A minute later
RANNIE STAYED ROOTED IN THE RECEPTION AREA, SHAMEFACED. NATE was right. Despite her fondness for Mr. Tut, part of her was hoping for something sinister—something to take her mind off the depressing state of her jobless, manless, loose-ends life. Her son was a better person than she was, more mature. There really had been no reason, other than prurient interest, for her to come traipsing back to school. She should have stayed home and worked on her current freelance job, copyediting a book about Josef Mengele. Or called the business textbook company that had advertised a duller-than-dishwater managing ed. job…It was embarrassing to recall the giddy little thrill—Nate had seen it too—that shot through her when she spotted the tray and glasses. The obvious reason for a missing glass was that Mr. Tut had broken one. Period.
Then, while she was tightening the belt of her raincoat, the women in Chaps Admissions all began to emerge from their offices, as if on cue, purses and totebags in hand, jackets slung over their arms, anxious expressions on their faces. “Talk about surreal!” Dotty Greenhouse, the admissions director, said to Rannie.
Mrs. Mac was shutting down her computer and reaching for a Duane Reade shopping bag under her desk.
“What’s going on?” Rannie inquired.
“Rannie, I don’t understand it!” The elderly woman’s voice shook as she leaned closer, overpowering Rannie with a blast of acidic breath. “The police! They’re bringing in forensic experts! They’re closing off the Annex and searching Mr. Tut’s office! We all have to leave.”
No sooner did Rannie’s brain absorb the words “forensic experts” than the good mother in her grew alarmed, worried for Nate’s sake. If the police considered Tut’s death suspicious, then the next step was to find a suspect, the noun that went with that particular adjective. Yet at the same time, the bad mother in her immediately felt like running out of the Annex and storming into whatever classroom Nate was in, shouting, “See! I’m not so paranoid. I’m not the nut job we both think I am. Something mighty strange is going on here.” And damn it, she wanted to find out what.
Tuesday noontime phone call between classes
Lily B: Omigod. I’m in the Great Hall. It’s like CSI. What if they find out? I’m scared.
Lily G: Don’t be stupid. If they ask you anything, just act normal.
Lily B: Yeah but what about—?
Lily G: I’ll take care of that. Look, I’m late for physics. Remember: Act normal!
Lily B: We’re fucked! I won’t even get into my safety school.
Lily G: Stop being such a drama queen. I’m hanging up.