"It's okay." MacKenna stood at my elbow.
What was okay? Why was there suddenly two of him? And why did he sound muted, echoey? My ears rang, and I blinked to clear my double vision.
"Close your eyes," he said, snippy-like.
No, my inner voice whispered. Not snippy, commanding.
One of these days I was going to see someone about that inner voice.
My eyelids fluttered closed. I felt his cool hand curve around the back of my neck. With gentle pressure, he pushed. I opened my eyes and was surprised to find that I was staring at the floor.
Keds vs. snakeskin-kick-ass-cowboy boots.
Those boots were definitely growing on me. I was going to have to ask him where he got them once I could find my voice again. Maybe he had hunted the snake himself . . . A girl could hope.
His hand rested reassuringly on my shoulder. "It's okay."
I pressed my forehead on my knobby knees. The dancing spots faded.
"Get Mr. Quinn on the phone," I heard him say into the intercom.
I swayed as I jerked up my head. "No! No, no."
MacKenna grinned. "Cancel Mr. Quinn."
He pressed a glass of water into my hand. I drank slowly.
"When was the last time you ate?"
I tried to think, but the gurgling of my stomach was so loud it made it hard. "I had a Snickers last night at nine."
He gave me that look a parent gives a child when the parent knows something's bad for the child, and the child knows it's bad for the child, but the child does it anyway.
My God, I was rambling to myself. The water felt cool as I took another sip.
"It's satisfying," I muttered, using the candy bar's motto.
"It's unhealthy. You ought to eat three regular meals every day. And lots of fruit."
"Yes, Doctor."
Opening a desk drawer, he rummaged around inside. Finally, he pulled out an Almond Joy. Sliding it across the desk, he said, "Emergency supply." He smiled at me, fine lines appearing around his eyes.
"Is this a test? After that lecture you just gave me about healthy foods, you expect me to eat that candy bar?" I asked, a teasing lilt to my voice. I was not flirting. I wasn't. Honest.
Liar.
"Do as I say, not as I do. Unless, of course, you don't want it." He reached across his desk for the Almond Joy.
I slapped his hand and grabbed the candy bar.
He smiled a knowing grin as I tore open the package.
Ahh. Heaven.
He was kind enough not to stare at me as I inhaled the two sections of the Almond Joy in three seconds flat. The back of my hand served as a napkin. Quite a first impression, Nina.
"About Riley," I said, suddenly mortified by my behavior.
The vice principal smiled as if he knew why I had suddenly changed the subject, then his expression turned serious.
A loud knock echoed and the door flew open. Ana stood there, doubled over, panting, her C cups heaving beneath a white camisole and linen suit coat. Her long dark hair fell forward as she gasped for breath.
I jumped up, helped her over to a chair. "Mr. MacKenna, this is Analise Bertoli, my cousin." I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn't wanted to take this meeting alone, but decided he really didn't need to know I was a big wuss.
MacKenna poured Ana a cup of water. His eyebrows dipped. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, fine," she said in between gulps of air. "Need to bump up those trips to the gym."
"Water?" MacKenna held out a cup.
She glanced up at him, her eyes going wide as paper plates as she got a good look. "Thanks." Turning to me, she wiggled her eyebrows.
"Married," I mouthed.
"Damn," she said into the cup as she took a sip.
To a puzzled MacKenna, I said, "Ana's here because Kevin couldn't make it. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all."
Ana looked around. "Whoa. This is like déjà vu."
A half smile playing on his lips, MacKenna leaned back in his chair. "Spend a lot of time in the principal's office did you, Ms. Bertoli?"
"Too much. You know, if you're free sometime, I could share—"
I kicked her shin beneath her linen skirt.
"Ow!"
"Married," I mouthed again.
Rubbing her shin, she frowned. "Testy. And after I rushed over here and everything."
I swallowed hard over a sudden lump in my throat. "Thanks for coming."
Forgiven in a blink of her brown eyes, she took my hand. "Now what's this all about? Riley's in trouble? That new hair color affecting his brain cells?"
MacKenna leaned over his desk, his hands clasped. "Since the start of the fourth quarter, my staff has noted changes in Riley. He has become uncooperative, mouthy, and his grades pale in comparison to last semester."
Here it comes . . .
"Is there anything going on at home that our counselors should be aware of?"
I knew it was coming.
Of course Riley's change in attitude was about Kevin and me. It's always the parents. It couldn't just be normal adolescent rebellion. It had to be my fault. His father's.
I grit my teeth. "There's been some tension."
Ana snorted. "What?" she said at my perturbed stare.
MacKenna pressed on. "Involving Riley?"
