Scat (6 page)

"Excuse me," Nick interrupted politely. "Did something happen here at the school this morning?"

Caught by surprise, the deputy suddenly got serious. "We can't talk about it. Your principal will make an announcement."

"The headmaster, you mean," Nick said.

"Same difference."

The first bell rang, and students started pouring into the auditorium. Marta and Nick found an empty row in the back, near the door. Usually the morning assembly was incredibly boring-a good opportunity to finish your homework or to return your text messages.

After the daily blessing, which seemed to drag on forever, Dr. Dressier approached the podium and said he had a short statement to read. He unfolded a sheet of paper and began:

"As some of you know, yesterday's field trip to the Black Vine Swamp was ended early because a small wildfire broke out in the area."

Nick snapped shut his algebra book and sat up. Marta turned off her cell phone.

"All Truman students were evacuated promptly and returned to campus safely," Dr. Dressier went on. "However, one of our biology teachers-Mrs. Starch-went back down the hiking path to retrieve a student's medicine. She didn't return to the school and hasn't been seen, so we have reason to believe she might have gotten lost and had to spend the night in the swamp."

A murmur rippled through the auditorium. Marta pinched Nick and said, "Oh . . . my . .. God."

Nick's mind was racing. He hadn't yet told Marta what he and his mother had seen on the videotape: that the animal he'd thought was a panther was actually a human being, scrambling through the cypresses.

Now Nick couldn't help but wonder if that mysterious figure wearing the dark belt-the person who'd probably made that creepy animal cry-was involved with Mrs. Starch's disappearance.

What if it was Smoke?
he thought.
What if the kid went crazy and did something awful?

Nick pried Marta's fingers from his arm.

"The authorities were out there at daybreak to continue searching for Mrs. Starch," Dr. Dressier continued from the stage. "Fortunately, the fire went out and the weather last night was mild, so there's no reason to believe she's in any danger. The search teams are experienced and very thorough, and I'm confident of a positive outcome."

Nick whispered, "I don't see Smoke anywhere."

Marta looked up and down the rows of heads in the auditorium. "He's probably just late," she said. "He's always late for assembly."

"Yeah."

"This is so freaky, Nick." Marta puffed her cheeks and let the air hiss out. "I mean, I can't stand the woman, but still, to think of her lost in that swamp . . ."

At the podium, Dr. Dressier turned the paper over and continued reading: "You probably noticed some law enforcement officers on campus this morning. Please don't be alarmed or make any rash assumptions. It's routine procedure in such cases. Students in Mrs. Starch's classes, and the others who went on the field trip, may be called aside to chat with the deputies today. I would encourage you to be as helpful as you can be."

Marta said, "I better call my mom."

"What for?" Nick asked.

"In case there's gonna be something on TV about this. She'll wig out."

Dr. Dressier concluded his prepared statement and moved on to less exciting announcements about an upcoming soccer tournament, a change in the lunch menu (no chili for a week, due to a spoiled shipment of ground beef), and a new rule in the dress code that banned "all styles of open-toed sandals" on campus.

The students weren't listening; they were buzzing about Mrs. Starch. The mood in the auditorium was one of restless curiosity, not worry. Thanks to the headmaster's reassuring speech, most of the kids believed that the searchers would soon locate the missing teacher. Once Mrs. Starch was found, the Black Vine Swamp episode would only add to her colorful legend.

After assembly, Nick and Marta stood by the Harry Truman statue and waited for the bell. Libby Marshall rushed over, highly agitated.

"Dr. Dressier was wrong-Mrs. Starch isn't lost! She got out of the Glades last night!" Libby blurted. "I've gotta tell him so he can put it on the intercom."

"You saw her? Where?" Marta asked.

Libby shook her head. "I didn't see her, but she stopped by my house and left
this
on the porch!" Libby displayed her asthma inhaler like a trophy.

"Sam found it. He's our dog." Nick said, "Did anyone actually see her?"

"No, but Sam heard her on the front steps and started barking like crazy. And who else could it be? She's the one who went back to find my inhaler."

Although Nick didn't like Mrs. Starch any more than the other students did, he'd been hoping that she wasn't hurt, or worse. Libby's news was encouraging.

