Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

The principal walked out of her office. “Ms. Dane, you’re finally here. Now we can discuss the incident.” One eyebrow lifted over her stern dark eyes as she glanced at Lance.

Morgan introduced him. “Principal Small, this is Lance Kruger.”

She gestured toward a small conference room next to her office. “Mrs. Sloan is waiting.”

Mrs. Sloan was the music teacher.

“Wait here,” the mother said to her son as she walked toward the open door.

“I’ll be in after I’ve spoken with my daughter.” Morgan straightened, keeping one hand on Ava’s shoulder.

“We’ve already been waiting.” The principal crossed her arms over her chest.

“I appreciate that. I’ll be right in.” Morgan steered Ava out the door and into the hallway and squatted to her level. Lance leaned on the wall. She brushed Ava’s hair off her face. Her skin was hot and sweaty. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

Ava’s breath hitched. “Bret kept pulling my hair.” She sniffed and dragged her hand under her nose. “I kept asking him to stop, but . . .” Sniff. “He kept doing it. It hurt.”

“Did you tell the teacher?” Morgan asked.

Ava nodded. “Mrs. Sloan said he probably likes me. If he likes me, why did he keep hurting me?”

“Your teacher is wrong.” Morgan bit back her irritation. “Boys don’t hurt girls they like.”

They do it because they enjoy it, and if no one teaches them manners, they grow up to be men with no respect for others, like Warren Fox or ADA Esposito.

“So the teacher didn’t make him stop?” Morgan asked.

Ava shook her head. “He did it harder after I told.” She rubbed a spot behind her ear. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “He said I’d be sorry if I told on him again.”

Morgan fished a tissue from her tote and gave it to Ava. Then she gently turned her around and checked the spot she was rubbing on her scalp. Anger did a slow burn up her windpipe. Ava had a swollen, scabbed bald spot the size of a dime.

That bully had ripped out a chunk of Ava’s hair.

Lance leaned over her. His face went taut.

Morgan breathed through a spike of rage. “So you kicked Bret?”

Ava’s head did a slow, exaggerated bob. “Grandpa showed me how to make a boy stop touching me.”

Grandpa . . .

A smile tugged at Morgan’s mouth. She and her sisters had received the same lesson from Grandpa, and it had served them just as well.

“Mrs. Sloan said I was in big trouble.” Ava wiped her nose with the tissue. “Am I?”

“No.” Morgan hugged her. “You did the right thing. You asked for help first and defended yourself as a last resort. I will handle Mrs. Sloan.”

She stood, took her daughter’s hand, and the three of them went back into the principal’s office.

“Would you mind staying out here with Ava?” she asked Lance.

“I’d be happy to.” Lance held out his hand and Ava took it. She moved closer to him, plastering her little body to his leg. When he sat in one of the plastic chairs, she crawled onto his lap. He wrapped his thick arms around the little girl. She leaned against his chest and finally relaxed, no doubt feeling safe for the first time all afternoon.

Morgan was almost ashamed at the small surge of pleasure she felt when the bully shifted to the last seat in the row to put one more chair between him and Lance.

Almost.

The teacher, the principal, and the boy’s mother were all sitting at a round table in a small conference room.

The principal gestured toward the teacher. “Mrs. Sloan is in charge of the school play tryouts.”

Mrs. Sloan narrowed her eyes. “During today’s session, your daughter kicked Bret. She could have seriously injured him.”

Morgan sat. “Did my daughter come to you for help?”

“Well, yes.” Mrs. Sloan pursed her lips. “But it was such a trivial thing. Children are so touchy these days. They really need to toughen up.”

“Exactly what did Ava ask you to do?” Morgan asked.

Mrs. Sloan lifted her chin. “She wanted me to make Bret stop tugging her hair.”

“Did she use the word tug?” Morgan settled into cross-examination mode.

“I don’t recall her exact words.” Mrs. Sloan sniffed.

“How did you address the issue?” Morgan leveled her with a steady gaze.

Mrs. Sloan shifted in her chair. “I told him to stop. Kids will be kids. Your daughter needs to develop a thicker skin.”

“Keeping one’s hands to oneself is a simple concept all children can master,” Morgan clarified. She was having none of those boys-will-be-boys excuses.

Bret’s mother humphed. “I’m sure Bret was just being friendly.”

Morgan ignored her. The woman obviously had no clue what her son was up to.

“Did you follow through?” Morgan asked Mrs. Sloan. She pictured a distracted teacher, irritated by what she considered to be a trivial interruption.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Ms. Dane,” the principal chimed in. “Your daughter admitted to kicking Bret. End of story.”

“Oh, no it isn’t. That isn’t even close to the end,” Morgan said. “You have a responsibility to protect my daughter while she is in your care. You didn’t do that. You forced a six-year-old to defend herself against a much larger child. Bret ripped out a chunk of Ava’s hair violently enough that her scalp bled.”

“I . . .” Mrs. Sloan leaned back from the table.

When the woman appeared to be at a loss for words, Morgan continued. “This boy is older than Ava. He’s twice her size, and he was clearly bullying my daughter. You didn’t make him stop. He should be in trouble, not my daughter.”

The self-satisfied smile fell away from the mother’s face.

Were some kids born mean or did they learn it from their parents?

It didn’t matter.

Not all children were nice. Not all people were nice. It was a fact of life, which was the reason Grandpa had made sure all the children in his family could look out for themselves.

“We always punish all participants in a physical fight,” the principal said in an end-of-discussion tone. “Our school has a zero-tolerance policy. I have no discretion. Both children will receive a two-day suspension. Today is Wednesday. Ava can return to school on Monday.”

“You’re suspending my daughter from school? She’s six!” Disbelief flooded Morgan. “Bullying is a permissible activity?”

“I have no choice,” the principal said. “Bret will be punished as well. Those are the rules.”

“Bret threatened and physically attacked Ava,” Morgan said. “If an adult committed these acts against another adult, they could be charged with assault and battery.”

The color drained from the principal’s face. “They’re just children.”

Morgan leaned forward a few inches, her gaze locking on the principal’s. “If I reached over and yanked out a handful of your hair, what would you do? Would you consider that trivial? Would you brush it off? I’m taller and stronger than you. I could do it easily.”

Morgan let three heartbeats of silence pass. “So you wouldn’t tolerate that behavior for yourself, but you expect my daughter to toughen up? Seems to me she is plenty tough.”