“I’m serious,” Cheryl continued. “If you value your sister’s life, then get her out of Blue Rock Academy. But do not call my house again. My husband is very upset.”
For the first time since she’d heard of the school, someone was confirming Jules’s worst fears.
“I have to go,” Cheryl said.
“Wait! If I need to get in contact with you—”
“I have a cell phone.” Cheryl rattled off the number, then hung up. Repeating the number over and over again, Jules found a pen and wrote the ten digits on a gas receipt she’d tossed into her empty cup holder. After she parked her car on the street three blocks from the restaurant, she would punch the number into the contact list of her cell phone.
She thought about everything Cheryl Conway had told her, and her blood ran cold. Shay was at the academy, alone. Remembering Shay’s last phone call, her desperate plea, Jules knew she had to do something; she couldn’t just let her sister meet with the same fate as Lauren Conway.
Jules glanced at her watch. Late again! As Jules fed the meter for the next few hours and hurried into the restaurant, Cheryl Conway’s warning chased after her: If you value your sister’s life, then get h
er out of Blue Rock Academy.
Jules would.
And she knew just how she would go about it.
“And you left your last teaching job because the school was cutting positions?” Dr. Rhonda Hammersley asked over the soft sound of classical music wafting through the room.
“I was one of the last teachers hired, the first to be let go,” Jules said, and she felt her palms begin to sweat. She sat across from the dean and kept her trembling hands under the polished wood table to hide her nervousness.
After taking Cheryl Conway’s advice to heart, Jules had applied to Blue Rock Academy online. Within two days, she’d been called for an interview, not at the school, but, here, at the house on the lake where the two poodles were lying by a fire, heads on their paws, dark eyes staring at her as if silently accusing her of lying. This had been a quick process, with the people interviewing her flying up from southern Oregon. “The district was also eliminating art and music in the school with the budget cuts. Since my major was in art, I was let go.”
“Oh, yes, there’ve been so many job losses with the falling economy. Your minor was in history and you have a credential to teach it, according to your résumé.” With short brown hair and a runner’s build, Hammersley struck Jules as a serious woman, though a hint of compassion shined through.
“That’s right.”
Hammersley studied Jules over the top of her reading glasses, then glanced down at Jules’s application and credentials spread out on the table. “I have to admit, I like what I see, though I’m just part of the committee.”
The committee had been interviewing Jules for more than an hour. Hammersley was the third person to come to the polished table. First she’d been grilled by Dr. Burdette, the dean of women for Blue Rock Academy. Wearing a smart black suit, Burdette had been all business, crisp and distracted. She looked at her watch three times during the interview and wound a finger in her kinky reddish locks before catching herself and stopping abruptly. Permanent frown lines were beginning to form at the corners of her mouth and between her eyes. Jules had guessed that Adele Burdette, Ph.D., was not a happy person.
The following interviewer had been Dr. Williams, a tall, slim, black woman who was as friendly and warm as Burdette had been uptight and icy.
Mutt and Jeff, Jules had thought.
“Please, call me Tyeesha,” Dr. Williams had insisted while shaking Jules’s hand and flashing a megawatt grin. Nearly six feet tall and dressed in a rust-colored sleeveless dress and multicolored bracelets, she seemed as comfortable in her own skin as Burdette had been itching in hers.
Finally, she’d met Rhonda Hammersley, the woman seated across from her. Solid yet kind, Hammersley seemed intent on wrapping up the meeting.
“Of course, Dr. Lynch has final say. He’s reviewed all your documents.” She leaned closer, elbows on the table. “You know we have a stellar reputation as a school that can do miracles for troubled teens. We offer kids without any other option a new lease on life, so to speak.”
The door behind Jules opened as if on cue. The poodles rose to their feet and started wiggling. A man’s voice said, “Jacob! Esau! Sit!” The poodles quit moving and planted their rear ends on the floor near the hearth.
“Oh, Reverend Lynch,” Hammersley said, standing. She was practically beaming.
Jules followed suit and rose to her feet, turning to find the reverend towering over the tiny, prim woman Jules had met at the door of this house about a week earlier.
“You must be Julia,” he said warmly, and extended a big hand. “I’m Dr. Lynch, and this is my wife Cora Sue.”
Mrs. Lynch also reached forward, the diamond on her right hand glinting in the firelight. “Pleased to meet you.” Her eyes glittered like the rocks on her fingers as she studied Jules with cool gloss. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Not that I remember,” Jules lied, hoping her appearance had changed enough to fool the woman. She’d taken the trouble to add blond streaks to the curls that fell around her shoulders. She’d also bought a pair of high heels she couldn’t really afford, though the slim skirt and matching blue jacket hadn’t been worn since she’d graduated from college. Conservative blouse, strand of pearls her grandmother had willed her, and makeup that had been missing in their last meeting. Jules had done her best to alter her looks, and still Lynch’s wife wasn’t certain.
“I’m sure I would remember you, Mrs. Lynch,” Jules said, and sounded almost sincere.
The knit of Cora Sue’s eyebrows relaxed; she seemed satisfied.