"I wonder why she didn't knock," he said.

"'Cause it was late," Libby said impatiently, "and the lights were off. She probably didn't want to wake up anybody."

That made sense to Nick and Marta.

"Now I've gotta go find Droopy Dressier," said Libby, "and straighten him out." She hurried off.

The bell rang, and Marta picked up her backpack. "I gotta admit, I'm glad that mean old hag made it out of the swamp okay."

"Me, too," Nick said.

"I don't know why we should care what happens to her."

"Because she was doing a brave thing, going back for Libby's medicine with a wildfire coming."

Marta shrugged. "Yeah. Even witches have their good days."

Dr. Dressier was hopeful but perplexed.

After the assembly, he'd received a call from the fire lieutenant, who reported that Bunny Starch's blue Prius was gone at daybreak when the crews had returned to the Black Vine Swamp. The lieutenant surmised that, sometime during the night, Mrs. Starch had found her way back to her car.

That theory was bolstered by the information from Libby Marshall, who'd burst into Dr. Dressler's office and blurted the story of her asthma inhaler so breathlessly that he feared she might need to use it.

The facts strongly suggested that Mrs. Starch was alive and had safely exited the wilderness. How else would Libby's lost medicine have been delivered to her front porch?

What nagged at Dr. Dressier was this: Nobody had seen or spoken to the biology teacher.

She hadn't shown up for classes that morning, which, given the circumstances, was excusable-yet she hadn't even called to say she'd be absent. That was a violation of the Truman faculty attendance policy, and nobody was a bigger stickler for school rules than Mrs. Starch.

In eighteen years she'd missed only one day of teaching, when she accidentally rolled her car while swerving to avoid a rabbit on the way to school. She'd borrowed the ambulance driver's radio to call in sick, and the next day she had returned to Truman with a plaster cast on one arm, a patch over one eye, and two metal pins in her collarbone.

After Libby left his office, Dr. Dressier immediately tried calling Mrs. Starch's cell phone . . . and calling and calling and calling. Then he phoned her house-no answer there, either. It was baffling.

Dr. Dressier reluctantly agreed that the sheriff's deputies should go ahead and interview the students. Technically, at least, Bunny Starch was still a missing person.

* * *

After speaking with Libby, Nick and Marta expected Mrs. Starch to be waiting with a pencil twirling in biology class. They were surprised to see Miss Moffitt sitting at Mrs. Starch's desk, and even more surprised when a sheriff's deputy poked his head in the doorway and asked for Duane Scrod Jr.

Miss Moffitt said, "Duane's absent today."

"All right." The deputy scanned his clipboard. "How about Graham Carson?"

Graham eagerly raised his hand, and the deputy motioned for him to come along. Graham was beaming self-importantly as he marched from the room.

"I don't get it," Marta murmured to Nick. "What's with the cops? Don't they know the old bird is okay?"

Nick was mystified as well. If Mrs. Starch was safe, why were the deputies hanging around and asking questions?

Another uniformed officer entered the classroom and called Marta's name. Her eyes widened and she looked fretfully at Nick.

He said, "No big deal. Just tell 'em what you know."

After a few minutes Marta returned and, looking annoyed, plopped down at her desk. "I told him Mrs. Starch was all right, but he just kept on asking me more stuff."

"Like what?" Nick said.

"No talking, please!" It was Miss Moffitt. Sternly she pointed at the blackboard, upon which she had chalked the words "Reread Chapter 8."

Libby Marshall was called out next, and Nick assumed that she'd be the final interview. Once Libby told them that Mrs. Starch had delivered the asthma inhaler last night, the deputies would realize there was nothing to investigate.

But Libby came back to class red-faced and fuming. Nick wondered what in the world was going on.

One by one, the remainder of Mrs. Starch's biology students were summoned. Sometimes the interviews were short, and sometimes they lasted awhile. There were so many interruptions from kids coming and going that it was difficult to concentrate on the Calvin cycle, or any other topic in the biology book.

Nick was the last to be called. He was led to an empty classroom by the same female deputy to whom he'd spoken near the Truman statue. The deputy told Nick to sit down (which he did) and relax (which was impossible).

