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Prologue
Present Day
Melanie Drake was absentmindedly tapping the pen she was holding on top of the yellow pad that sat beside her daily planner. Not quite forty and living in the midst of technology, she was still hooked on pen, pencil, and paper. She was convinced the act of writing something down made a stronger connection to one’s memory. It was also a popular means of communication among criminals. No electronic footprint. But more on that later.
Yes, she had a cellphone. Yes, she kept things in her phone calendar, but for Melanie that was backup. As soon as she returned to her office, she would jot down whatever new appointment had been made. Then she would scribble it on the wall calendar that was hanging in her linen closet. If it was in front of her face, there was an excellent chance she would remember.
She glanced at her schedule for the day: routine grammar school guidance counselor agenda. She checked the clock above her door. The yelling, shrieking, laughing voices were about to descend on Jesse Moorer Elementary. Her first task of the day was to maintain order in the hallway.
Miss Drake stood outside her office door and greeted the children as they attempted to stampede their way to their classrooms. “Good morning, everyone. Slow down, please. Mind your manners. Be polite.” She must have repeated those words at least a dozen times before the early morning bell rang. Every. Single. Day. And always with a genuine smile on her face.
After years of investigating criminals who clearly didn’t follow the rules, she believed bad behavior should be nipped in the bud, meaning at a very young age. She loved being on hand to help shape a new generation of respect and integrity. If she could save one child from a life of felonious activity, then she’d done something good for the world. And that was why Melanie “MelDrake” Drake ultimately became a guidance counselor.
This was the first year of Melanie’s second career. Admittedly, it was a bit unusual for someone to start working in the educational system just as they were about to turn forty. Normally it went the other way around. Teachers and counselors entered the field right after college and graduate work; and after twenty years, they retired or entered a different field or started a small cottage business. But Melanie’s prior career had taken its toll on her: physically, emotionally, romantically, and spiritually. Yep. It damaged pretty much everything, but it was a means to an end. Luckily it didn’t end her.
PART ONE
The Rules
Chapter One
The Summer of Change
It was 1992 when Melanie became a stickler for rules. She was between second and third grade and spending most of the summer in traction with a broken leg, broken arm, and healing from stitches that ran from her right eyebrow to her earlobe. Someone had run a red light and T-boned the family car. She was in the right rear passenger seat and got the brunt of the collision. It took many conversations with her parents to convince her she was lucky. “It could have been worse.” Of course, an eight-year-old who was stuck in bed while her friends were outside playing couldn’t imagine anything worse.
Melanie was also very bright. One day she asked her father, “Why did this happen?”
He contemplated the answer. Instead of getting into a philosophical discussion with his eight-year-old, he decided to keep it simple: “Because someone wasn’t following the rules.” She thought about what he’d said as she furrowed her brow. Those words would be forever etched into her consciousness.
That particular summer, the internet was in its infancy. For the general public, it required a dedicated dial-up phone line. It also required a personal computer, something that was lacking in many households at that time, leaving Melanie with meager choices of activities that could be pursued from her stationary position.
Yes, Melanie’s options were limited. Visitors would come, but it was summer. No one wanted to be stuck inside on a sunny day. When friends came over, they would play board games until they literally became bored. When she didn’t have kids her age around, she worked on puzzles or reading. She had a boom box, but the selection of music on the radio was all over the place. It ranged from hip-hop to ballads and everything in between. The DJ’s favorite seemed to be that “Achy Breaky Heart.” It was a catchy tune. It didn’t hurt that Billy Ray Cyrus was cute, either. But how many times could you listen to it? Besides, it made her want to get up and dance, which was out of the question. Back to the books.
Because she was sequestered in her bedroom, her parents decided to put a small TV in her room. Depending on who was babysitting, TV programs ranged from Perry Mason to Dukes of Hazzard. Oddly enough, Melanie preferred Perry Mason. She was transfixed, scrutinizing the characters, following every twist of the plot. Her ability to spot the criminal was uncanny. Her parents were concerned the content of the show was a bit sinister for an eight-year-old, but her aunt Lucy insisted it sharpened her grand-niece’s mind.
