Kelly had to twist around in her seat to see me. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘It could have been . . .’

‘Right. And you think it was angels who broke down Mr Walden’s door, and cut off that statue’s head, and wrecked the courtyard?’

Kelly stuck out her chin. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do. Angels angered over Monsignor Constantine’s decision not to allow us to memorialize Heather.’

I shook my head. ‘Bull,’ I said.

Kelly raised her eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said bull, Kelly. I think your theory is full of bull.’

Kelly turned a very interesting shade of red. I think she was probably regretting inviting me to her pool party. ‘You don’t know it wasn’t angels, Suze,’ she said acidly.

‘Actually I do. Because to the best of my knowledge, angels don’t bleed, and there was blood all over the carpeting back here from where the vandal hurt himself breaking in. That’s why the police cut up chunks of the rug and took them away.’

Kelly wasn’t the only one who gasped. Everybody kind of freaked out. I probably shouldn’t have pointed out the blood – especially since it was mine – but hey, I couldn’t let her go around saying it was all because of angels. Angels, my butt. What did she think this was anyway? Highway to Heaven?

‘OK,’ Mr Walden said. ‘On that note, everybody, it’s time for second period. Susannah, could I see you a minute?’

Cee Cee turned around to waggle her white eyebrows at me. ‘You’re in for it now, sucker,’ she hissed.

But she had no idea how true her words were. All anybody would have to do was take a look at the Band-Aids all over my wrist, and they’d know I had first-hand knowledge of where that blood had come from.

On the other hand, they had no reason to suspect me, did they?

I approached Mr Walden’s desk, my heart in my throat. He’s going to turn you in, I thought, frantically. You are so busted, Simon.

But all Mr Walden wanted to do was compliment me on my use of footnotes in my essay on the battle of Bladensburg, which he had noticed as I handed it in.

‘Uh,’ I said. ‘It was really no big deal, Mr Walden.’

‘Yes, but footnotes—’ He sighed. ‘I haven’t seen footnotes used correctly since I taught an adult education class over at the community college. Really, you did a great job.’

I muttered a modest thank-you. I didn’t want to admit that the reason I knew so much about the battle of Bladensburg was that I’d once helped a veteran of that battle direct a couple of his ancestors to a long-buried bag of money he’d dropped during it. It’s funny the things that hold people back from getting on with their life . . . or their death, I should say.

I was about to tell Mr Walden that while I’d have loved, under ordinary circumstances, to stick around and chat about famous American battles, I really had to go – I was going to see if Sister Ernestine was still guarding the way to Father Dom’s office – when Mr Walden stopped me cold with these few words: ‘It’s funny about Kelly bringing up Heather Chambers that way, actually, Susannah.’