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Who could blame them?
Beyond the windows, snow floated down
as it had all day. Big, fluffy flakes swirled lazily from the heavens, adding a serene blanket of white to the grounds, capping the trees, coating the walkways.
The campus looked idyllic and peaceful, though it was anything but calm. The students were freaked, and already, Charla King, the school secretary, reported that a few frantic parents had phoned. Someone had leaked the information. Perhaps it was an employee of the school, the sheriff’s department, or the hospital where Drew Prescott now lay in critical condition.
Whatever the source of the leak, the word was out. Hammersley had helped Reverend Lynch field a few calls from the media. One television van was parked at the main gates, and if the weather improved, helicopters would be buzzing overhead, trying to film the campus. In fact, the weather was the one thing staving off eager reporters, terrified parents, and scads of law enforcement agencies. Old tragedies like the Conway girl’s disappearance and Maris Howell’s alleged sexual involvement with a student would be revisited.
Dark times ahead for Blue Rock.
Worry consumed her as she walked across the open area with the conversation pit and stone fireplace, where a fire was burning low, hissing softly in the grate. Despite Blue Rock’s faults, she loved this place; she believed in its mission. Over the past few years, she had seen much good come of the counseling and positive leadership provided to the kids who came here. They arrived jaded and burned out, some so lost it was hard to see a glimmer of hope in their eyes. Turning these kids around was not an easy task, but she’d always believed that nothing worthwhile came easily. They needed help, and by the grace of God, she was here to give it.
Keeping watch over the students, pod leaders pretended to work quietly, their books and notes scattered around them. Which pod leader should she send to pick up the new teacher at the gate? She scanned the group and decided on Cooper Trent, who had already been questioned by deputies and detectives. In his absence Wade Taggert and the other pod leaders, Adele Burdette and Tyeesha Williams, could ride herd over this dejected group. Besides, those three had also already given their statements.
Reverend Lynch had retreated to his office, where he juggled complaints and inquiries from the sheriff’s department, students, staff, and parents. Rhonda was relieved that it had fallen on Lynch’s shoulders to handle Nona Vickers’s grief-riddled father, as well as the parents of Drew Prescott, who were driving to Medford to join their son. If it weren’t for the beast of a storm, parents would be pulling their kids out or demanding they be flown out, which was impossible in this snow. The seaplane was grounded until the snowstorm lifted, although Lynch was so intent on getting Cora Sue on campus that he’d booked her on a commercial airliner and sent Spurrier to retrieve her in the school’s Jeep, once she landed in Medford.
With all of the impending scandal and media attention, the reverend was desperate to have his lovely, dedicated wife at his side for comfort and, of course, for appearances in front of the media.
Again, Hammersley glanced outside. The weather service had predicted that this would be the mother of all storms, up to three feet of snow to be dumped in the next two days. That meant isolation. The school had generators and snowplows, but even so, the roads would be treacherous if not impassable for a while. Lack of access would certainly stymie the homicide investigation and exacerbate the isolation of the campus.
It was a wonder that Julia Farentino was still ready to take the job, though no one would want to turn back through that storm in the mountains.
Cooper Trent sat on a bench near the fire, his hands clasped between his knees. He looked up as Hammersley approached. “Any word on Drew?” he asked.
She shook her head, then sat on the bench next to him. “I don’t know anything more than before—surgery, then, if he pulls through, he’ll be in ICU. His parents have been notified; his mother and stepfather are driving to Medford from Bakersfield, California. Reverend Lynch left a message for the biological father in Las Vegas, but that’s all I know.”
Trent nodded, his thoughtful scowl intact.
She asked, “How about doing me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“I’ve got the new teacher coming in, and I haven’t been interviewed yet. Could you pick her up? I think it would be better than having her wait in the guardhouse for the supply van.”
“You finally hired someone?” Trent asked, obviously surprised. Lowering his voice, he asked, “You’re bringing someone into this hornet’s nest?”
Hammersley shrugged. “She was already on her way, though I warned her that there’s been an accident.”
“An accident?” Trent frowned as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, that’s really whitewashing it, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t really say anything until I was certain that the next of kin had been notified.”
“Nona’s dad?”
Hammersley nodded. Whit Vickers was a single parent, Nona’s mom long out of the picture. An only child, Nona wasn’t a bad kid, just offtrack. Poor girl.
“You just didn’t want to lose the new recruit,” he said, eyes accusing. “If I pick her up, I’ll tell her the truth.”
Of course he would. He never sugarcoated anything. He usually wasn’t harsh, just a straight shooter. Even so, Hammersley thought something about him didn’t ring quite true; she wouldn’t be surprised if Trent had a skeleton or two hidden away in his own closet.
So join the club.
“I’m not keeping secrets,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Fine, tell her.” Why not? The minute Julia Farentino drove into the parking lot by the main gate and saw the television van and county vehicles, she’d know that the incident was something more than just an “accident.” Hammersley handed Trent the keys to one of the school’s Jeeps. “Normally, Reverend Lynch would want to handle the details, but all things considered …”
Trent glanced at the room where the kids were being interviewed, nearly a hundred of them, all in the reverend’s charge. “Looks like he’ll be busy for a while.”
