School Days by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online

in trouble. He was just never with us, exactly.”
    We sat silently in the lifeless, perfect room.
    After a while I said, “Do you believe that he’s guilty?”
    Still crying, without looking up, Mrs. Clark nodded yes. I looked at Ron Clark.
    â€œMy God,” Clark said, “he confessed.”
    â€œWhy do you suppose he did it?” I said.
    Mrs. Clark’s head was still down. She continued to cry quietly.
    â€œWe’ve asked each other a thousand times,” she said.
    â€œSometimes,” Clark said, “sometimes I think that maybe he did it for no reason. He did it because he wanted to.”
    â€œWhat does he say?” I asked.
    â€œHe doesn’t,” Clark said. “He won’t talk about it.”
    â€œIs he mad at you?” I said.
    â€œHe doesn’t seem to be,” Clark said. “You think, Dot?”
    â€œHe doesn’t seem to feel very much of anything,” she said softly.
    â€œHis grandmother thinks he’s innocent,” I said.
    â€œMy mother-in-law,” Clark said, “has a lot of money. It makes her think anything she wants to believe is right.”
    â€œMrs. Clark?” I said.
    â€œOften wrong but never uncertain, my father used to say.”
    â€œWas she close to Jared?”
    â€œShe thought so,” Ron said.
    â€œDid Jared like her?” I said.
    â€œHard to tell with Jared,” Dot said.
    â€œShe wouldn’t even know,” Ron said. “She’s so damned self-absorbed. She thinks he’s innocent because he’s her grandchild, and her grandchild can’t be guilty of anything.”
    Dot Clark looked up at me. Crying had not helped her makeup any.
    â€œRon is quite hard on my mother,” she said. “I know she cares for Jared.”
    â€œWere he and Wendell Grant close?” I said.
    â€œI guess so,” she said. “I didn’t really know a lot about Jared’s friends.”
    I looked at Ron. He shrugged.
    â€œIf he did do the shooting,” I said, “do you know where he might have gotten the guns?”
    They both shook their heads. It was a question every cop they’d talked to had asked.
    â€œDo you wish me to prove him innocent?” I said.
    They stared at me. Then at each other.
    â€œWe do not wish to have our hopes raised,” Ron said carefully. “We are struggling to accept what is.”
    â€œDo you have any idea?” Dot said. “How could you possibly? We’ve lived here in this town for almost twenty years. We moved here to be part of this. To be part of a small town, and have friends, and know everybody and have everybody know us and . . .” She was looking straight at me and rolling her hands as she spoke, as if she were mixing bread dough.
    â€œThey all know us now,” Ron said.
    Dot finished her sentence as if he hadn’t spoken.
    â€œ. . . feel, like, the rhythm of community life. To belong to something.”
    â€œAnd now?” I said.
    Ron shook his head slowly.
    â€œHow could you possibly prove him innocent?” Dot said.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “May I look at his room?”

13
    â€œM AY WE LEAVE YOU ,” Dot said. “We don’t really like to come in here.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “I’ll just sort of look around and think a little.”
    â€œRonny and I will be downstairs,” she said, and went.
    I sat on the edge of the kid’s bed. The room was blue and as soulless as the living room. The walls were darker blue, the ceiling a lighter shade. The bed was perfectly made with a brand-new blue quilt, with matching designer pillows stacked against the headboard. There was a bureau against the far wall, and a closet. A television sat on top of the bureau. There wereno pictures on the walls. I opened the drawer in the bedside table. It was empty and clean. The drapes on the big window beside the bed were a darker blue than the