natured, despite her mishandling of the situation.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to rectify that mistake. These were her seniors. She’d taught most of them for the last two years. Their interest in her social life was misplaced, but after all that time together, it was also pretty natural.

“I’m delighted to have relieved your mind about that concern, Roy. You may now consider yourself free to worry about your own social life.” The laughter that greeted her response told her she’d struck the right note. Maybe one that could carry them safely into today’s lesson. “Can we now concentrate on Beowulf rather than me?”

“Is he cute?” Renee’s lips were slightly parted as she looked up at Lindsey from the front row, blue eyes rapt. And she wasn’t referring to the hero of the Anglo-Saxon epic.

“As a little ole bug,” Charlie Higginbotham drawled. Coming out of the mouth of the biggest defensive lineman on the football team, the phrase provoked more laughter.

“I don’t think cute is the right word.” Although Lindsey had pointedly looked down at Renee as she answered, there was another outbreak of catcalls from the guys. “But we’re not going to spend class time discussing what might be.”

“Ms. Sloan, are you sure you want to date some Yankee?” Charlie asked. “Aren’t there enough good ole Alabama rednecks around here to keep you occupied?”

“Y’all were the ones worrying about my social life. I was perfectly content with it. I still am, by the way. So…with your very kind permission, ladies…” She nodded toward Renee. “And gentlemen…” she said to Charlie, who laughed. “I’d like to finish the roll. You should know by now you can only distract me so long before I crack the whip again.”

“He’s into that, is he?” Justin Carr’s question had not been asked in the same teasing tone of the rest.

Even the other students seemed to sense the difference. The mood in the room changed immediately.

One of the brightest kids in her program, Justin had never quite fit in. An Army brat, he must have attended a dozen schools before his father retired here to be near the facilities at Fort Rucker. Justin was respected for his intellect, but he was not well-liked.

“The roll,” Lindsey repeated softly, picking up where she’d left off. Thanks to the inappropriateness of Justin’s remark, this time she was allowed to finish.

Even the discussion of the section of the epic they’d been assigned to read last night went well, although she was aware the entire time that Justin’s eyes were fastened on her face. She ignored him, as she’d ignored his comment, concentrating instead on the elements of the heroic poem she knew would appeal to her teenage audience. Still, she was relieved when the bell rang.

As the other students left the room, Renee approached the lectern. “So how long have you been dating this detective?”

“I’m not. It’s nothing, Renee. Really. He invited me to get something to eat after the ball game. There’s no romance, I swear to you.”

“So…what is he?”

“What?”

“You said cute wasn’t the right word. What is?”

“I’d say the right term is…an acquaintance.” Lindsey emphasized the last word pointedly.

“Ms. Sloan!”

“Go to class, Renee, before you’re tardy again.”

“I’m just next door. What’s his name?”

“James Nolan.”

“James. Oh, that’s nice. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Is he?”

“I don’t know yet.” She had thought he was until he’d taken her by the church. In fairness, he’d had a point to make in doing that. One that had been successfully driven home. “Honestly, Renee, you need to move on. Nothing to see here,” she said, repeating the familiar Star Wars phrase her students used to stop discussion.

In a further attempt to end the conversation, Lindsey turned, laying the senior anthology on the corner of her desk. Next period she would have her juniors. The atmosphere would not be as relaxed as it had been this period. Even if any of them had heard about her evening with Jace, they probably wouldn’t have nerve enough to tease her about it.

“When are you going out with him again?”

She wasn’t sure whether Renee was unwilling to take the hint or whether she honestly didn’t realize she was being too personal. “He hasn’t asked me.”

“But you’d go if he did, wouldn’t you?”

“Do I grill you about who you’re dating, Renee?”

“No, but if you did, I’d tell you. I even tell my mom.”

Lindsey laughed at the confession, provoking an answering giggle from the girl. “There isn’t much to tell with this one. We went out to eat. And he didn’t ask me out again.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“Renee.”

“But he tried, didn’t he. That’s a good sign.”

“Oh, please. Surely you’ve got something besides this to talk about.”

“Nope. I can’t think of a thing.”

“Well, then bless your heart. I hope you find a more interesting subject than my love life during next period.”

“In Ms. Miller’s class? I don’t think so.” Renee laughed again.

Agnes Miller had taught calculus for the last thirty years. Having been her student, Lindsey knew Renee was right.

