Murder at Granite Falls (7 page)

Marie gave her a curious look. “It
still
looks like the usual boy stuff, to me. Weapons. Mayhem. Explosions.”

“Right. But look closer at the nightmarish quality. The
suffering.
Just like the first one I showed you.”

Carrie handed her the picture and leaned over to retrieve a manila folder from her top left desk drawer. She opened it and spread the other two drawings out on her desk. “The child still leaves them secretly, so I won’t know who it is.”

“Strange gifts,” Marie admitted.

“They aren’t gifts. Not really. I’m afraid they’re a message—like a call for help, or something.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “And I think you might be the one with the overactive imagination. Believe me—I see this kind of stuff doodled on assignments all the time.”

“I have, too. But look at all these slashing lines and the detail. And why are they being left anonymously for a teacher?
I’m worried that they’re either from a child who’s living in a violent situation, or even a child filled with a lot of rage.”

Marie pursed her lips. “I don’t know if I’d go
that
far.”

“Why would a child spend so much time on them and then leave them for me to find, if it wasn’t some sort of message? I know young boys like to draw stuff like this. But not to this extent.”

“Maybe this kid is just proud of his drawings and wants recognition.”

“If that was the case, he’d sign them.”

“Unless he’s a little shy. Maybe he’s waiting to see a positive reaction before coming forward.”

Carrie suppressed a shudder. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“I’d forget about it, if I were you.” Marie patted Carrie’s hand. “Toss them all and forget about it.”

“Maybe Principal Grover—”

“Just drop it. I know the kids in your class. Some come from broken homes. A few have had some troubles, and a few tend to cause it. But there’s nothing to get all ruffled over and I’m sure Ed would say the same thing.” Marie’s voice lowered. “And honestly, he gets impatient with inexperienced teachers because he’d rather not be bothered with all of this inconsequential stuff.”

Inconsequential?
Carrie bit back a sharp reply. “I think I need to start going through some of their school files, and wonder if you can give me some ideas on where to start. Noah seems like my best bet. What do you think?”

“Just because he lost his mom? No…he was a very quiet child before her death, and he’s got a very protective dad and an aunt who moved into the family home to give him more stability.” She fiddled with the ring of keys in her hand. “They’ve had him in counseling ever since, or so I’ve heard…so he should have a lot of support. Anyway, I can’t see a shy boy like him getting into all of this…this artistic carnage.”

“The Nelson twins, then? And Ashley has a surly attitude like no other. Maybe I’m wrong, but the others just don’t seem like possibilities.”

Marie’s mouth flattened. “Look, hon. I’m trying to tell you something here. This isn’t a big deal. And we’re teaching ‘summer enrichment,’ not part of the formal school calendar. Far as I’m concerned, we’re providing free child care and entertainment for the summer.”

“But—”

“Normal kid stuff. Nothing more.” Marie waggled her fingertips as she headed for the door. “Just a word to the wise, as they say—especially since you’re new on board. When it comes time for contract renewals every spring, well…squeaky wheels sometimes end up rolling right out of town.”

“Squeaky wheels. Was that why there was an opening for a teacher here? Someone else cared enough to buck the system in some way and found herself packing?”

Marie turned back at the doorway and glared at her. “Whoa. You aren’t the only one who cares about these kids, and you’re taking this way too far.”

“I…I’m sorry. Of course you care. I didn’t mean to slam everyone here.” Carrie bit her lower lip. “But I just have to wonder if this is one way that school violence takes place—when no one bothers to watch out for the troubled kids who need help?”

“If that were the case here, but it’s not. When you get a few years under your belt, you’ll have a more balanced view, believe me.” Marie held a hand up and fluttered her fingertips and she left the room.

Gripping the edge of her desk with both hands, Carrie watched her leave, and then she dropped her gaze to the pictures. Marie was wrong.

