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Hell, this was a crime, and he was a crime writer. It’s what he did for a living. Who he was.
He damn well wasn’t going to apologize for that.
But somehow, there had to be a way to make Allie see his side of things. Because the more he was around her, and the more he knew about her, the more he wanted to get to know her better.
A lot better.
And that, he realized, was nearly as dangerous as coming face-to-face with a killer.
At least with a killer, he had a fifty-fifty shot at coming out of it unscathed.
…
The roast beef was like chalk in Sam’s mouth.
He swallowed it as best he could and chased it down with some water. Across the table, his mother slipped a piece of a red potato in her mouth, unaware of the dark thoughts plaguing him. If he were more like Allie—determined to see only the best in Mr. Williams—he’d be able to dismiss the Spanish teacher’s accusation more easily.
But in his line of work, nothing could be ignored, no matter how prepostero
us the claims might be. And this one…well, he didn’t believe it was as preposterous as Allie seemed to think.
Mr. Williams could very well have been sleeping with a married woman.
“Is everything tasting all right?” his mother asked, glancing at his still full plate.
The dark shadows under her eyes reminded him how tired she must be feeling, even if she was too proud to admit it, pasting on a wide smile to pretend nothing was wrong. But she was sick, damn it. Really sick. Phase three breast cancer. And even with the surgery to remove the tumor a couple of weeks ago and the chemotherapy treatments she was undergoing, the prognosis remained uncertain.
“Dinner is great, Mom. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“If you mean by telling Patty what I’d like for tonight’s menu, then it was no trouble at all.”
“As long as you’re not putting yourself out for my benefit.” His water glass was empty, so he grabbed the wineglass and took a sip. “Why didn’t Aunt Kathy stay for dinner?”
“Oh, you know your Uncle Fred. He couldn’t even heat up a can of soup if his life depended on it.” She made a face. “How are things going at the school? Are you enjoying your classes? The students?”
Perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better opening.
“Things are going well. Teaching isn’t as easy as it looks, but I’m enjoying it.” He thought about how he could broach his questions delicately. “The classroom I’m in is actually next door to Mr. William’s old classroom. Allison McBride has it now. She’s the one at the planning meeting who got it in her head to make that video in Mr. William’s memory,” he explained. “She was grateful you supported the idea.”
His mother nodded and picked up her wine. “A very persistent little thing. I imagine she was disappointed the fire destroyed everything down in the archives.”
“Persistent is right. She’s still determined to make the video despite the fire. She’s been taping and interviewing people who knew Mr. Williams for whatever footage she can get.”
“Really?” His mom sipped her wine, a strange light in her eyes. “And who has she spoken to so far? Anyone I might know?”
“The biology teacher, Tim Allred. We were on the varsity soccer team together. Brother Luther, Señora Sanchez. I believe she still plans to speak to Liz Fuller, the P.E. teacher, Jeremy, and any other members of the administration who are willing.”
“Señora Sanchez? Interesting choice. What did she have to say?” The question was casual, but he could see a tiny muscle tick just below his mother’s eye. His heart sank a little.
He toyed with his roast. “Not much, actually. Just gossip.”
“I remember the woman. She was your Spanish teacher and was going through a nasty divorce when we first met her. She couldn’t stop hitting on your father. It was downright embarrassing. Your father found it amusing, though. Needless to say, after your freshman year, I opted to let him handle any dealings with her at school. I can’t imagine she’d have anything useful to say. Or Jeremy, for that matter.”
That struck him as odd. “Jeremy was a guidance counselor on the faculty back then. I would think they’d have worked together. Enough to have a few words to say about the man.”
“Hmm. I seem to recall there being some rivalry between them. Mr. Borrows, the vice-principal, was moving back to Washington, and Jeremy and Jackson Williams were both being considered for the position. Jeremy wasn’t a big supporter of Mr. Williams.” She started to take another drink and paused. “By the way. What was that rumor Señora Sanchez was trying to spread?”
Interesting choice of words. “That Mr. Williams was having an affair with the mother of one of the students. A married mother, apparently.”
