“I know that, but...” Genevieve hesitated, trying to put her feelings into words. “I feel like there’s something he’s not sharing. He knew both teachers, and he was there that night. I just... I feel like he must know something that could help, even if he doesn’t know what it is.”
Brandon pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at her skeptically. “And you think you can find something a trained detective can’t?”
Genevieve’s temper flared. “You sound just like my father! I’d expect better from my best friend.”
He flinched. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Genevieve, you’re absolutely right, that was a crappy thing for me to say. It’s just…” he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m worried about you. You know, as your best friend. Not worried that you can’t handle yourself,” he added quickly, “but about your involvement in this. We’re talking murder, after all.”
Genevieve softened. “I know you didn’t mean it that way,” she said, reaching for a lemon square. “I’m just sensitive to the fact that my father doesn’t seem to feel as if I’m capable of anything at this point. I mean, he wanted to send me to Vegas. Vegas! I love my mom to pieces, but she’s in no position to look out for anyone else, not with her career.”
Brandon shrugged. “No arguments there.”
Butterscotch’s ears flicked up hopefully as Genevieve polished off the deliciously tart lemon square, but Genevieve shook her head. “All gone,” she said and stood. Not one to hold a grudge, the dog leaped up too, her tail flipping excitedly against Genevieve’s leg.
“Listen, Brandon, I’m going to talk to Principal Mattison tomorrow. I’m going to find out why Miss Love’s address was restricted on the school roster.” Genevieve buttoned her coat and tucked her hair under the hood. “I just know that’s relevant somehow, and I’m not sure Detective Christie is aware of it.”
Brandon looked at her slyly. “Why don’t you just call her and let her know then?”
“Oh my god!” Genevieve cried, tossing her hands up in exasperation. “Because I get how it sounds, okay? Because your reaction to me thinking I could figure out something the police can’t is exactly how they’re going to react, and I need to make sure my hunch is correct, okay?”
“Okay.” Brandon stood and began brushing the crumbs from the table onto their empty plate and then, seeing Butterscotch poised at his feet, he shrugged and let them fall to the ground. “Well, what if your suspicions are right and the principal is a serial killer?”
“I never said I suspected the principal of being a serial killer! You’re impossible. Anyway, if you’re truly concerned for my welfare, you needn’t worry. I’ll be at the school, in the middle of the day, and if he tries anything funny, I’m sure Miss Annie could take him.”
“Easily,” Brandon agreed with a sideways grin. “Hell, she scares me.”
Genevieve punched him lightly on the arm. “That’s not saying much, marshmallow boy.”
She walked to the door, Butterscotch padding along behind her. “Stay,” Genevieve said, and the dog obediently sat. But after she’d crossed the street in the drizzling rain, she glanced back to see Butterscotch staring after her, her black nose pressed against the window.
The next day, Genevieve arrived at school early and hovered around the office for a moment, which was all it took to convince her that 1) Principal Mattison was not there yet (his door was closed and the lights were off), and 2) Miss Annie was as suspicious of her as ever. She eyed Genevieve keenly when she walked in and politely asked when the principal could be expected, as she had a question about the Economics homework.
“You may direct your question to your new instructor during class,” Miss Annie said, snapping out a disinfecting wipe from its container and vigorously sterilizing her desk phone.
“New instructor?”
“We’ve found a long-term substitute to fill the vacancy,” Miss Annie explained. “He will be here for the remainder of term at the least. Now run along, Miss Winterland, I have phone calls to make.”
I hope this substitute fares better than the last, Genevieve thought as she turned away. She decided to try the office again after third period, assuming that was probably around the time Miss Annie took her lunch. She could afford to show up late to Yearbook—no one really paid attention to attendance in that class anyway.
Sure enough, when Genevieve strolled casually past the office at lunch time, Miss Jenine, the office assistant, was sitting at Miss Annie’s desk. The light in the principal’s office was on, and the door ajar. Miss Jenine was on the phone, squinting at her computer, and only gave Genevieve a cursory glance as she slipped past the desk. She walked right into Principal Mattison’s office.
The principal looked worse than ever. Genevieve could have sworn his hairline had receded another inch, and he had shadowy half-moons under his eyes. He looked up as she entered, and instead of seeming surprised to see her, he seemed almost resigned. “Miss Winterland,” he said, gesturing warily toward a chair. “What can I do for you?”
Genevieve sat and looked steadily at the man who’d shared the horrible experience with her of being in a room with a dead body. She was determined that he should see her as an equal, not a mere student. “I’d like to know,” she began, keeping her voice even, “who Miss Love was protecting herself from when she refused to disclose her personal address to this school.”
The principal’s face did register surprise now, and then a flush of anger. “How did you… what business is it of yours—”
“Something scared her—before Ms. Pierce’s threats,” Genevieve continued. “And that matters. Maybe Miss Love was just a super private person, but I don’t think that’s it. I think she was afraid of someone knowing where she lived, and that someone was not Ms. Pierce. That someone could be the reason she’s dead.”
Genevieve’s voice cracked on the last word, and Mr. Mattison flinched. But he blurted, “That good for nothing loser had nothing to do with Sam’s death! He—” The principal faltered, and stood with nervous energy, but Genevieve had caught his familiarity with Miss Love’s name, along with his obviously personal anger toward the mystery man, and her jaw dropped.
“Sam? As in Miss Haylie Love?”
He tried to look stern but failed, sinking back into his chair in a gesture of defeat. “She preferred to go by her middle name,” he said quietly. “Samantha.”
Genevieve stared at him. “You were together,” she said, incredulous. “You and Miss Love were seeing each other?”
He rose again and strode quickly over to the door, closing it with a soft snick. “Our relationship was more than professional,” he said in a low voice. Then his face crumpled and he leaned in despair against his desk. Genevieve watched him with fascination, wondering (not very kindly, she admitted to herself) what the luminous young teacher had seen in this middle-aged man with a stern face and thinning hair.
Principal Mattison wasn’t exactly not handsome, Genevieve thought, but he had so little personality to match the vivacious pink-haired teacher Genevieve remembered so well. “You were seeing each other,” she repeated in wonder, and he looked up sadly.
“I was in love with her,” he said. “How could I not be? Sam was... an amazing woman. But—”
“She didn’t return your affections?” Genevieve guessed, and he frowned, drawing himself up with an air of defensiveness.
“It wasn’t like that. I could have lost my job, you see, and she... we... both decided it was for the best to…” he closed his eyes and slowly began rubbing his temples. When the phone on his desk rang, he slapped a button to silence it. And Genevieve knew that he was lying.
She stood abruptly. “She didn’t want you,” she said. “And you, you—”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I what, Miss Winterland?” he said dangerously, taking a step toward her. She stood her ground, although the muscles bulging beneath his Oxford shirt did not escape her notice. “You think I would have laid a finger on that woman? I loved her. Okay, you are correct that it was more her decision than mine to break it off, but she did it for the both of us, not because she didn’t care about me.” He sounded petulant now. “She loved me too, make no mistake. And now...” he sighed, and looked down at his empty hands. “And now it’s truly over.”
Genevieve studied his careworn face, the slouch to his shoulders. She decided to believe him. “Who was she so afraid of?”
The principal’s face darkened once more. He circled back around his desk and sat, motioning for her to do the same. The bell for fourth period rang out over the loudspeaker, and Genevieve lowered herself into her chair, waiting.
“Before moving to town,” the principal began, “Sam was involved with a man in Mountain Ridge. It went bad, he was... he didn’t treat her well. She began to fear what he would do to her. When she finally cut off the relationship, he retaliated; he started following her, standing outside her office at work, at her apartment—”