In two of the pictures, bare tree limbs clawed at a turbulent sky, rising from a dead tree. A raging, crimson river—
of blood?
—slammed against its rocky banks and shot over massive boulders in its path. There seemed to be some sort of war scene on the other side, with people fighting with cannon and swords and guns, and mutilated bodies strewn on the ground.

Someone had taken
hours
to achieve this degree of detail, and she’d stake her teaching certificate on the fact that he was a troubled child reaching out for help.

She closed her eyes and reviewed those last few moments of the class period when the students had charged for the door, and tried to picture who might be the most likely suspects.

Marie hadn’t appeared concerned about anyone in the class, but the Nelson twins were certainly a rambunctious pair. The wicked gleam in Dylan’s eyes promised trouble and she could easily guess that his more timid brother was probably on board with whatever Dylan dreamed up. Their mother didn’t exactly look like the other parents who waited in cars outside the school, either, with her Gabby’s Tavern T-shirts, frowsy blond hair and the tattoos crawling up both arms. To have that same T-shirt in several colors probably meant she waitressed there, and she certainly looked like she could take on someone in a bar fight and hold her own.

So what kind of home life did she provide for her boys?

Then there was Ashley—who sat silently at her desk, making minimal effort and exuding the air of a child who wanted to be any place other than school. Yet her perpetual sulky pout and frequent bored sighs didn’t seem like the attitude of someone who would draw violent scenes and hide them around the classroom.

If Ashley had an issue, Carrie thought with an inward smile, she would probably march up to a teacher’s desk and make her complaints perfectly clear.

None of the other kids stood out.

They all participated, to some degree, except for Noah Colwell, who appeared to be afraid of his own shadow, but the
others seemed as boisterous and outgoing as any other fifth graders would be; chattering and joking with each other before and after class.

From now on, Carrie would watch them like a hawk and make sure she discovered the identity of her unknown artist. And if there did seem to be some concerns, she would definitely follow through, no matter what Marie said.

Surely Principal Grover couldn’t be as callous as Marie claimed.

FIVE

O
n Friday, with four drawings in her folder, Carrie guessed there would be a fifth by the time class was over, but she still hadn’t seen anyone surreptitiously leave one of them behind. The anonymous artist obviously waited each time until her back was turned.

At five minutes before class ended, she leaned against her desk and smiled. “You’re all doing an
amazing
job with your paintings. We’ll finish them up on Monday so they can be displayed in the hall, and then we’ll start a unit on the influence of American Indian culture on art. Any questions?”

Everyone stirred, clearly eager for the bell to ring.

“I have one for you, then. I’ve found some wonderful drawings in the room—really well done. But I don’t know who did them, and would like to give them back to the right person.” She briefly held up one of the drawings, then slipped it back in the manila folder. “Does anyone know who did them?”

Some of the students looked around at each other, while others just gave her a blank stare.

“No one? Well, if the artist wants to talk to me privately, that’s fine, too. Have a great afternoon, everyone.”

Right on cue, the school bell rang and the students flooded out the door.

With a sigh, she gathered up the folder and strode to the
main office, where Dottie, the silver-haired school secretary, greeted her with a warm smile. “How’s it going?”

“I’m really happy to be here. The town is charming.”

“And busy.” Dottie chuckled. “Now that the tourist season is under way, Main is nearly impassable, but come September things will go back to normal.”

“Is Mr. Grover available? I have a few questions for him.”

Dottie glanced out the window toward the parking lot. “He left just a minute ago, but you might be able to catch him. Or you can leave a message with me.”

The message left for him yesterday hadn’t done much good, so Carrie shook her head. “I’ll see if I can catch him outside. Otherwise, I can just wait until next week. Thanks.”

She hurried out the door and down the sidewalk, reaching the parking lot just as the principal stepped off the curb by a gray Ford Focus. Tall, with thinning brown hair, wire rims and a paunchy midsection, he had the weary air of someone who needed to retire. And from what Marie had said about him, that day was long past due.

“Mr. Grover, could I bother you for just a second?”

