22

“You actually contacted the police?” Ann’s mouth hung open over the spoonful of cereal poised for consumption. A drip of milk splashed from her spoon back into the bowl.

“I thought you’d be pleased.” Rachel stood by the coffee maker, waiting for the pot to finish brewing. “Considering that’s what you kept telling me to do from the very beginning, I’d think you’d be high-fiving me right now.”

“Oh, I’m pleased. Just surprised. You usually ignore everything I say. Good for you.” Ann nodded once. “So they told you not to worry and that it was probably nothing, right?” She took a bite of cereal and chewed rhythmically, as if they were discussing nothing more alarming than the weather.

Not that Rachel blamed her. Now that the kitchen was flooded with the soft yellow glow of a perfect Florida sunrise, even she had trouble taking her theory seriously.

Ann swallowed and wiped her mouth. “I mean, it’s good that you reported your concerns just to be on the safe side. But it’s the end of the school year. People have left anonymous gifts lying around for you before, right? So really, they could have come from anyone.”

The coffee maker gave a strong gurgle and emitted a whoosh of steam, signaling the end of the brewing cycle. Rachel reached for a mug and poured coffee to the brim. “The flowers and the book, yes. Maybe. But the little silver foot? And that note?” She shuddered. The race is on. In two limping steps, she reached the table and slid into a chair. She fortified herself with a blistering sip of coffee. “It was too personal.”

Ann stared at her. “It must be serious if you’re drinking your coffee pre-cream.”

“I’m too sore to walk to the fridge.” She half expected Ann to offer the soggy milk from the bottom of her cereal bowl, but to her surprise, Ann pushed back from the table, walked to the fridge, and returned with the cream and a spoon and set them on either side of Rachel’s steaming mug.

“Drink up,” Ann said. “You’ll have to put it away when you’re done. I’m off to work. Have fun at school. Just think. Tomorrow’s the last day.”

Rachel nodded limply.

Ann jammed her feet into her boots and turned to leave, then paused and turned back, one hand on the doorframe. “Hey, Rachel?”

Rachel looked up from her coffee. “Yes?”

“Try not to get killed.”

~*~

On this day-before-the-last-day, while the students toiled over their exams, Rachel waited for a call from the FBI. For the first time in her career, she spent an entire day with her cell phone in her hip pocket, ringer turned on.

She was half reminded of a line from Longfellow. Something about the mills of God grinding slowly. She figured that the same must apply to the justice system.

At lunch time, Lee came bearing coffee.

“It’s just from the teacher’s lounge,” he said, setting a steaming school mug down on her desk, “not the coffee shop. I didn’t have time to run out. But I figure it’s better than nothing.”

Rachel looked up to thank him.

“Whoa.” Lee rocked back on his heels.

“What?”

“You look terrible.”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“Is everything all right?”

Rachel met his eyes. Behind the square glasses, she saw mingled amusement and concern. No use telling him the whole story just yet. He didn’t need another grown woman adding chaos to his life. Not until she was more certain that there was actually something to worry about. “Are we all set for the Arts Evening tonight?” she asked.

Lee’s gaze sharpened, scanning Rachel’s face. He nodded and pushed up his glasses with a knuckle. “As far as I know. I have the kids setting up art displays, and if your kids are ready, and if the PTA holds up their end…”

“Don’t worry. I sent an email last week about the cheese.”

He nodded again, looking preoccupied.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

He stared at the wall and frowned. “You didn’t answer my text last night.”

In all that had happened, she’d forgotten about the meddling. An unexpected weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh,” Rachel said, mentally scrambling. She was so tired. “About that—”

The short bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

“Forget it.” Lee stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward the door. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, Lee. You’re right. It does matter, and I promise that we’ll talk about it. But not now.” She heard voices bouncing down the halls as the students returned from lunch. “Come see me after school. I’ll let you walk me to my car and carry some boxes and then you can yell at me for interfering in your personal life.”

“I can’t. I have somewhere to go right after.”

“All right. Then I guess I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

“I guess you will.”

The door closed swiftly behind him.