Then Columbo went into syndication, and they added another show to their roster, laughing at the disheveled detective, knowing his cunning would solve the crime. Even though the audience knew who the perpetrator was at the beginning, it fascinated Melanie to see how Columbo figured it out. So Melanie and her aunt made a pact. They wouldn’t tell her parents what they watched when they were together. They claimed they were watching game shows. Melanie knew she was fibbing, but she wasn’t breaking any rules. At least not obvious ones. Her parents never prohibited her from doing anything. They were confident their clever daughter had the sense to understand what was good and bad, even at her young age.
When Aunt Lucy wasn’t around and Melanie was stuck with the ditsy babysitter, Melanie opted for seclusion with her stack of books. She devoured the Nancy Drew series and then entered the world of Harriet The Spy. Her penchant for solving mysteries led to solving puzzles. She could whiz through at least one puzzle book a day. By September, she had far outpaced her classmates’ reading skills, giving her an edge over her fellow students. But Melanie didn’t brag about it. She liked the idea of having a special skill she could call upon to wow the teacher and stun the classroom. A talent in the making: gathering information.
One afternoon that summer, her uncle Leo visited and brought several decks of playing cards. She pouted at first. She was sick of Go Fish and Crazy Eights. But when he made several cards from an Uno deck disappear, she was enthralled. She wriggled in the only possible way she could with one arm flailing and her good leg lightly bouncing on the bed. He was delighted his niece was interested in his much-loved hobby and promised to teach her a new trick every week. By the time her cast came off, she had mastered a good number of magic tricks. Sleight of hand was one of her favorites. One of her discoveries was how to write secret messages in lemon juice. But she needed an adult to iron the paper to be able to read what she wrote. She would keep that particular talent in her personal mental vault. She also appreciated the unspoken rule about never divulging the secrets of the tricks.
The casts came off in mid-August, allowing Melanie time to regain her strength before school started. She knew she wouldn’t be able to play most games, so she memorized the rules of soccer, softball, and hockey, another bit of knowledge she could put in her repository of talent and information.
She scrutinized her appearance with a handheld mirror and stared at the zipper-like scar that ran along the side of her face. Her father told her it was a “badge of honor,” although she couldn’t figure out what the “honor” part of it meant. To her, it was an ugly red mark about which she was sure to be teased. She believed if she had a limp and a scar, it would certainly arouse mockery, and she tried valiantly to mitigate the potential for ridicule. She let her short black hair grow past her collarbone and practiced tilting her head to cover the scar. She realized she couldn’t walk around with her head cocked to one side, though. Her mother found a scar-treatment serum she applied several times a day. But it was obvious to her that the scar wasn’t going anywhere. Therefore, she was diligent about her physical therapy, and by the time school started, she walked with a normal gait.
Chapter Two
Back to School
Secretly Melanie dreaded the first day of school. Her anxiety about the reception she would get was growing with every step down the sidewalk. But friends she hadn’t seen were happy to greet her, and much to her surprise, her classmates seemed intrigued by her accident and scar. Some of them even thought it was “cool.”
Melanie thought otherwise. She was waiting for the moment when someone called her Frankenstein. But it never came. Maybe it was pity. Kids were weird. It was hard to say what would cause them to make someone the brunt of a cruel joke. At least she didn’t limp. A limp and a scar. Both would have been too much to bear. She’d started the school day full of anxiety, but by noon, Melanie was feeling normal. Maybe kids weren’t as cruel as she imagined. When she showed some of her tricks during lunch, they were in awe and begged to learn how she did them. She stared her audience down with a deadpan expression. “I cannot tell you. Do not ask me again.” Her response earned different reactions. The girls giggled, and the boys began to call her “MelDrake the Magician.” Part of that nickname would stay with her for years to come.
* * *
While Melanie insisted on following rules, she was not a tattletale. No. Rather than be branded a snitch, she took matters into her own hands.
One morning, right after the Pledge of Allegiance, just as the class was sitting down, she noticed Richie Burke pull something from his sleeve. It was a plastic straw. She tilted her head to catch a glimpse of what he might be up to. He was in the last seat in the row next to the windows. Melanie was in the adjacent row, and one seat up. They were seated catty-corner to each other.
