through. And maybe Bill was an anomaly. It could be that he was the only one who looked like a post-retirement brown shirt with a belly.
The analogy made me grin slightly. I half-expected Bill to chastise me for daring to show a smile in his presence, but he still wasn’t talking to me.
He wasn’t taking any chances on being dismissed again, either. When we reached a door that opened into a short hallway, he merely pointed and held up three fingers. I walked in and he remained in the hallway.
The third office belonged to Mr. Gary LeMond, according to the placard outside the door. Behind a cluttered desk, a man in his late thirties leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head and his eyes closed.
I took the opportunity to study him. He was slender, though not the kind of slender a runner or a swimmer tends to be. More like the kind of slender that is simply a gift from God—blessed to never be fat, but denied every attempt to develop some muscle anywhere. His sandy brown hair seemed too long for a high school teacher in such a conservative town . He hadn’t shaved, as there was intermittent stubble on his cheeks and chin. His mustache cut sharply downward over his lips and along the sides of his mouth. Another half-inch on both sides and it would fall into the category of porn mustache.
His face was relaxed, but I didn’t think he was asleep. He wore a pair of black Dockers and a gray sweater with a severe design on it. A pair of John Lennon glasses sat on the desk in front of him.
I knocked on the threshold and his eyes popped open. “Yes?”
“Mr. LeMond?”
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure,” he said with a deep breath. “Sorry about that. Just envisioning some blocking for the play we’re producing.”
I stuck out my hand. “Stefan Kopriva.”
“Gary LeMond,” he said and took it. His handshake was negligible, all touch and no grip . “Sit down.”
I took a seat next to his desk.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his hands clasped behind his head again.
“I’m trying to locate Kris Sinderling for her father,” I said.
There was an uncomfortable flicker in his eyes, then it was gone. He rotated slightly left and right in his seat and watched me.
“You’re not the police,” he finally said.
“No,” I told him. “I’m just looking into this for her father.”
He nodded and continued to rotate left and then right. “Well, anything I can do to help, you got it.”
“Thanks.”
“Kris is a special kid. I hope she’s okay.”
“Special how?”
LeMond smiled then. “Come on. Have you ever met her?”
I shook my head.
“Seen a picture?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know.”
I shrugged.
LeMond’s smile darkened. “Okay, go ahead and play dumb, Mr… what was it ?”
“Kopriva.”
“Okay, Mr. Kopriva. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you don’t see Kris’s special qualities, even in a photograph?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose?” His dark smile deepened. “Well, let me tell you this—if all you saw was a picture, you have no idea what kind of magnetism that young woman has. She commands the attention of a crowd, draws them to the edge of their seat s and leaves them haunted afterward.”
“Powerful words.”
He shrugged. “True words.”
“Still,” I said. “Pretty powerful description for a sixteen - year - old girl.”
“Art has no age,” LeMond said. “And she is beyond her years, anyway.”
“You seem quite taken with her.”
LeMond’s eyes snapped to me. “Be careful, Mr. Kopriva.” He waggled his hand, indicating the adjoining offices. “Teachers are the worst gossips known to man.”
“I’m just saying—“
“And I’m just saying, be careful. That’s how rumors start and become fact, as far as anyone cares to look, anyway.”
I didn’t answer, but the small hairs on the back of my neck bristled on end.
“I am a teacher,” LeMond said after
The analogy made me grin slightly. I half-expected Bill to chastise me for daring to show a smile in his presence, but he still wasn’t talking to me.
He wasn’t taking any chances on being dismissed again, either. When we reached a door that opened into a short hallway, he merely pointed and held up three fingers. I walked in and he remained in the hallway.
The third office belonged to Mr. Gary LeMond, according to the placard outside the door. Behind a cluttered desk, a man in his late thirties leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head and his eyes closed.
I took the opportunity to study him. He was slender, though not the kind of slender a runner or a swimmer tends to be. More like the kind of slender that is simply a gift from God—blessed to never be fat, but denied every attempt to develop some muscle anywhere. His sandy brown hair seemed too long for a high school teacher in such a conservative town . He hadn’t shaved, as there was intermittent stubble on his cheeks and chin. His mustache cut sharply downward over his lips and along the sides of his mouth. Another half-inch on both sides and it would fall into the category of porn mustache.
His face was relaxed, but I didn’t think he was asleep. He wore a pair of black Dockers and a gray sweater with a severe design on it. A pair of John Lennon glasses sat on the desk in front of him.
I knocked on the threshold and his eyes popped open. “Yes?”
“Mr. LeMond?”
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure,” he said with a deep breath. “Sorry about that. Just envisioning some blocking for the play we’re producing.”
I stuck out my hand. “Stefan Kopriva.”
“Gary LeMond,” he said and took it. His handshake was negligible, all touch and no grip . “Sit down.”
I took a seat next to his desk.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his hands clasped behind his head again.
“I’m trying to locate Kris Sinderling for her father,” I said.
There was an uncomfortable flicker in his eyes, then it was gone. He rotated slightly left and right in his seat and watched me.
“You’re not the police,” he finally said.
“No,” I told him. “I’m just looking into this for her father.”
He nodded and continued to rotate left and then right. “Well, anything I can do to help, you got it.”
“Thanks.”
“Kris is a special kid. I hope she’s okay.”
“Special how?”
LeMond smiled then. “Come on. Have you ever met her?”
I shook my head.
“Seen a picture?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know.”
I shrugged.
LeMond’s smile darkened. “Okay, go ahead and play dumb, Mr… what was it ?”
“Kopriva.”
“Okay, Mr. Kopriva. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you don’t see Kris’s special qualities, even in a photograph?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose?” His dark smile deepened. “Well, let me tell you this—if all you saw was a picture, you have no idea what kind of magnetism that young woman has. She commands the attention of a crowd, draws them to the edge of their seat s and leaves them haunted afterward.”
“Powerful words.”
He shrugged. “True words.”
“Still,” I said. “Pretty powerful description for a sixteen - year - old girl.”
“Art has no age,” LeMond said. “And she is beyond her years, anyway.”
“You seem quite taken with her.”
LeMond’s eyes snapped to me. “Be careful, Mr. Kopriva.” He waggled his hand, indicating the adjoining offices. “Teachers are the worst gossips known to man.”
“I’m just saying—“
“And I’m just saying, be careful. That’s how rumors start and become fact, as far as anyone cares to look, anyway.”
I didn’t answer, but the small hairs on the back of my neck bristled on end.
“I am a teacher,” LeMond said after
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