Resentment swelled. I didn't want to have to admit my marital problems to this stranger.
"Tangentially." Was that really a word? I wasn't sure, but it sounded good.
His eyebrows arched as his eyes widened. I wondered if he had the same bullshit meter I had.
"Marital?"
Marital, I mimicked silently. I didn't want to do this, to have this conversation. But he had given me his candy bar.
Ana answered for me. "Nina and Kevin are divorcing."
It sounded so final coming from Ana's lips, that it stole my breath for a second.
"Ahh." MacKenna nodded.
I felt compelled to clarify. "As of yet Riley is unaware of that fact."
Why I was talking like a high-priced lawyer, I had no idea. Being around Bridget that morning must have worn off on me.
"But there must be fighting, tension, stress in the household . . ."
"No."
"Nope," Ana agreed.
There hadn't been. Kevin and I hardly ever saw each other. Which could explain the divorce. Well that and Ginger Snap—er, Barlow.
Lines creased his forehead. "No fighting?"
"No. Well," I amended, "one huge blowout two days ago, but Riley was at school."
"So he is unaware of any problems."
The vision of a worm impaling itself on a hook entered my thoughts. "That's not quite true."
"Mrs. Qu—" He paused, caught himself. "Nina, you're going to have to give me some details."
I took a deep breath, and dipped a shoulder in a sort of half shrug. "He knows his father cheated on me. I think he can tell the end is near."
"I see."
Ana piped in. "But this all happened recently? His slipping grades?" When MacKenna nodded, Ana continued. "Then Nina and Kevin can't be a part of that as there was no trouble until the boxers."
"The boxers?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No need to go there."
"I'm inclined to agree," he said, and I didn't know whether he was talking about the boxers or Riley's attitude until he added, "that this behavior doesn't stem from Riley's home life."
I thought about the boy with the polka-dotted hair and lip ring. "Perhaps it's those punks he's hanging out with."
He twirled his wedding ring. "The Skinz."
"The Skinz?" Ana repeated. "Sounds like something you'd find in the contraceptive aisle."
It really had been too long since Ana'd had a date. I scooted to the edge of my seat and said, "Who, or what, exactly, are the Skinz?"
His blue eyes narrowed. "Trouble."
* * *
I left MacKenna's office sensing panic taking over my life. It seemed as though eve
rything was out of control. Riley, Kevin . . . Farmer Joe.
"Oh ho ho!" Ana exclaimed as the office door closed behind her.
"Oh ho ho what?"
"Are you blind? Mr. Hubba Hubba MacKenna has the hots for you."
I blinked. "Are you delusional? The man is married. Gold band. Left hand."
She rolled her eyes, wagged her finger at me. "Didn't you see the way he looked at you?"
I hadn't noticed him looking at me at all. Of course, the way I was looking at him . . . that was a different story. "You're seeing things. He's just a nice man who cares about the kids here."
In a know-it-all voice, she said, "Don't say I didn't tell you."
"You're certifiable."
She let that pass. "What are you gonna do about Riley?"
"I don't know. Thanks for coming, though. I didn't want to do that alone."
"You're welcome." Glancing at her Wizard of Oz watch, she said, "I've got to get back. I've got a meeting in five minutes."
"You got plans for tonight?" I asked.
"Are you mocking my love life?"
I smiled at her defensive tone. "Just trying to live vicariously through my older, wiser cousin."
"By a month and day! And actually, yes, I do have plans. My final fitting for my bridesmaid dress is tonight. Have you seen yours yet?"
"No." I stopped, mid-stride. "What's that smile?"
"Nothing. Not a thing. I just think that Maria might secretly hate you."
"That bad?"
Her eyebrows arched as she nodded.
Great. Maybe an ugly dress was my punishment for missing all my appointments with the seamstress. "I'm still trying to get out of the wedding."
"Your mother would have an apoplectic fit and die on the spot."
I groaned. "I know."
"I'm serious. You should have seen her after Maria told her that she'd invited my mother to the wedding."
Shading my eyes against the sun, I smiled. "I heard the paramedics got an earful."
"That they did."
In the parking lot, the sun lit up the auburn highlights in her long dark hair, making me think I should see a stylist about getting some myself. I dismissed the thought almost as fast as it had popped into my head. Much too much work.
Ana's heels tapped rapidly against the pavement as she made a beeline for her car. "Hey," she called out. "How did the meeting with Bridget go?"
I cringed, having forgotten for a moment what I'd gotten myself into. It would take forever to explain to Ana. "I'll tell you all about it at lunch tomorrow."
She rolled down the window, started the engine. "Just so you know, I'm still not holding my breath."
