Julie Kenner California Demon

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He'll be just as impressed with the check. But there's no way I'm donating it
to his campaign." The last was said with an impish grin, but I know my kid
well, and her light tone was laced with hurt. Can't say I blame her. I'd
skipped right over hurt and moved directly to enraged. Do not pass go. Do not
collect two hundred dollars.
"He hasn't been here too many times," she said, rummaging in her purse and
pulling out her cell phone.
"What if he's wandering the blue halls? Should I give him a call?"
I hesitated, certain that the only wandering Stuart was doing was the kind
that sent him meandering down the primrose path toward the promise of campaign
dollars. Not entirely sure what to say to Allie, I chose the ever popular,
"Um," response.
She started to dial.
"Allie!" I said, snatching the phone out of her hand.
"What?"
"You're only supposed to use your phone for emergencies," I said. "Stuart and
I were perfectly clear about that."
She blinked at me, her expression befuddled. "Well, yeah, but you're here."
"Right. But Stuart's not. So when he sees that you're calling, he's going to
think it's an emergency and worry." I put my hand on my hip for effect. "I
know I did when you called earlier."
She actually looked contrite. "Right. So, um, I guess I won't call Stuart."
I nodded, hoping I didn't look too relieved. Then I slipped her phone into my
purse. Just to be safe.
"
You call him."
I blinked. "What?"
"Come on, Mom! It's not like he'll worry when he sees your caller ID, right?
And I really want to tell him about the check. And you know Stuart. He's never
going to call us and admit he's lost."
I frowned. The trouble was, I did know Stuart. And I knew the odds were good
he was nowhere near this building.
But since I couldn't think of a graceful way to re/use to call my husband, I
reached into my purse. I made sure to keep the book hidden, all the while
praying that Stuart would draw on his fast-developing political skills to
ensure Allies feelings didn't get hurt.
It wasn't until I'd pawed through all the detritus in my bag, though, that I
remembered. "I can't call
Stuart," I said, hoping I didn't sound as gleeful as I felt. "I dropped the
phone, remember?"
"Oh." She made a face. "Right." I could practically see the wheels turning in
her head. "He might be trying to phone you. I should probably call and let him
know you're okay."
I wanted to argue, but what would I say? We'd reached the point where it would
be ridiculous for me to protest anymore. And, frankly, I was so irritated with
Stuart for not having shown up, that I figured it was only fair that he get
put on the spot. Passive-aggressive? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just tired.
At any rate, it didn't matter. Because just as I was about to hand Allie her
phone, Mindy raced over.
"Did you hear! Did you hear! They found a dead guy in the basement. Isn't that
just the grossest thing ever?"
"No shit?" That from Allie, who immediately shot me a mortified look. "Sorry.
I mean, no kidding?"
"Honest! Mom and I were talking with Principal George when the EMS guy came in
and pulled her away. I heard everything." She leaned in closer and added,
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conspiratorially, "They said his face was bashed in."
"Ew!" Allie squealed, as I tried to look both disgusted and concerned.
Laura, who'd been following Mindy at something less than a sprint, sidled up
beside me. "A little drama in these hallowed halls," she said. "You've heard?"
There wasn't anything unusual about her tone or her words. Even so, I knew
what she was asking:
Was this your handiwork
?
"Yeah," I said. "I've heard." And I really needed to know what was going on in
that hallway. Did they believe it was an accident, or were they going to be
looking for me?
"Come on," Mindy said, gesturing for Allie to follow.
"Hold on a second, girls," I said. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"No way, Mrs. Connor! This is a totally good idea. I'm on the newspaper staff,
remember? And they never give the freshmen anything to write except profiles
of the teachers. This is like a total break for me."
"Forget it, Woodward," Laura said.
Mindy blinked. "Woodward?"
Laura just shook her head. "You're not prowling the halls to go see a dead
body."
"But, Mom!"
"No," Laura said. "Now go. Shoo. Both of you." She pointed to the far side of
the gym. Our girls hesitated, then shared one of those looks that all mothers
of teenage girls are familiar with. The one that says, My mom is a freak
.
"Whatever," my daughter said. Then off they went, their heads bent close as
they ran down a list of their mothers' imperfections.
I turned to Laura, unable to stop my grin.
"What?"
"If I tell you
I'm going, are you going to call me Bernstein?"
"Very funny. And you can thank me later for getting those two out of our
hair." She cocked a head toward the door. "Let's go."
I hesitated only long enough to make sure the girls weren't watching and to
scan the gym for Timmy. I
found him and Eddie in a corner that the PTA had set up as toddler central. He
(Timmy, not Eddie) was neck deep in a kiddie pool filled with plastic balls,
the grin on his face so wide I could see it from yards away.
I waved, managed to catch Eddie's attention, and gestured for him to come
over. He did, first making sure that one of the ladies standing nearby would
keep an eye on my boy.
Laura and I met him halfway and gave him a brief rundown. "We're going to go
see what's up," I said, ending the story in the vaguest way possible.
"You gals go on ahead," he said. "I'll watch the youngster."
"You're sure?" I asked.
He met my eyes. "Not my business anymore, is it?"
I nodded. Because the truth was, as much as I appreciated having Eddie around,
I was the Demon
Hunter in these parts. And at times, that responsibility weighed heavily.
As Laura and I hurried out, I heard a few of the PTA ladies calling to me. I
pretended a sudden case of deafness and kept on going. Demons first.
Refreshment Committee later.
We racewalked back through the halls until we saw the uniformed officers
standing near the door.
Yellow crime-scene tape had been spread across the hall, essentially barring
anyone from passing. A
stretcher empty took up a large chunk of space near the door. The stretcher
didn't bother me. The cops, however, did.
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I noticed David Long standing off to one side in a cluster of other teachers,
and waved. "What happened?" I asked, since that seemed like a normal,
I'm-not-involved kind of thing to say.
David stepped away from the other teachers, one of whom I recognized but
couldn't place. From my new perspective, I also noticed the janitor, decked
out in green coveralls and a sour expression. I
couldn't blame him. I'd had a demon die in my kitchen a few months ago (or,
more accurately, I'd killed a demon in my kitchen a few months ago), and it's
put a pallor on cooking ever since.
"Damn kids," the janitor muttered, his voice so low I was reading his lips
more than hearing his voice.
"Always causing trouble."
The gripe seemed out of place, so I tossed another query into the mix. "Do
they think kids did this?"
David looked surprised by the question. "I don't think so. Heart attack's what
I've been hearing, not that they're giving us any solid information yet."
I pondered that. Considering Sinclair had a spike through his eye, "heart
attack" seemed a tad unreasonable. Then again, the man had suffered a fatal
heart attack. At least, he had originally. There were probably still signs.
And if the EMTs assumed that he had an attack, and then fell on the spike& [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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