8

Susan Monroe was the library director and my go-to for information about the area. She was also one of the nicest people I’d ever met. In her midfifties, she’d been single since her husband died a decade before and had never remarried because, in her words, “the men in this area couldn’t hold a candle to David.” I didn’t know David, but I figured he would have had to be a good man to deserve Susan.

“Let me guess,” she said, grinning at me as I approached her near the front counter where she stood behind a stack of hardback books. “You’ve got a case.”

“How did you know?” I reached over the counter and gave her a side hug. She squeezed me back tightly.

“Well, I could say it’s the only time you ever come to visit me, but I’m too nice for that. So, I’ll just say you’ve got the look.”

“The look?”

She moved her hand across her face, waggling her fingers. “It’s in the eyes, and maybe the cheekbones. You look perplexed.”

I laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“So I was right?”

“You were right.”

“Well, let’s go to my office.”

I followed her through the stacks toward her office, where just last fall I’d sat with Rufus and Ronnie’s niece and nephew, trying to figure out how we were going to bring down Jeb Walsh. That still hadn’t happened. In fact, he had a better foothold in the area than ever now that Argent was sheriff. Suddenly, I felt more down than I had in a while. We’d accomplished nothing. I’d accomplished nothing. Not only that, Mary was on the other side of the country and now I had a dead man to deal with.

Susan sat down at her desk and motioned for me to do the same. “You look down.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You don’t hide your emotions well, Earl. You never have.”

I shrugged. I didn’t like this line of conversation. The truth was, as much as I liked Susan—or maybe because of how much I liked Susan—she always made me a little nervous. She was an attractive woman, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed some spark between us. Or maybe that was just my ego talking. It had a helluva mouth sometimes.

“It’s Mary, right?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You must miss her terribly.”

“I’m okay.”

She gave me a searching look as if trying to read what was behind my eyes. “Long-distance relationships are always hard. Are you sure you’re doing all right?”

“I’m sure. We talked this morning. She’s coming for a visit soon.”

“Oh, that’s good news, Earl. I’m so excited for you.”

“I’m pretty excited myself.”

“So, how can I help you?”

I told her I’d found a phone while hiking and was trying to get it back to its owner.

She wrinkled her nose at me. “That doesn’t sound too interesting.”

“Sorry. My life is pretty boring right now.”

“Give it time,” she said. “Danger always finds Earl Marcus.”

“Yeah, can’t wait.” I said it sarcastically, but there was more than a grain of truth in her words. If danger didn’t find me, I usually found it. It wasn’t so much for the thrill of it as it was the pure adversity. I’d never been very good at the mundane tasks of day-to-day living.

She laughed and asked to see the phone.

“Oh, I didn’t bring it. It’s at the house. See, I’m trying to find out a little bit about the person who last called the phone.”

She looked confused. “Why?”

“Well …” I said, not sure how best to handle this.

“Never mind. I’m prying.”

I smiled at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I’m sorry. Listen, if I ever start being nosy, just tell me, Earl. Sometimes …” She trailed off, her eyes going distant. “Sometimes I forget myself and treat you like I treated David.” She reached over the desk and touched my shoulder. “I’m not trying to be weird.”

“It’s okay.” The thing was, I believed her. She wasn’t flirting. If she knew it sometimes seemed like flirting to me, I was pretty sure she would have been mortified.

“I’m assuming you tried calling the number?” she said.

“Yes. I even know his name. Dr. Blevins. I’m trying to find out the scoop on him. Who he is, where he works, that sort of thing.” I winced and shook my head. “I suppose I might as well tell you this is a tad bit more complicated than just finding the phone.”

“I picked up on that. And say no more. I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes, but after that I’ll see what I can come up with. You going to stick around?” She looked hopeful, but I had to disappoint her.

“No, just give me a call when and if you find out anything.”

“Will do. And Earl?”

I was already making my way out of her office.

“Yeah?”

“I hope things work out with you and Mary. You two are so good together.”

I didn’t know exactly how to respond to that, so I just smiled and walked out.

*   *   *

She called me later that evening. I’d spent the afternoon scouring the front yard for any evidence of the shooting. I found nothing except some more blood in the grass, which I took care of by mowing again, mulching the grass over and over until all traces of the blood were invisible to the naked eye. I was sitting near the ridge where Mary and I had set up some chairs to enjoy sunsets together. It was still hot, and the day didn’t want to let go. Dusk got tangled up in the sunset, and it was probably the most gorgeous thing I’d seen in a long time.

