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She shrugged. “We have no secret. Just good kids from good homes.”
“What about Eddy Jones?”
Ms. Teller sighed. “The exception to the rule, I suppose. Like I said, we tried to help him. He’s been through a lot, especially at such a young age. I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s got to count for something.”
Eddy’s hardships might be hard to swallow, but Ms. Teller was right, it didn’t excuse his horrible decisions. They’d already discussed Eddy. He needed a different tactic if he wanted to gain new information. “Did you hear Damon Silas was shot?”
Ms. Teller gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She winced and dropped the dirty glove-covered hand to her side. “What happened?”
“I can’t discuss the specifics, but the timing is suspicious. First Eddy is connected to assorted crimes, then the one teacher you claim was able to get through to him was gunned down. Would Eddy have an axe to grind against his teacher? Was their relationship ever inappropriate?”
Ms. Teller shook her head and picked up a small pot from the ground, placing it in front of her on the potting bench. “Never. Mr. Silas is a great teacher and a nice guy. He tried everything to help that boy.”
“Have there been any complaints, from parents or students, regarding Mr. Silas?” Owen asked, taking a step closer.
Ms. Teller busied her hands with soil and flowers, taking her time in answering the question.
Silence wove through them and caused tension to pulse in Owen’s head. “Even if it was a little complaint, something that seems petty or of little consequence, you need to tell me.”
Ms. Teller drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Silas has taken more time off than usual the past month. I try to be lenient when staff needs personal time, and I figured he had a good reason for needing it. A couple different substitutes have taken over his class, and there have been a few complaints about missing equipment.”
Owen’s heart kick-started into high gear. “Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”
Ms. Teller swallowed hard. “I didn’t think it mattered. Students lose or break things all the time.”
Owen swore under his breath and shook his head. Frustration rippled through him. “Thank you for your time.”
He turned to leave, and something caught his eye in the corner of the room. A wooden crossbow sat tucked beside a black tarp. Pivoting to face Ms. Teller, he fought the muscles that threatened to display his emotions on his face. “Do you hunt?”
Ms. Teller laughed. “Absolutely not.”
He nodded toward the corner. “Then why do you have a bow?”
Ms. Teller lifted herself on her toes to glance in the direction he indicated and shrugged. “When my ex took off, he left behind a lot of his stuff. He liked to hunt. Must have forgotten he had that in here.”
Owen pressed his lips together. “All right. Let me know if you think of anything else that could be of use.”
He rushed to his car as a clap of thunder boomed in the distance. A storm was coming, and he needed to be prepared. Something told him Ms. Teller was in the eye of the impending hurricane.
Silence loomed over the house Marie had grown to love. Once they’d returned to Lewis’, Katherine left and Marie settled Lewis and Nora in for the evening. The bond she shared with the ornery old man ran deeper with every passing hour. Leaving him would be hard when all this was over—almost as hard as leaving Owen.
Darkness blanketed the living room, the only light bursting from the laptop on Owen’s thighs. Marie ran a hand over her tangled strands of hair and stepped into the room. She turned on the lamp on the end table and sent a soft glow around the space.
She loved the simple comforts of this warm home. The worn rug on the floor, framed pictures of kids cluttered on every available surface, and antique furniture in cheerful tones.
Luxuries of any kind didn’t exist in the trailer she’d grown up in. Whatever money she made went to essentials—food, electricity, clothes. Whatever her mom earned fed her habit before her children. Crocheted blankets and pink depression-ware bowls filled with old candy were as far from her world as the moon and the stars.
Settling beside Owen, she tried not to stare open-mouthed at his sexily-tousled hair and the tight fabric stretched over his toned biceps. God, she hoped drool didn’t linger at the corner of her mouth. “Find anything useful?”
The crooked grin he shot her was just full enough to enhance his dimples. “No. I can’t find anything about who Patricia Teller dated. She has no marriages on record. Nothing else I’ve found stands out.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Owen leaned forward and grabbed a pink notebook from the coffee table. “How about you glance through the journal, while I navigate the budget from the school?” Owen handed her the book they’d found in Erica’s apartment.
She ran the top of her finger along the smooth cover. Had Erica scribbled everything she thought could be important in this book, or just key information? Had she spent hours pouring over every word the same way she had over the past months in her own notebook?
Straightening, Marie faced Owen and allowed herself one little peek at his broad shoulders before meeting his eyes. “Where’s my notebook?”