“Well, go try,” she ordered, moving away from the lectern to retrieve the eleventh grade lit book from the stack on her desk. Her juniors were beginning to filter into the room, and she didn’t want the discussion to carry over.

“Okay, I’m going,” Renee said, “but I’m warning you, I’m not done with this. I’ve just got a couple of problems to finish before the bell rings.”

Which she intended to copy from someone else. Right now, if it got rid of her, that was okay with Lindsey.

One of the students coming in approached her desk, giving her the opportunity to turn her attention from Renee. Lindsey was conscious when the cheerleader finally left.

Two classes down and two to go. If they were all like the last one, this was going to be a very long day.

It had taken him until lunchtime to be able to think through the implications. Anger and anxiety had delayed his reaching any kind of rational conclusion, but when he had finally fought through the distraction they represented, he knew the one he’d arrived at was correct.

Ms. Sloan was being used. Any single woman her age was vulnerable to flattery and masculine attention. And he had no doubt the detective was laying it on heavy in hopes she’d help him finger students she believed would be capable of setting the fires.

Which was a pretty shrewd move on Nolan’s part, the boy acknowledged. There were few people here who would know the kids smart enough to pull those off better than the gifted coordinator did. Maybe Ms. Anderson, but she didn’t seem the type to be manipulated.

And that was what Nolan was doing. Manipulating Ms. Sloan to his advantage.

His mouth tightened as he pushed his books into his locker and fished out the notebook he’d need for his next class. Maybe it was time to let both of them know that nobody was going to roll over and play dead because some outsider thought he’d found a slick way to get inside information. His lips relaxed into a slight smile at the unintended irony of the phrase he’d just used.

He wasn’t stupid enough to take Nolan on straight up. He wouldn’t catch someone with the cop’s level of training and experience off guard. Ms. Sloan, on the other hand…

If he was wrong—if the detective wasn’t playing her for a sucker—then maybe Nolan would back off out of concern for her safety. And if he was right about what was going on, then he had no doubt she’d get the message. After all, she was too intelligent not to.

“So how was it?”

Shannon settled onto the couch opposite the one Lindsey was sitting on. The counselor slipped her shoes off and put her feet up on the coffee table between them.

“Typical Monday. Half of them asleep. Half revved up just to be here.” That enthusiasm was not because of the opportunity to learn, but because they were again with their peers, feeding off the energy produced by all those hormones.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Lindsey. I didn’t mean today.” Shannon’s voice was rich with disgust.

She meant Friday night. She meant Jace Nolan. There was a good ten-years difference in Shannon’s and Renee’s ages, but her friend’s curiosity was no less intense than her student’s.

“We went to The Cove. We talked over dinner. Then he took me home.”

“That’s it?” Shannon looked at her over the rim of her cup, waiting for an answer before she took a sip.

“What did you expect?”

“I dunno. Something. Something besides that.”

“Well, that’s what happened.”

“You like him?”

“I don’t know him. He seemed pleasant enough. He can carry on a conversation.” Lindsey shrugged.

“You seem just a little too blasé about this whole thing. I take that as a good sign.”

“Of what?”

“Of interest. If you weren’t interested, you’d be telling me what was wrong with him. You aren’t, so I figure there must be a degree of interest there.”

Lindsey shook her head, eyes focused on her cup. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing happened. That’s it.”

“End of story.”

“Maybe.”

“He ask you out again?”

Déjà vu all over again. Shannon seemed to be channeling cheerleaders.

“Nope.”

“Shit.”

Lindsey laughed. “Hey, I managed to survive life pre-Jace Nolan. I’ll survive post-Jace Nolan, too.”

“What kind of name is that? Jace.”

“He was J.C. as a kid. Some kind of family thing. It got shortened to Jace.” Lindsey shrugged again.

“He tell you all that?”

“I asked about his name.”

“Polite conversation 101.”

“Something like that.”

“Anything else interesting?”

“We talked about the fires.”

“He tell you who it is they suspect?”

“I told you. My kids. I swear, Shannon, I’ve thought about everybody in my program since he told me that, and I just don’t see it. I can’t see any of them being involved in setting fire to those churches. Most of them grew up attending ones very much like those. Burning any church would be an act of blasphemy to them. And they’re too smart, for another thing. They have too much at stake to risk it all on something so mindlessly stupid, for another.

