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“I’m taking over her classes. It’s natural to want more information.”
“Julia,” he said softly, his voice like an arctic chill against her skin. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
She felt like a trapped butterfly, alive and being pinned to a Peg-Board for observation. “Yes …,” she said slowly, thinking fast. “I wanted a better sense of what went on, who was affected. I want to be sensitive to the students’ needs. I couldn’t walk blindly into a situation where students had been hurt in some way.”
He was watching her carefully, his hands tented under his chin. “That’s rather insightful, but next time, come to me. Talk to me in person. We don’t want to stir up ill feelings on campus, do we?”
She nodded and he rose, signifying the meeting was over. “I hope you share our dedication and vision,” he said.
“I’m all about helping kids,” she said, which was the truth.
“Good, good. That’s what I want to hear.” Rounding the desk, he clasped her hand in both of his. “I’m just so
rry that you had to come amid this trying time. But we will get through it with God’s help.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “Welcome, Julia Farentino.” His smile was wide, almost knowing.
Warnings sizzled through her brain, hairs lifting on the back of her arms. She forced a smile and somehow kept up the lie. “I can’t wait to get to work,” she said as he finally released her hand. “Say hello to your wife.”
“My wife,” he said under his breath, as if Cora Sue were the furthest thing from his mind. “I will, yes.”
Jules thanked him for the opportunity to work with these students and slipped on her coat, all the while wondering what it was about him that set her nerves on edge.
As Jules left the building, she thought of the files she’d seen him slip into his credenza. Were they duplicates of the files Charla King kept in the admin building, or something more? It would be a waste of time to maintain duplicates. No, she suspected that Tobias Lynch kept his own files on every staff member, unofficial files that ignored the ethics of most human resources departments.
Out in the gathering snow, she kept her eyes on the path and moved quickly from one pool of lamplight to the next. She knew Lynch was watching her from the window; she had seen his silhouette.
A man of God?
Of true faith?
Jules wondered.
CHAPTER 27
Warming the back of his legs on the fire, Trent sipped coffee reheated from yesterday’s pot and turned Nona’s murder over in his mind. He’d tried and failed to connect Nona’s homicide to Lauren Conway’s disappearance, but somehow, he was certain, the two mysteries were linked.
He’d spent hours going over everything he’d learned about the events leading up to Nona’s fateful trip to the stable. He figured she’d worn Shaylee’s cap, probably just as she had on the night he’d discovered the filly caught outside. The way he saw it, the yearling had slipped out when Nona and Andrew had sneaked into the stables for a quick hookup. Then, later, Trent had stumbled upon them as they were leaving.
At the moment, he was going with the theory that Shaylee Stillman’s hat had been part of Nona’s disguise. He figured Nona had “borrowed” the cap, just in case any cameras had been rolling or in case anyone in authority caught a glimpse of her. In bulky sweatshirts, school-issued jackets, and jeans, the only identifying piece of clothing would have been the hat.
Too bad it had been left in the hayloft, and Shaylee Stillman had to take the heat.
Draining the cup, Trent thought about the two kids and the conversation he’d overheard that night. He remembered the girl being in a near panic and the boy trying to calm her down, promising to keep her safe. If it had been Drew and Nona, then he’d let her down. Big-time.
What was it she’d said?
This is getting out of hand…. I mean … when I agreed to this, to be a part of it, I thought it would be fun, a thrill, and I believed in him.
The more he considered it, the more he was certain the voice had belonged to Nona.
I believed in him.
Who? Who did she believe in?
A man. Trent didn’t think she was talking about God or Christ in the same sentence as “fun” and “a thrill.” He considered Reverend Lynch, but again, it didn’t fit. He couldn’t see anyone thinking the somber, self-important, Godfearing Lynch was fun. Or thrilling.
Puzzled, he poured himself the last of the coffee, heated it in his microwave, and, as the cup warmed, tossed the old grounds out.
Right now, Trent was going with the theory that there was a third person in the loft, one who, for whatever reason, killed Nona after getting his jollies watching the kids make love. Then somehow, he’d strung Nona up in some kind of statement.
