was part of the local speculation. That the arsonists had simply run out of churches they could torch without getting caught. And apparently they’d learned something from the earlier fires. According to the papers, there had been little physical evidence found at the recent ones.
“You hear any talk about the fires?”
“Sure,” Steven acknowledged, holding the folded flag against his chest as he closed the closet door with his elbow. “A lot of talk. A lot of guessing. Nothing that made me pay attention. Got to get this up.”
She nodded, moving aside to let him go by her in the narrow hallway. As she watched him follow the route the detective had taken, Lindsey thought about what both had said. She almost turned back to Dave’s door, but the first bell sounded, reminding her that her room was locked.
The school day had officially begun. Any other discussion with anyone about the surprise visitor she’d had this morning would have to wait until after it was done.
For a few select members of the staff, the teachers’ lounge was a refuge at the end of the day. Surprisingly, today the room was empty.
Lindsey glanced at her watch to find that it was only twelve minutes after three. Like her students in last period, she’d been more than eager to put this day behind her. She’d had her things gathered up almost before the last of the stragglers had left.
She set her canvas tote down on the table beside the nearest sofa and went over to the coffeepot. The liquid in the bottom of the glass carafe looked black and strong, which was exactly what she needed.
Picking her mug out from the dozen or so residing on a plastic lunchroom tray on the counter, she poured some of the thick liquid into it, relishing the slightly scorched smell. Before she could bring the cup to her lips, the familiar squeak of the outer door caused her to lower it again.
She turned to see the person she was closest to on the staff enter and drop her briefcase on the table by the door. Shannon Anderson was the Junior/Senior counselor. Although she was a few years younger and undeniably more hip than Lindsey, the two of them had struck up a friendship almost as soon as Shannon had been assigned to Randolph-Lowen.
“Any more of that?” she asked.
Lindsey turned back to locate Shannon’s mug on the counter and fill it. She held it out to her friend.
“Thanks.” Shannon took the cup with her right hand. With her left, she hooked a curling strand of long, dark hair behind her ear before she sipped the coffee. “I think I made this third period.” She pulled a face at the bitterness.
“How can you tell?” Lindsey asked with a laugh.
“Tastes like third period.” Shannon walked over to one of the couches. She sat, tucking long, boot-clad legs under her. Her colorful skirt spilled around her, almost touching the floor. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I hate the beginning of school. I’m so frigging tired.”
“You’re a twelve-month employee. You’re supposed to be used to working.” Counselors didn’t get the nearly three-month summer break teachers did.
“It ain’t work if the little darlings aren’t here.”
Lindsey laughed. Shannon loved interacting with their students more than almost anyone else on the faculty, but she was right. It was dealing with teenagers and their raging hormones that put the stress in all their lives. Shannon dealt with them on a much more personal, one-on-one basis, unlike the relationship in the classrooms.
“Who’s giving you grief now?”
“No one in particular.” Shannon raised her head from the back of the couch to take another swallow of her coffee. “Little darlings en masse,” she said, giving the words their correct French pronunciation. “‘Can you change my schedule, Ms. Anderson. I didn’t mean to sign up for Algebra II.’ Translation, I did, but now I don’t want crazy old Ms. Brock.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Well, no, but somebody’s got to be in her class.”
“She needs to retire. She was here when I was in school.” Fourteen years ago, which wasn’t quite as long as she’d just made it out to be. “We called her old Ms. Brock then, too.”
“Was she as bad as she is now?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have her. I don’t remember that kids talked about her the way these do. But, I don’t remember kids talking all that bad about any teacher back then.”
“You hung with the wrong crowd.”
“Or the right one.”
They drank their coffee, the silence that had fallen companionable and unstrained. Shannon leaned her head back, her fingers making that habitual rearrangement of her hair.
“Something weird happened this morning,” Lindsey began.
Shannon straightened, her eyes interested. “In class?”
“Before. Melanie told me when I signed in that Dave wanted to see me. Some detective with the sheriff’s department was in his office. He said the FBI has developed a profile of the arsonists in the church fires.” She hesitated, wanting to see if Shannon reached the same conclusion she had.
“And they wanted to talk to you? They think your kids are involved?”
“Apparently. I’ve been thinking about it all day, getting more and more pissed.”
Shannon didn’t respond, but Lindsey could almost track the thoughts moving behind her green eyes. She knew the counselor was running through the individuals in the gifted program, just as Lindsey had been all day. The fact that she had been was a large part of her building anger.
“He give you any idea who?”
“He wanted me to give him ideas.”
“Well, that sucks. You think…?”
Lindsey shook her head. “But I admit it ate at me. I kept trying to think of anyone who might be involved, but…You know them. Who the hell would do something like that?”
“I told you. Little darlings. They aren’t any different from the others except they’re probably smart enough not to get caught.”
That, too, was a thought that had occurred to Lindsey at some point. She had wondered if that’s why the profilers had zeroed in on the students in her gifted program—simply because of the lack of evidence, something law enforcement officials had openly acknowledged.
“I think that might be exactly what they’re thinking.”
“That they must be geniuses because the cops can’t catch ’em?” Shannon asked. “Isn’t that convenient.”
“They can’t admit that some dumb, redneck yahoo can outsmart them, burn three black churches, and get away with it. So, stands to reason, this has got to be somebody else.”
“Who was the detective? Anybody I know?”
Shannon