"Let's go over what happened on the field trip yesterday," she said. Balanced on her lap was a clipboard holding a blank report form, upon which she'd printed Nick's full name. "When Mrs. Starch turned back to look for the young lady's asthma inhaler, you're sure she was alone?"

"Yes, I saw her walking down the boardwalk all by herself," Nick said.

The deputy scribbled on the paper.

Nick quickly added, "She must be all right, because she brought back Libby's asthma inhaler last night. Did you know about that?"

The deputy nodded and kept writing.

"Then I don't get the point of all this," Nick said.

"Let's go back to the day before the field trip," said the deputy. "I want to ask you about something that happened in class between Mrs. Starch and a boy named Duane Scrod."

Nick felt the muscles in his neck stiffen. "She pointed a pencil at him, and he bit it in half."

"Didn't he also threaten her?"

"What do you mean?"

The deputy said, "Some of your classmates remember Duane saying something like, 'You're gonna be sorry.' And then Mrs. Starch saying, 'Is that a threat?' Do you recall such a conversation?"

Nick recalled it quite clearly. He also recalled worrying that Smoke might be serious. Nick felt uneasy telling this to the deputy, because he couldn't be sure
what
Duane Scrod had meant.

But Nick's father had taught him to always be truthful, no matter how hard it might be.

"Mrs. Starch told Duane to write five hundred words about pimples," Nick began. "That's no joke."

The deputy obviously had heard about the essay from the other students, because she displayed no reaction.

Nick went on: "Then Duane said something like, 'You'll be sorry,' whatever. He was mad-kids say all kinds of stupid stuff when they're mad."

The deputy took a few more notes. "Does Duane have a nickname?" she asked, as if she didn't already know.

"Smoke," Nick said.

"Why do they call him that?"

"Because that's what he wants to be called."

The deputy glanced up. "Some of the other students said it's because he's a pyromaniac-because he likes to mess with fire."

"I don't know. We don't hang together," Nick said.

"But you've heard that rumor, right?"

Nick could sense that the deputy wanted him to say that Duane was a nut case. "I thought you wanted me to stick to what I saw and what I know," he said. "I didn't think you were interested in rumors."

The deputy raised her eyebrows. "Sometimes rumors turn out to be true, Nick."

"Can I go back to class now?"

She said, "That wildfire at the Black Vine Swamp wasn't really a wildfire. It was arson."

"What?"

"The investigators called it a 'controlled burn.' Whoever set the fire also dug a trench line on the other side so it would burn itself out. They knew what they were doing," the deputy said.

Nick was dumbfounded.

The deputy tapped her pen lightly on the clipboard. "Do you think Duane would ever try such a thing, to get back at Mrs. Starch for what happened in class? Light a brush fire to freak her out and spoil the field trip?"

"I have no idea," Nick said honestly.

In his mind he was replaying the glimpse of that tannish blur in the cypress trees, the panther that turned out to be a human. Maybe it was Smoke.

Nick kept this thought to himself. He needed to go home and look at the videotape of the swamp prowler again.

The deputy went on: "Duane was pretty angry about that essay assignment, wasn't he?"

"Sure," said Nick, thinking:
Who wouldn't be angry?
Mrs. Starch had totally humiliated the guy.

"Were you aware that Duane got in trouble once for burning down a construction trailer out near Immokalee? He was only ten years old when it happened," the deputy said. "Another time, they caught him torching a billboard on the interstate, using mops dipped in gasoline. Three in the morning, a state trooper busted him."

"Are you serious?" Nick was stunned. Those weren't typical dumb-kid pranks; they were crimes.

"Are you afraid of Duane?" the deputy asked.

"Not really. He doesn't hassle anyone."

"Was Mrs. Starch afraid of him?"

Nick had to chuckle at that one. The deputy asked what was so funny.

He said, "If you met Mrs. Starch, you'd think it was pretty funny, too."

The deputy scribbled another few lines, then capped her pen. "Nick, do you have any idea where we might find Duane?"

Nick firmly shook his head. "Nope. That's the truth." The deputy rose. "Thanks for your help."

"I really don't know the guy at all," Nick insisted. "That's the thing. Nobody seems to know him, do they?" She opened the door and motioned for Nick to leave.