“My juniors and seniors have worked hard to raise their test scores. The seniors are already filling out college applications and applying for scholarships. They’ve taken every AP class we offer. Why would they take a chance on blowing all that to burn a couple of tiny black churches? These kids didn’t grow up during the Jim Crow years.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t know about them. Or that they couldn’t be racist.”

It didn’t, of course. There was still the occasional undercurrent of black/white tension in the school, despite forty years of integration.

“Do you think that’s why those churches were burned?” Lindsey asked. “Race? You think they were hate crimes?”

Although most of the staff would have jumped to deny the possibility, Shannon seemed to be thinking about the question.

Finally she shook her head. “I don’t. I didn’t from the beginning. I don’t think it has one thing to do with those congregations being black. Except maybe they knew the act would get more attention.”

“More bang for the buck.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but…Yeah. More exposure. More distress.”

“More danger,” Lindsey said, remembering Jace’s comment about thrill seekers.

“More danger?”

“A higher-profile crime. More people want them caught and are willing to work to bring that about. It ups the odds they will be caught. If they’d vandalized a car or burned a vacant house, do you think someone like Jace Nolan would have been assigned to the case?”

“Do you?”

Lindsey shook her head. “He thinks he’s put a stop to that particular brand of mischief.”

She hesitated, unsure she wanted to articulate the conclusion she’d come to some time in the middle of a nearly sleepless Friday night. But this was Shannon. And there were few secrets between them.

Like how attracted you are to Jace Nolan?

“He says they’re going to find something else to do,” she went on. “Something that will give them that same rush. That scares me.”

“Because you think he may be right?” Shannon asked. “About it being your kids, I mean.”

“It terrifies me that he might be. He seems so damn certain.”

“Then in all likelihood, he knows something he hasn’t told you.”

“Like what?”

“Something that brought him straight to you.”

“I’ve thought about this for almost a week. I still can’t fathom any of them being involved.”

“None of them?”

“What does that mean?”

Shannon shrugged. “I guess I just don’t believe they’re all as lily-white and innocent as you do.”

“Pun intended?” Lindsey’s sarcasm didn’t faze her friend.

“Maybe.”

“Who? If you’ve decided it’s possible, then you have to have thought about who might be involved.”

Shannon shook her head.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Shannon, you can’t say something like that and then clam up. Who do you believe would be capable of doing that?”

“If I tell you, you’ll never think about that person again without remembering my suspicion. That’s like accusing them. I don’t have any reason to do that. It’s just…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Gut reaction.”

“Female intuition,” Lindsey mocked.

“Maybe. Whatever I’m feeling is academic. I know what’s at stake. So I’m not going to tell you. Or Nolan. Or anybody else. As your friend, I’ll just tell you that you shouldn’t completely discount what he’s told you.”

“Has Dave talked to you?” That seemed to be the only explanation for Shannon’s willingness to embrace the detective’s theory. That she knew more than Lindsey.

“Dave? No. What made you think that?” There was the slightest bit of defensiveness in Shannon’s answer.

“I thought maybe the two of you had discussed possible suspects.”

“The only person I’ve talked to about this is you. And you’re the only one I will talk to about it.”

“Unless the police ask your opinion.”

“Even if they did, I’ve told you how I feel. I would never want to accuse someone—especially a kid—based on a hunch that he might be capable of doing something.”

“So it is a he?” Just as the FBI profile had indicated.

“I would think that’s a given. Arson doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a girl would do.”

It didn’t, Lindsey admitted. “It also doesn’t seem like the kind of thing any of my kids would do.”

Shannon shrugged, her expression saying as clearly as the gesture that she didn’t necessarily agree. For the first time in Lindsey’s memory the silence between them wasn’t relaxed.

“Well,” Shannon said, finally breaking it, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do to get ready for PTA tomorrow night and the usual flood of parents we won’t see the rest of the year.”

“You’re not complaining about that, I hope.”

It was the kind of remark that would have normally provoked Shannon’s ready laugh. Instead, as the counselor got to her feet, her expression was serious.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but…don’t be too trusting. You see them an hour a day. And some of them are adept at hiding whatever they’re thinking or doing during the other twenty-three.”

“You know, that sounds like a warning.”

“It’s meant to be. You said that Nolan believes they’ll find something else to give them the rush he’s cheated them out of. He’s probably right. And frankly, I don’t even want to imagine what that might be.”