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Oh, no!
She eased even closer to the bathroom as the reverend’s muffled voice penetrated the door. “Well, I hope to high heaven that the FBI does show up,” he said as Jules slid from behind his desk toward the bathroom door. “Someone has to do something!”
Who was he talking to? Hopefully someone who would keep him distracted long enough for her to escape.
“Absolutely!”
The door was shouldered open just as Jules slipped into the restroom, the door whispering shut behind her.
“Yes, yes, I know. T
rust me, I’m aware that we’ve got a serious problem,” Lynch was saying.
The lock clicked softly under her fingertips. Her heart raced madly as she listened to Lynch’s footsteps thumping through his office. Should she stay? Or should she try to leave now, out the door to the hallway and, if he found her, use the same excuse she had given Wade and Takasumi?
Lynch was still talking, his voice rising to be heard, but no one responded, and she guessed he was on his phone. “I know that! Just get someone up here … What? Sheriff? You’re cutting out! Can you hear me?” A pause. “Sheriff O’Donnell? Can you hear me?” Another long pause and Jules hardly dared breathe. “Sheriff? Oh, heavens. Blaine? If you can hear me, I can’t hear you. I’m hanging up now. Call me back!”
Then only silence.
Jules didn’t dare move as sweat dripped down her back. She stood, ear to the door, listening hard, every instinct in her body insisting she run.
Be patient.
Just wait.
Maybe you’ll learn something.
She closed her eyes.
Concentrated.
Through the door she heard a click—a lock—then the rumble of a large drawer being opened. She bit her lip, tried to slow her breathing.
Slap! Papers being tossed onto his desk?
Slap! Again.
“That should do it,” he said, his voice lower as his footsteps crossed the room again, coming closer. Jules hardly dared breathe. She took a step back only to hear a creaking, metallic noise, the sweep of metal against metal. “Here we go.”
Whoosh!
Air? What was that?
Closing her eyes, she pressed her ear to the space where the bathroom door fit against the jamb. She willed her loud heartbeat to slow and heard a soft hiss and crackle … the fire. He was messing with the fire.
In her mind’s eye, she saw flames. Where only minutes before there had been merely glowing coals.
So why would he stoke the … Oh, God. With a sinking feeling, she understood—he was burning something, not for heat and not because he was housecleaning in the middle of the night, but to destroy whatever it was. No doubt the sheriff’s call had propelled him back to the office to get rid of …
The damned files!
Heartsick, she understood: There was something damaging in the files, so Lynch had decided to get rid of them before the sheriff’s department or some other law enforcement agency returned to the school. Once the storm abated, Blue Rock Academy would be inundated with parents, police, and the press.
There would be no quick double-talk or platitudes. The school would be put under a microscope. Two students had been brutally murdered, the killing ground a macabre scene that would have investigators and reporters crawling all over the campus.
And Lynch was taking pains to get rid of some of his private papers in the middle of the night. Evidence of something was being destroyed. If she’d only come back here earlier …
Faintly, she heard music. Strains of the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