He paused and frowned. “Is it important? I’m meeting my wife for lunch.”

“Really, this will just take a moment. I’m a little worried about someone in my class—”

He gave a bored sigh. “The pictures. I know.”

“You do?” Carrie’s heart lifted. Maybe this was an ongoing situation and was already being addressed.

“Marie told me about your concerns. Really, this type of drawing is very typical for boys this age. Just like she told you, they’re intrigued by weapons and battles, and most of them go through a phase of drawing this stuff. It’s like a rite of passage.” He snorted. “Given the tremendous violence of the video games they’re allowed to play, it’s no surprise.”

“But it seems—”

“Ms. Randall.”
There was no mistaking the impatience in his voice. “I realize that you’re new at teaching. But this is not an issue. And if it bothers you a great deal, well…”

His voice trailed off, leaving his implication perfectly clear.

“No. It’s not that,” she said, frustration and disappointment washing through her. Marie had been right after all.

He punched a button on his key ring and opened his car door. “Good, then. See you on Monday.”

She stepped back and watched him drive away.

Had she been foolish, making more of something than she should have? Was it worth jeopardizing her contract to pursue it further?

The principal had made that risk clear, yet a still, small voice in her heart called out a warning, urging her to not let this go.
Please, God, let me know what to do.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, with a chilly breeze typical in the mountains during the first half of June. Pausing as he worked at patching a spare raft, Logan breathed in the incomparable sweet scents of pine and damp earth.

Snowdrifts still persisted in shaded places, though the delicate buttercups, spring crocus and crimson paintbrush were already blooming in abundance in the meadows, and now rafting customers had a good chance at seeing the other signs of spring—like newborn bear cubs, or moose calves.

It couldn’t be more different from the heat and dust of a rodeo arena, and for the first time, he found himself almost wishing that he could leave the circuit for good.

As if that were a choice.

His attorney had been worth every cent, but now Logan would be riding broncs a lot longer than he’d intended to…and already, his old injuries made him feel twice his age on cold mornings.

Doc Henderson had said another bad crash in the arena could disable him for good, but the chances of that were slim no matter what Penny thought. It was a risk he’d just have to ignore.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Logan looked up and saw Carrie making her way across the rocky shoreline to stand at the water’s edge.

She was dressed in faded jeans and a moss-green T-shirt knotted at her trim waist, her glossy hair shimmering in the sunlight. She looked like one of the woodland sprites in the painting Penny had kept on her bedroom wall since she was a child.

Just looking at Carrie made him want to run his fingers through that beautiful hair. Made him want to whisk her away to someplace where they could talk and get to know each other a lot better, away from the intermittent hustle and bustle of this place.

But that was a bad idea.

She hadn’t fled after he told her about Sheryl’s death and the trial—which was incredible in itself—though she’d been carefully formal and distant ever since, offering a polite wave or nod if they happened to cross paths.

He knew she left for school by seven in the morning and didn’t return until almost two. Afterward, she worked on lesson plans, according to Penny, or left again in her SUV to head for the endless miles of hiking trails in the area. She had yet to go anywhere in the evening, though…and disappeared into her apartment with the windows closed and shades drawn before nightfall. So what was up with that?

Not that it was any of his business, and he planned to keep it that way.

As if sensing his attention, she turned away from the river and sauntered up to him. “Penny says you have just one raft guide hired for the summer.”

Warning bells sounded in his head. “That’s right. Tina and Penny both take groups down the river. I do, too, in a pinch.”

“But you have three rafts, and she says there’ll be times when you’re shorthanded.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I’d like to work for you, if you need a spare guide. My afternoons and weekends are free.” She lifted a delicate shoulder. “Future summers, too, once school is out each year.”

He hid a smile at her naiveté. She had
no
idea how tough it was to manage a big, bulky raft with a load of people…or about the endless hours of training it took to get to that point. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s a lot harder than you think.”

She didn’t bother trying to hide her own smile in response. “I do have some idea.”