Death Dangles a Participle (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series) by E. E. Kennedy Page B

our stares. He briskly slapped both hands on his desktop, swiveled a smile around the room and said, “Now. Where were we?”
    By the time I left the principal’s office, I was sick at both heart and stomach. Mr. Berghauser, apparently in a hurry, had once more superseded my authority and changed the girl’s grade to passing, calling it amnesty and giving her a lecture about future consequences.
    For all the good it would do. Serendipity was well aware of the hefty discount Shea’s Quality Sporting Goods gave our phys ed department and knew that as long as the high school received a steady supply of low-priced pigskin and bargain kneepads, she could jolly well do as she pleased. I watched the principal’s stern words ricochet off her multiply-pierced ears and into the nearby wastepaper basket.
    By the time they left, all three Sheas wore sly, triumphant expressions and were pointedly ignoring me.
    The queasy feeling followed me into the restroom. The face that looked back from the mirror had an injured, defeated expression . “I used to like my job,” I told the face and splashed it with cool water.
    The class bell rang, and the thunder of three hundred sneakers shook the hallway.
    Two girls pushed through the restroom door. “But how did you know? I mean, the—”
    Their animated conversation broke off abruptly when they saw me. Meekly, each one sought the sanctuary of a stall.
    I blotted my face with a damp paper towel; there was no use leaving just yet. On occasion, the high school hallways markedly resembled the streets of Pamplona at bull-running time. Wisdo m dictated waiting until the crowds thinned a little.
    The door slammed open. “Brenda!” It was diminutive Micki Davenport, panting. “You won’t believe it! It’s just so cool!”
    “What?” Brenda and her companion responded in unison from behind their respective doors.
    Micki spared me only a cursory glance. “There’s police out there! In the hall!” She pointed, as though her friends could see through the thick stall doors. “They’re taking away some guys in handcuffs!”
    I didn’t wait to hear more, but snatched up my things and left. The hall was emptying fast into the large study hall. I followed the stream of curious traffic to where people were lined up three deep at the second floor windows that overlooked the school parking lot. Somebody had managed to wrest several of them wide open, and frigid winter air was filling the large room.
    Just this once, I pulled rank, squirming my way to a windowsill in time to see J.T. and Dustin Rousseau being led to a police car, their hands cuffed behind them.
    “What’d ya climb this time?” someone yelled.
    Hearty laughter followed, but the brothers weren’t responding with their usual swaggering bravado. J.T. looked up, and though he was some distance away, I was sure I saw an expression of pure fear in his eyes.
    He said something to his brother, who nudged him crossly before the officers separated them. A police officer laid a hand on the top of his head and guided it inside the squad car.
    The police cars sped away, leaving me trembling with anger. Whatever the Rousseau boys’ transgression was, they hadn’t deserved this public humiliation!
    “Has anyone called their father?” I asked of the crowd of snickering adolescents. They just snickered some more.
    “That’s enough,” I said firmly. “Kenny, you and Damien lower these windows. The rest of you get to your classes. I believe there’s a study hall scheduled in here this period.” I received a grateful look from the presiding teacher, who had just entered and was clearly bewildered by the fuss.
    I swept out of the room and stalked down the hallway to the principal’s office. The windowed door clattered as I closed it hard. I was about to walk past the secretary’s desk and into Berghauser’s office when Olive stopped me with one word.
    “Don’t!” She spoke, as she always did, with her eyes on the computer screen and