I winced as she backed up, slammed on the brakes. The car jerked forward as she switched gears. She stuck her hand out the window and waved as the car swerved, squealing, around the corner.
"Nina?" a very male voice said over my shoulder.
I spun in surprise, my hand flying to my pounding heart. My eyes widened as I took in the man standing casually near my car.
I squinted. "Michael Novak! I haven't seen you in ages." Kevin's former patrol partner was the last person I had expected to see in the school parking lot.
Michael grinned and patted the protruding stomach under his uniform. "I've changed a bit."
He was paunchy where once slim, balding where once hairy, but his face was the same. Crinkly, smiling eyes and a wide warm smile.
"You look great. What are you doing here? Has there been trouble?" I immediately thought of Riley.
"New assignment. School resource officer."
A school cop. I wondered what he did to deserve this torture.
"You always did like kids." I tried to make his new job sound like a good one when in fact, it sounded like hell on earth. But that was me. Just my oh-so humble opinion. I blinked. I was rambling to myself again. Sugar high from that Almond Joy. Had to be. I cleared my throat. "Hey, what do you know about the Skinz?"
His eyes clouded, then cleared. He hooked a thumb in his pocket. His chest puffed. "Those guys? They're harmless."
"Do you really think so?"
"Would I lie to you, Nina?"
My right eyebrow inched up. "I guess not."
What the hell was going on?
Seven
I stopped at my office after leaving the high school. Tam frowned as I opened the door, the cowbell ringing out my arrival.
"Don't start," I warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it." She straightened an already straight stack of papers on her desk. "However, you are aware that today is your day off?"
Here it comes.
"A day for rest. For relaxation. Take a long walk through the woods. Soak in a bath until you look like a raisin. Sleep in. Read a good book. You're not good to any of us if you're cranky and overworked. I only say this—"
"Because I care," we both said at the same time.
"Thank you," I said. "I know you care, Tam, but honestly, there's no way I can relax today, and this thing with the hoes is bothering me."
"Kit mentioned you stopped by the site this morning when he called in for reinforcements. Find out anything?"
"Not a thing. Could I possibly see the work log for Sunday, and all the other days tools have gone missing?"
She nudged her blotter into alignment with the edge of her desk. She sat flanked by two huge potted palms, a queen in her oversized rattan throne chair. "It's on your desk."
I bit my lip to stop the smile. "You knew I'd be in."
"Of course."
Clients often commented that Tam was an exact replica of Queen Elizabeth. I had to agree. Beyond the hairstyle and regal bearing, she even had the haughty tone down pat. It wasn't the words—just the cultured way she spoke them. It tended to freak me out, since Tam had just turned thirty and was six months pregnant.
"I hate that you knew that."
She ran her hand over her belly. "I know."
Smiling, I paused at my office door. My nameplate winked at me. nina quinn, president. Quinn. I needed to decide whether or not to keep that name. Soon.
Sure enough, a stack of files sat on my desk. Each paper corner matched perfectly to the one below it. The pile sat at a precise right angle to my stained blotter.
I slumped back on my chair. I picked up a file and leafed through it. I had six employees. Three full-time, three parttime. Occasionally, I'd hire an extra hand or two in a pinch. Hey, what the IRS didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
After sifting though all the work logs, I thought I had a place to begin. Well, three of them.
Jean-Claude Reaux, Marty Johnson, and Coby Fowler. All had worked the sites where tools had gone missing.
All had police records.
Eenie, meenie, miny, moe.
I dropped the last log on my desk, setting it purposely askew in Tam's sea of neatness.
The metal drawer of my desk creaked as I pulled it open. A small notebook was pressed into the corner of the drawer, right where "Tornado Tam" always set it when she blew through my office on my days off.
I ripped off a piece of paper and tapped a pen on my blotter, not sure what to do about the missing hoes.
If I called in my three suspects, sat them down and asked oh-so surreptitiously about the theft, they were bound to get their shorts in a twist. Over the years I've discovered that people with arrest records got a bit touchy when faced with an accusation, however subtle it is.
I bit my lip. Checked my calendar. I had a few ideas on how to go about this, and I wasn't above setting a trap. Mrs. Bobbi Smythe-Weston had planned a backyard makeover for Friday while her husband was off at an all-day conference, morning till night. I'd fiddle with the schedule a bit to make sure all three worked that day.
I scratched out a few notes to myself, folded the paper and shoved it in my pocket. I dropped the notebook back in the drawer and purposely mussed the pens, paper clips, and rubber bands while I was at it.
I looked up as Tam knocked once sharply before comin
g into my office. She wrung her hands, wouldn't look me in the eye.