The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries) by Melissa F. Olson Page B

editorial in the Tribune that made it sound like Lena and the prostitutes had made the whole thing up.  
    Nate thought of his impressions of Lena. Anyone who spent five minutes with her had to realize she wouldn’t do that, right? But then why would Lena quit the police force?
      Nate checked the clock and groaned softly, his thoughts returning to the present. It was after four AM – should he call himself in sick tomorrow, catch up on some sleep? The idea was so tempting; Nate almost sagged with relief at the thought of it...but he couldn’t, he decided finally. He took enough risks as it was – what if the school caught him and tried to report his behavior to Tom? It would be a disaster, definitely not worth the extra sleep. Nate sighed and stood up, checking on his stepfather one more time before heading to his own bed.

8. Maybe That’s a Sign

    On Thursday morning, Nate overslept again, and was late to homeroom, again. His teacher frowned disapprovingly when he scooted in just after the bell, but he gave her an apologetic smile that seemed to pacify her. The news of his father’s cancer had spread through the administration, although most of the teachers seemed to have forgotten the specifics. It was like his name was on some vague, half-acknowledged list of kids to pity, which was fine by him as long as no one got around to asking what he would do when his only parent died.
    Third period was art, and the teacher Mrs. Winnepeg had been leading them through a unit on Oaxacan wood sculpture. Early in the week she had shown the class a PowerPoint on the small, lightweight carvings and the little town in Mexico where the style had originated, and for the last two days the class had been working with their own small chunks of balsawood and small carvings knives, which Winnepeg collected and counted at the end of every class, lest one of her students decide to go on a murder spree with a one-inch blade. Nate had finished his first sculpture a day early, and had gotten permission to start a second; a small, graceful Orca whale. Orcas weren’t part of the Oaxacan tradition, of course, but during study hour Nate had found a website about Inuit carvings, and had resolved to try merging the two styles. He worked the knife gently against the underside of the Orca’s dorsal fin, which he’d decided would flip over, the way Orca fins did in captivity, just because it was harder. By the end of class he was completely absorbed, actually forgetting about morphine prescriptions and home nurse schedules and the DNR. When the bell rang Nate looked up with a start – his classmates were jumping up to leave and he hadn’t begun to pack up his stuff. He was scraping shavings into the garbage when he heard his name called.
    “Nate? Could you stick around for a second? Just for a second?” Winnepeg had a habit of repeating herself, like she was taking it for granted that no one would bother listening the first time. She looked friendly enough, but Nate felt like his heart had stopped beating and adhered itself to his ribcage. This was it. This was the “Nate, what will you do when your dad dies” conversation he’d been expecting for a year. Now that it was happening Nate almost felt relieved – at least there would be no more worrying, no more anxieties about what would happen when the ax fell. Winnepeg would turn him in to Social Services and he’d go into the foster care system and that would become his life. It was all over.
    Shoulders slumping, Nate trudged up to the front of the room and the metal utility stool next to the teacher’s desk. She smiled at him, a thick forty-something Midwesterner with the obligatory chunky bead necklace.
    “Nate, the Oaxacan bird you did yesterday is really good. Really good.” Nate fought to keep his face still. Wait, was this actually about school?
    “I’ve been looking over some of your work for the last few units, and you really have a gift for sculpture. I’ve never seen this