Giving Up the Ghost by Marilyn Levinson

principal's office, permitting Barrett
back in class. The time stamped on it was fifteen minutes ago. "You're fifteen minutes late," she
said.
    "I had to get my essay from my locker," Barrett said. "The damn thing was jammed, so I
went to the custodians' office, but no one was there. I ran into Eddie and he opened my
locker."
    His lie was so brazen, Gabbie knew he was challenging her, waiting to see if the new
teacher caved in. "You'll read your essay after Lynne."
    "Oh, did I leave out that part? My essay's missing. Someone must have stolen it."
    Gabbie shivered as he let loose another maniacal giggle. When he went silent, she met
his gaze. "Your grade is an F, unless by some miracle you happen to find it and read it in class
tomorrow. The highest grade you may receive is a C, as you've already failed to bring it to class
before today."
    She shifted her attention to Lynne. "Have you found your essay?"
    "Yep." Lynne stood and began to read "Why Movie Stars and Sports Heroes Aren't
Necessarily Good Role Models."
    Gabbie listened, consciously ignoring Barrett's fixed stare, which he focused on her
breasts when he wasn't writing feverishly in a small note book. She ignored, too, his occasional
giggle, having decided that reprimanding him would only bring him the attention he so clearly
desired. The other students seemed unaffected by his presence, and were quick to offer their
comments as soon as Lynne finished reading her essay.
    When the bell rang, Gabbie contained a sigh of relief that the period was over. Barrett
was the last student to leave the room. As he passed her desk, he said softly, "Never make an enemy
of the person in power."
    "What?"
    He walked out as if neither of them had spoken.
    Shaken, she remained in her seat until students started coming in for the next class. I'll
speak to Tim Jordan about him.
    But when she got to the principal's office, the door was closed, indicating he was in
conference. Barrett's guidance counselor was occupied as well. She'd speak to one of them
tomorrow, she promised herself, as she headed to her car.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Gabbie was glad to see it was no longer snowing. The inch or two that had
accumulated overnight was melting under sunny skies. The early afternoon brightness cheered
her.
    She told herself she'd done well her first day of school. She'd taught her lessons and
controlled her classes. The kids were fine, except for Barrett Connelly, and she refused to let herself
get spooked by some weird kid with a maniacal laugh.
    The rest of the day spread before her. For a moment she was tempted to stop at the
diner for a cup of coffee on the off-chance that Darren Rollins would be there. Her heartbeat
quickened as she considered pumping him for information that might help her find Cam's
murderer. Or perhaps he could give her some vital information about Barrett Connelly.
    Bad idea. She sped past the diner. Darren Rollins was the last thing she needed on her
plate. Instead, she drove to the public library.
    The library was surprisingly modern, not what she'd expected in a sleepy little town like
Chrissom Harbor. Instead of heading directly to the circulation desk, Gabbie detoured to a
prominent display of recent best sellers. There were several she'd planned to read but hadn't gotten
around to.
    She stared wistfully at the several carrels equipped with computers. She'd always used
the computer in the office, never bothering to keep one at home. Now she promised herself her
second purchase would be a tablet--after buying a cell phone. At any rate, the library computer
could probably access old newspaper files. She'd love to see what the local paper had to say about
Cam's death.
    When she applied for a library card, she discovered she'd need a copy of her lease to
prove she was a resident. "I'm taking Lydia Ketchem's classes while she recuperates from surgery,"
she told the woman at the circulation desk, "and I'd hoped to get some reference material
today."
    "Oh, we can take care of that.