When she called, I was drinking a beer and trying not to think of the dead man’s face. There was something in his countenance I found disturbing, something all too familiar. As long as I could think of him in the abstract, as a mystery and not a man, I was okay, but when I remembered his face, I felt a kind of aching loneliness I couldn’t shake.

He was dead and buried, and nobody but me and the killer knew it. Whoever he’d left behind didn’t know where he was or if he was ever coming back. Didn’t they deserve more than that?

“Thanks for getting back to me,” I said to Susan.

“No problem. I didn’t find a ton. This guy has absolutely no social media footprint, but he’s made the papers a few times, so that helped.”

“The papers? For something bad or good?”

“Both, actually. In 1984, he was named the Coulee County teacher of the year.”

“Teacher?”

“Science, apparently.”

“Okay, what’s the bad news.”

“He was fired in 1988 after allegations of sexual harassment came to light.”

“Against students?”

“The article isn’t clear. It just says sexual harassment during … let me see … the 1986–87 school year. The principal at the time went to bat for him, but it says a suit was filed and he was ultimately let go from his job.”

“Interesting. Were you able to access the court filing?”

“Tried, but this is Coulee County, you know? I don’t need to tell you that when Hank Shaw was the sheriff, paperwork was not a priority. Apparently the county courts followed his lead. They said there was a room with some boxes that I was welcomed to peruse …”

“That’s all right. You’ve done plenty. I’ll look into it at some point if necessary.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, for all we know he’s innocent. Or, even if he’s guilty, there are all kinds of levels of that sort of thing, not that they aren’t all gross, but I think the key is to know whether he was harassing a student or an adult.”

“Yeah, that makes a pretty big difference, but I’d hate to ask you to do that. Where did you say he taught?”

“Coulee County High.”

“Okay, I wonder if anybody around there would still remember him.”

“Maybe, but I have more.”

“You do?”

“Yep. Apparently, he used the time off to get his doctorate in abnormal psychology, which he then parlayed into another job here in Coulee County.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“The Harden School.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, you haven’t been paying attention. It’s been around for a while. It’s a reform school on the eastern side of the county, not far from Brethren. Apparently, now he’s the behavioral therapist and science teacher there.”

“Interesting. Do you have an address?”

“Yeah, but Earl, you should know this school has come under some fire in the last few years.”

“What kind of fire?”

“It’s vague, and I get the feeling there’s been an effort to cover it up. I can only find a few articles that mention it, but there’s been some lawsuits filed by parents against the administration’s discipline methods.”

“That sounds about right. Do they have a website or something?”

“You’re still limited to your phone, right?”

“Like that’s a bad thing,” I said.

“Well, computers do have larger screens.”

“Yeah, but if I had one of those, I’d feel obligated to turn it on occasionally.”

She laughed. “Facebook is not coming for Earl Marcus anytime soon.”

“God, I hope not.”

“I’m going to text you the website address. You can find the physical address on the website. Are you going to pay them a visit?”

“Probably.”

“Well, be careful. I’ve heard rumors about Randy Harden, the school’s founder, for years.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Well, women talk to each other, you know. Especially about men like Harden. He’s a predator, Earl. Definitely not the kind of man who needs to be working with kids.”

“Got it,” I said. “Thanks, Susan.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re the best.”

I ended the call. Goose nuzzled his snout against my knee as I clicked on the link Susan had sent over.

It was a pretty sparse affair. The home page showed a photo of the school, which looked more like an antebellum plantation home. The headline read The Harden School: Excellence in Alternative Education Since 1984. I clicked the About link and was taken to a separate page with a short blurb.

The Harden School is a boys only school created specifically for young men who lose their way and require discipline and therapy in order to rediscover themselves. Our curriculum is based on traditional Christian values, and our educators and administration believe strongly that these values form the bedrock of a young man’s life. We also affirm the Biblical admonishment of “spare the rod, spoil the child,” while still embracing cutting edge therapeutic techniques designed to unlock the true “male” instead of the watered down version too often popularized in our modern, increasingly pagan culture. To discuss your boy’s unique circumstances, call for an appointment.

A phone number was listed below along with the address.

I decided to make an appointment. What did I have to lose?