The Suicide Club. Gayle Wilson
than a mistaken belief in the superiority of anything not native to the region.
Like Jace Nolan himself.
“You caught me off guard on Tuesday, but since then…I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
She sensed that his attention had sharpened. The sensation was so strong it was almost physical.
“And?”
“And in all honesty,” she said, each word carefully enunciated, “none of my kids would do anything like that.”
“You just said they were like all the others. I’ve been doing a lot of research into the annals of youthful offenses around here. Despite the bucolic nature of the environment, these kids appear to get involved in the same kinds of criminal activities that they do in any other locale.”
“In the ten years I’ve been here, I can’t remember one of my students being mixed up in anything like that.”
“How would you know?”
“What?”
“Juvenile records are routinely sealed. Parents are under no obligation to tell the school about any charges or probations imposed on their children.”
“You’ve forgotten where you are, Detective Nolan. Everybody knows everything about everyone around here.”
“Except nobody knows who burned those churches. Or don’t you believe that?”
“Do you?”
“It doesn’t match my experience. Kids talk. Unless there’s a very strong reason not to.”
“Like a fear of prosecution. Or going to jail?”
“I meant talk among their peers.”
“As angry as people in this community are, whoever burned those churches would have to be very stupid to do that.”
“Bingo,” Nolan said, turning back to look into the gym.
The cheerleaders were gathering up their megaphones for a last cheer at center court. After that the band would play everyone out with another repetition of the fight song.
A few teachers and some of the parents were already making a break toward the two pairs of double doors. Although the other adults might continue to the parking lot, most of the faculty would do what she was doing: stand near the entrances to supervise the dismissal.
The fact that Lindsey was talking to the chief detective in charge of investigating the arsons would be noticed. It would undoubtedly cause comment and maybe even questions, neither of which she was eager to deal with.
“If that’s your so-called evidence for thinking my kids were involved—”
“It does make sense, doesn’t it?”
A couple of people had reached the doorway where they were standing, providing Lindsey with an excuse to move off to the side. After nodding in response to the curious stares of departing parents, Nolan followed.
“You and Carlisle seem to be right.”
“I’m sorry?” Had Shannon’s ex actually approached him?
“You said everybody here knows everybody’s business. I guess they know everybody, too. They seem to be trying to figure out who I am and why I’m here.”
“We’ve all been warned often enough about strangers in the school.”
“Except I had no trouble walking right into the building. Not on Tuesday. Not today. Apparently your administration doesn’t take those kinds of warnings very seriously.”
“The curiosity you admit to arousing is, in itself, a safeguard.”
“Against outsiders. Statistically, however, that isn’t the real threat in any high school.”
He was right, of course. The school tragedies in this country had almost all been student-directed.
That didn’t mean that the students here posed a threat, she reminded herself. Just as the fact the arsons had occurred in this general vicinity didn’t mean anyone from this community had been involved.
The 3:00 p.m. bell rang, preventing her from having to formulate an answer. Kids poured out of the gym in a wave, the sound of the band seeming to add to the general sense of chaos. In response to the flood of students, Nolan grasped her elbow, directing her away from the doors.
She had been conscious of the feel of his hand on her arm when he’d attempted to steady her outside Dave’s office. Today, the warmth of his fingers seemed to burn into her bare skin. She was aware of their strength and hardness. Sensitive to their callused roughness. Totally masculine and yet surprisingly pleasant.
Surprising. Like the length of his lashes and the sensual appeal of that five-o’clock shadow. Even his voice, despite the unfamiliarity of the accent, was intriguing.
Realizing that she was in danger of being overly intrigued, she pulled her elbow from his grip. “I have to go back upstairs and get some papers from my room.”
It was a lie. She had decided she wasn’t going to do any grading this weekend. She was working the gate at the game tonight, and she intended to sleep in tomorrow. The few essays she needed to finish for her fifth period class could be done during her free period Monday.
“So I take it you aren’t interested in being my guide to Friday night in Randolph.”
In the unfamiliar rush of emotions she’d forgotten his invitation. She didn’t intend to accept. Not until she’d had time and space to control her physical response to Jace Nolan.
“I don’t think so. Not when you seemed to be so tightly focused on my kids as the perpetrators.”
“I’m willing to have you change my mind.”
“I’m not willing to try. You’re wrong. Sooner or later you’ll figure that out without any help from me.”
As exit lines went, it wasn’t particularly powerful. Nolan didn’t argue, tilting his head as if acknowledging the possibility. The quirk she’d noticed before at the corner of his lips occurred again and was once more controlled.
“If you change your mind, you have my card.”
It was the perfect opening to respond with something rude. Deny that she’d ever change her mind. Defend her kids.
She did neither. The attraction was strong enough that she couldn’t be sure that if he kept on, he wouldn’t wear her down. She wasn’t going to give him a chance.
She’d learned early in her professional life not to make a threat unless she was willing to carry it out and that the fewer words she said in any situation, the fewer she would have to eat if things didn’t work out as she’d anticipated.
With Jace Nolan, she had a feeling that things not going as she’d anticipated was a distinct possibility.
Three
Think we can go ahead and shut down?”
Shannon’s question caused Lindsey to look up at the scoreboard. It was nearing the end of the third quarter, which was the traditional closing time for the booth. Tonight only a handful of tickets had been sold since the half. They’d already counted up the money in both cash boxes, keeping only a few dollars out to make change.
“I don’t see why not.” The score was lopsided enough that people were beginning to eddy out of the stadium toward the parking lot. That movement was unlikely to reverse.
“Me, neither. If Coach doesn’t like it, he can get somebody else next week.”
Although the faculty members who manned the booth and the gates each game were paid minimum wage, this was mostly volunteer labor. Those who normally worked were mostly hometown products who perhaps felt a stronger loyalty to the program as