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“No pay.”
“You’re just an interested civilian trying to help his fellow man? Sure. And you’ll probably try to sell me land in Florida, too. You can’t be serious. I’ve got enough problems without some buff sporting a damned badge.” He paused, then muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
“I’m just saying I could help.” It was all Trent could do to hold on to his temper. Working for this prick wouldn’t be a picnic, but he needed to get closer to the investigation, learn information only the cops would have. And, truth be told, he would be an asset to the overworked sheriff’s department. “The weather service is predicting a blizzard. Up to three feet of snow. You think about it, Sheriff. Call Grayson.”
O’Donnell snorted his disdain and advised, “Don’t hold your breath, Trent. I got a job to do, and I’m going with my trained professionals. I can’t afford to have another dead body on my hands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go make a show of reassuring the entire student body that they’re safe here.”
“And you believe that, Sheriff?” Trent asked.
A raspy breath, and O’Donnell muttered, “What do you think?” before ending the call.
CHAPTER 22
“Everyone.” Reverend Lynch rose from his seat and spread his arms wide.
From her seat at the head table, Dr. Williams clicked her spoon against a glass to garner all the residents’ attention.
A foot above the main floor and perpendicular to the other tables in the hall, the head table’s placement reminded Jules of a medieval feast, where the lord and his privileged guests sat higher than his serfs and freemen—a not-so-subtle reminder of who was in charge.
Jules sat on one side of the reverend, wedged between him and Dean Williams. Cora Sue sat on the other side of her husband, her face pinched and stern, as if she were sitting next to the director of Blue Rock because of some detested duty. It wasn’t hard for Jules to envision Reverend Lynch’s huge poodles sitting in front of the table, proud as lions in the service of their master.
But the poodles weren’t here.
And apparently, Reverend Lynch’s wife wished she wasn’t.
“I know this is a difficult time for all of us,” Lynch said, standing tall in his black suit and white clerical collar. “What happened here is very disturbing. After tonight’s meal, we’ll have a vigil and prayer service in the gazebo, so bring your prayer books, candles, and bold spirits.” He smiled beatifically, as if campaigning to be a twenty-first-century saint. “We will be strong and weather this recent tragedy together.
“And, please, know that we are taking every precaution for your safety. We have the deputies, detectives, and even Sheriff O’Donnell himself.” He motioned to a big man standing near the door. At six five and possibly two hundred fifty pounds, the sheriff reminded Jules of a bull mastiff. Hat in his hands, he didn’t crack a smile as his shaved head shone under the lights. “Sheriff O’Donnell has assured me that his deputies and detectives will serve and protect us.”
The room remained silent, and Jules sensed that people on this campus weren’t feeling so secure, despite the presence of law enforcement.
The corners of Lynch’s mouth twisted upward, an odd, pious smile. “Now, I’d like all of our students to know that counselors are available to speak with you round the clock. If there’s anything you’d like to discuss, please come directly to me or to Dr. Williams or Dr. Burdette. If you need to speak to family members, we’ll arrange it. This is a loss we share together, but in our darkest moments, we must remember, my brothers and sisters, that we have God on our side.”
Now the silence was broken by the sudden whimper of a girl off to Jules’s left and the sound of sniffing as people tried to hold back tears.
“We have some new business that cannot wait.” Lynch turned toward Jules, his small, dark eyes fixing on her. “Let me introduce the newest member of our staff, Ms. Farentino, who joins Blue Rock from Bateman High School in Portland, where she recently taught a variety of subjects, including history, art, and sociology. Ms. Farentino will be teaching some of our social and environmental classes. I trust you will show her the spirit and sense of community that is so much a part of Blue Rock Academy. Ms. Farentino?” He held out his hand to her, cuing Jules.
She stood, lifting a hand. As she did, she spied Shaylee, sitting at a table with half a dozen kids, no doubt her pod. Shaylee sat apart from the others, a wide space between her and the next student, a black girl with cornrows. Nonverbal language that said Shay was not welcome. Shay’s mouth drew into a deeper pout as she met her sister’s gaze.
Jules’s heart wrenched, but she couldn’t acknowledge Shaylee. She stayed on her feet while Reverend Lynch invited all the students and staff to meet her, then asked everyone to stand for a prayer.
The meal was served family style and consisted of a hearty beef stew, crusty homemade bread, coleslaw, and apple pie. Jules was starving by the time she sat down, and every bite was delicious. Swabbing a last bite of bread with butter, Jules decided that any complaints Shay had made about Mrs. Pruitt’s cooking were just as unfounded as her feelings of persecution. But, then, that was the glass-is-completely-empty Shay.
Reverend Lynch and Dr. Williams engaged her in conversation centering around the school. Cora Sue ate little and seemed pissed when the pie was passed. She shook her neatly coiffed head almost imperceptibly, as if the server, one of the students in Adele Burdette’s pod, should know instinctively that there were far too many calories in a wedge of Dutch apple pie.
Flatware clicked, conversation was kept to a low, somber hum, and Jules felt the glances from the students. Curious. Wary. Anxious. They were sizing her up, wondering how much they could get away with if they ended up in her class.
Once the meal was finished, people cleared their plates and began moving toward the prayer vigil. Jules caught Shay’s eye and knew she wanted to talk, but this was not the time. All eyes were on Ms. Farentino, the newcomer, who was supposed to be meeting staff and students right now. A few of the kids came up and introduced themselves, mumbling a quick greeting, and Jules nodded, smiled, and eased her way through the group.
Wade Taggert, one of the counselors who also taught psychology, was one of the first to extend a welcome. His handshake was firm, almost too hard. His thin goatee showed hints of gray that matched the glacial shade of his eyes. His gaze held no warmth as he said, “Glad you’re on the team. We need you. I’ve been covering some of the history classes for a while, and it’ll be good to settle back to a normal workload.”
His words were kind enough, but his tone seemed hollow, soulless. There was something unfathomable about him.
Salvatore DeMarco was next in line, and he seemed a bit more sincere, with his dark good looks and quick, if slightly forced, smile. He was strong and fit and taught math, science, and survival skills. “You’ll like it here,” he predicted, his near-black eyes glittering.
As they introduced themselves, the other teachers insisted that Jules would fit right in.
Jules was pretty sure she wouldn’t.
