The Headmaster's Wife by Jane Haddam Page B

toddler and buggered him brainless. More than half the cases of priest abuse were against girls, but you never hear about them. The head of the largest organization for priest abuse victims is a woman, but you never hear about her either. You only hear about us.”
    â€œYes,” James said.
    â€œI wish you’d come to your senses,” David said. “I wish you’d think about what you’re doing. I know you don’t like to get involved in causes, but there’s a good reason to get involved in this one: self-preservation. What are you going to do if somebody turns on you in this place? You don’t even have a pension.”
    â€œYes,” James said again. His coffee cup was empty. He couldn’t remember drinking what was in it. There didn’t seem to be any reason to argue with David since he didn’t really disagree with him. Yes, it was a jungle out there. Yes, he could be betrayed and crucified at any moment. Yes, he could lose all he had, which was—what?
    â€œYou know,” he said, “it’s not just a pension; it’s equity.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œEquity. This is a faculty apartment. I don’t own it. Some of the other teachers have bought vacation property, youknow. It doesn’t make sense, if they’re living here, to buy an ordinary house that they wouldn’t use in the school year, so they buy vacation property. But I haven’t even done that. I don’t know why. It never really caught my imagination, real estate.”
    â€œI’m talking about the apocalypse,” David said, “and you’re talking about equity.”
    â€œLook.” James got up. “I went into Boston the week before last and got something to protect myself. It’s not as if I’m ignoring the apocalypse altogether.”
    â€œGot something to protect yourself?” David said. “What are you talking about? There’s no way to protect yourself against false accusations and envy and spite. It’s not the Iraqi War you’re fighting here.”
    â€œWe had protests against the Iraqi War,” James said. He went over to the high-backed secretary and lowered its hinged writing surface. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, one of the few he owned, and it had taken him nearly two years to find and buy it. “These Regency-era writing desks are really wonderful,” he said. “They always have a secret drawer. Do you ever wonder what it must have been like to live in the time of Jane Austen, when people took manners seriously?”
    â€œYou don’t take manners seriously,” David said. “I don’t think you take anything seriously.”
    The secret drawer popped open. James took the gun out and checked it quickly to make sure it was loaded. Then he brought it over to the coffee table and put it down again.
    â€œIt’s brand-new,” he said. “A .45. I don’t know what that means, but I do know that it’s more powerful than a .22. It’s probably not as powerful as a .357 Magnum, but those are hard to get. I thought of a few other possibilities, an antique German Luger, something with style, but in the end it seemed sensible to opt for the utilitarian.”
    â€œYou’re insane,” David said. “They could fire you just for having this. And it wouldn’t do you any good. It’s not the kind of protection you need.”
    â€œMaybe not,” James said, “but it makes me feel better. Ithought about it for a long time, believe me. I don’t know why it does, but it makes me feel better.”
    â€œWhat if somebody gets hold of it and shoots you with it? What if somebody gets hold of it and shoots somebody else with it? What do you think you’re doing?”
    â€œMaybe I’ll shoot Alice Makepeace with it,” James said calmly. “I’ve thought about that, too, you know. It’s truly remarkable how often I think about