Blinking and wondering who these impostors were, Claire pointed to the jar of mayonnaise. “Give me the real stuff.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow at her choice. No doubt thinking of all the calories. Claire usually chose the fat-free Miracle Whip.

“You’re all bones,” her mother clucked, slathering a generous amount of mayonnaise on the bread. “Oh,” her mother added as if suddenly remembering, “the reason I’ve been calling you up at the lake is because your friend Maggie contacted me.”

“Maggie?” Claire echoed.

“Yes, she said that the school’s been trying to get ahold of you because they’re using your room for summer school. She’s said it’s important you come clear out your things. She also said Jill Tanners was looking for you. Had some information on a kid you were worried about. A boy named Lenny?”

Claire drew a deep breath. “Lenny?”

Her mother nodded.

What information could the counselor possibly have? Whatever it was, it was worth investigating. And if she didn’t go, she risked losing all her teaching resources it had taken years to accumulate. If she didn’t fetch her things, it was as good as admitting she was dead. Claire wasn’t willing to do that. Not yet. If she were, she might as well drive back to Darius and offer herself to him. “The building’s already closed for the day. I’ll have to go tomorrow.”

Her mother handed her a large bag of potato chips and placed a fat ham sandwich before her. “So how is that boyfriend of yours?”

Avoiding her mother’s eyes, Claire grimaced and swiped her finger along the edge of her sandwich where the mayonnaise threatened to spill out. Licking the creamy goodness off her finger, she said, “Gideon’s fine, Mom.”

Fine. Safe. As long as she ignored her heart and stayed far away from him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Should you find yourself in the company of a strange dog, be sure to make no sudden movements.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Claire was bent over, rifling through her last box, still fuming over her conversation with Jill Tanners. The woman wanted to be the first to let Claire know that Lenny was dead. Presumably gang related. That was the story. She cursed beneath her breath. No one would ever know the truth. That Lenny had been a good kid, a victim.

“Claire!”

She glanced up and grimaced to see Cyril in her doorway, an expression of mild surprise on his otherwise bland face. “What are you doing here?”

“Packing up,” she replied, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. What did it look like?

Stepping inside her classroom, he eyed the boxes. “The rumors are true, then? You’ve resigned?” he asked with a frown.