A Function of Murder by Ada Madison Read Free Book Online Page B

little send-off with cake and punch and kind of crafty
     diplomas, even though there’s still one more week of school for the other grades.
     I personally don’t like it when kids have five graduations on the way to college,
     but”—I stopped—“why am I telling you that?”
    “No problem,” Virgil said, taking a stretch break himself, giving me time. “The mayor
     was at the party?”
    “He’d been at the school and he was on his way out, I think, and stepped into the
     lounge for a minute.”
    “He have any cake? Say anything to you?”
    I thought a few seconds. “He had cake, said hello to me. He shook my hand, the way
     politicians do, and saidsomething like ‘good job,’ nothing specific. He never called me ‘Sophie.’ He left
     within seven minutes.”
    Virgil smiled, though I wasn’t sure why.
    An emergency worker called Virgil away and I was left with my thoughts. I became aware
     of many more uniformed officers now, spread over the campus, speaking to the students
     and some parents. As ugly as the temporary stage had been, I’d have given anything
     to have it in my view now, rather than the unmistakable lights, vehicle rumbles, and
     chatter that signaled calamity.
    Unlike me, most faculty and administrators had called it a day hours ago. Except for
     whoever had been working on the ground floor of Admin while Bruce and I ate our ice
     cream. I wondered now if whoever it was had seen anything useful. That person would
     have had a good vantage point. I made a note to mention it to Virgil, though I figured
     that one of the swarm of officers would make the discovery as they continued to interview
     everyone.
    A news crew had also arrived, with enough lights to give the area around the fountain
     a garish look. I wondered if they knew more than I did about the incident, and how
     they would spin it.
    “Zeeman Academy is way over on the west side of town, right?”
    I started, unaware that Virgil was back.
    “On Brier Road, yes. It’s a new facility, whereas the other two charters in the county
     took over older buildings. They were traditional schools that either closed from a
     decline in population or were converted by a bona fide charter.”
    “Again, do you know what his interest was in that particular school?”
    I shrugged. “Maybe because his son had been a student there, but, as I said, Cody
     left Zeeman three years ago.”
    “How often would you say the mayor comes around now?”
    I strained to remember the occasions when the mayorhad shown up at Zeeman on days that I was present. “Almost every week lately. He spent
     most of the time looking over papers, I’m not sure what kind, in the principal’s office.”
    “Who’s the principal there?”
    “His name is Douglas Richardson.”
    “You like him?”
    I paused. “I guess so, yes. He’s kind of mid-career, ambitious. I know he’s grateful
     for a college presence at the school. Joan Bradley from Henley’s English Department
     has set up a program there, also. She got the kids interested in putting out a newsletter.”
    An enormous wave of tiredness came over me. I pinched my eyelids and took a deep breath
     to help me wake up.
    “We’re almost done,” Virgil said. “It’s important for me to get all this down as soon
     as possible.”
    “I understand.”
    “The papers you mentioned the mayor was looking at, were they like ledgers? Bank statements?
     Was the mayor tracking some financial problem?”
    “I don’t think so. From what I overheard in the lunchroom, he was checking the records
     for applications to the school, acceptances, test scores, that kind of thing.”
    “Any idea why?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t pay that much attention. I’m not sure exactly, but with special
     schools like Zeeman Academy, there are always issues around numbers. They need a certain
     number of applications and acceptances to stay in business. And their test scores
     are always scrutinized. Some schools inflate grades to look