for every minute of his time yesterday. He’d know that there was a reason Becca’s mother got full custody of the little girl.
Would he turn out to be the slimy rodent who left that backpack on the playground for Laney to find?
“Every member on the staff is primed to keep an eye on Briana,” Ellen Kline told Laney on Monday outside Briana’s classroom after she dropped her daughter off.
Gnawing her lower lip, Laney watched through the doorway as Briana took her seat and started laughing and chatting with her neighbor. How could the little girl stay so carefree? But then, did she really want her child to be full of fear?
Laney let out a breath. “Thanks, Ellen. I know she’s in good hands.”
“You go and let yourself focus on your students.” Ellen patted Laney’s arm.
“I’ll give it my best shot.” With a wave toward her friend, she headed for her room.
En route, she passed Richard Hodge striding in the other direction with a wrench in his hand. His dark gaze brooded on her, and she shivered. No one complained about the man’s work, and he never caused trouble—other than creeping her out with his dark looks.
She halted and stared at his retreating back. If attitude and opportunity meant anything, he’d be a candidate for the one who left that backpack on the playground. Was she looking at Gracie’s killer? Her stomach twisted. He would have been a teenager at the time, but teens could do awful things. Did anangry adolescent commit a horrible act and grow up into this moody, depressed man? Maybe she should mention the possibility to Noah.
Where had that thought come from? She marched toward her classroom. Principal Ryder had made it clear he wasn’t taking the case.
In her room, she began organizing the day’s material, but her thoughts weren’t on her lesson plans. All weekend, she’d worked on forgiving Noah for his refusal to help. Good thing he hadn’t tried to contact her on Saturday or Sunday—the chicken!—or she might have given him a piece of her mind.
A happy hum of giggles and childish shouts and clattering locker doors carried to Laney’s ears. Town kids trickling in. It was too early for the buses to have arrived. One of her students wandered through her door to collect his morning hug. The child then left for his regular classroom. As much as possible, the special needs children were mainstreamed, and she saw them in groups or singly on a specific schedule each day.
About fifteen minutes before school was due to start, the noise outside her door increased exponentially. The buses had dumped their loads. She could expect a few more visitors before class went into session. Soon first grader Mathilda Stier, a high-functioning Down’s child, stepped through her door. She barely crept toward Laney’s desk, cradling a shoebox tied with string as if it contained eggs.
What had she thought to bring her? Her students were always dropping off little gifts. Last week it had been a sparkly rock from Gordon, and the week before that Sheree thought she’d love a goose feather from her family’s farm. Maybe the box really did contain a bird’s nest of eggs.
“What have you got there, Mattie?” Laney asked.
The little girl beamed her pleasant, vague smile and held out the box. “For you, Miss Thompson. It’s a pweasant.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She took the offering. It wasn’t light enough to be feathers or heavy enough to be rocks. “I wonder what it could be.”
Mathilda shrugged her small shoulders. Still smiling, she left.
Grinning, Laney studied the string. It ran around the short side of the box, then looped on the bottom to come up again the long way and tie in a knot on top. Mathilda hadn’t done this. Velcro was her thing. Her mother must have helped. Laney took her scissors from her desk drawer and snipped the string. She flipped the cover off the box, and her smile iced over.
She fought for breath, but her lungs thought all the oxygen had been
Would he turn out to be the slimy rodent who left that backpack on the playground for Laney to find?
“Every member on the staff is primed to keep an eye on Briana,” Ellen Kline told Laney on Monday outside Briana’s classroom after she dropped her daughter off.
Gnawing her lower lip, Laney watched through the doorway as Briana took her seat and started laughing and chatting with her neighbor. How could the little girl stay so carefree? But then, did she really want her child to be full of fear?
Laney let out a breath. “Thanks, Ellen. I know she’s in good hands.”
“You go and let yourself focus on your students.” Ellen patted Laney’s arm.
“I’ll give it my best shot.” With a wave toward her friend, she headed for her room.
En route, she passed Richard Hodge striding in the other direction with a wrench in his hand. His dark gaze brooded on her, and she shivered. No one complained about the man’s work, and he never caused trouble—other than creeping her out with his dark looks.
She halted and stared at his retreating back. If attitude and opportunity meant anything, he’d be a candidate for the one who left that backpack on the playground. Was she looking at Gracie’s killer? Her stomach twisted. He would have been a teenager at the time, but teens could do awful things. Did anangry adolescent commit a horrible act and grow up into this moody, depressed man? Maybe she should mention the possibility to Noah.
Where had that thought come from? She marched toward her classroom. Principal Ryder had made it clear he wasn’t taking the case.
In her room, she began organizing the day’s material, but her thoughts weren’t on her lesson plans. All weekend, she’d worked on forgiving Noah for his refusal to help. Good thing he hadn’t tried to contact her on Saturday or Sunday—the chicken!—or she might have given him a piece of her mind.
A happy hum of giggles and childish shouts and clattering locker doors carried to Laney’s ears. Town kids trickling in. It was too early for the buses to have arrived. One of her students wandered through her door to collect his morning hug. The child then left for his regular classroom. As much as possible, the special needs children were mainstreamed, and she saw them in groups or singly on a specific schedule each day.
About fifteen minutes before school was due to start, the noise outside her door increased exponentially. The buses had dumped their loads. She could expect a few more visitors before class went into session. Soon first grader Mathilda Stier, a high-functioning Down’s child, stepped through her door. She barely crept toward Laney’s desk, cradling a shoebox tied with string as if it contained eggs.
What had she thought to bring her? Her students were always dropping off little gifts. Last week it had been a sparkly rock from Gordon, and the week before that Sheree thought she’d love a goose feather from her family’s farm. Maybe the box really did contain a bird’s nest of eggs.
“What have you got there, Mattie?” Laney asked.
The little girl beamed her pleasant, vague smile and held out the box. “For you, Miss Thompson. It’s a pweasant.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She took the offering. It wasn’t light enough to be feathers or heavy enough to be rocks. “I wonder what it could be.”
Mathilda shrugged her small shoulders. Still smiling, she left.
Grinning, Laney studied the string. It ran around the short side of the box, then looped on the bottom to come up again the long way and tie in a knot on top. Mathilda hadn’t done this. Velcro was her thing. Her mother must have helped. Laney took her scissors from her desk drawer and snipped the string. She flipped the cover off the box, and her smile iced over.
She fought for breath, but her lungs thought all the oxygen had been
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