“Okay. Third thing. Apparently, Ms. Jovan’s office door was wide-open when we went down to check out the scene, but her assistant swore that it was only ajar before he headed out. Know anything about that?”

Ronnie blinked. “I don’t—” She frowned. “Wait, her assistant said that? Carson?”

“Uh-huh. Any chance you stepped into Piper’s office to take a peek at something? Maybe one of your friends did?”

Ronnie’s heart started to pound. She made a strange squeaking sound from the back of her throat. The cop took this as an opportunity. His eyebrows shot up like she’d just given a confession.

“Her assistant mentioned there was sensitive information in that office,” the cop continued. “Financial documents, that kind of thing. Perhaps you knew this beforehand, though. Wanted to take a look? Steal your file?”

“I had no idea. I swear.”

“Maybe you went in for another reason?” His smile was sneaky, confident. “Maybe you were hoping you’d find a petty cash box?”

“Now wait just a second.” And here was Lane, his face red, jaw clenched, in the doorway. “What are you getting at?”

“Lane?” Ronnie shot to her feet. “Why are you still here?”

And the officer raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“Would you presume another parent was riffling through the school office looking for money? A father?”

The cop waved his arm. “The office door was open, sir. Ms. Stuckey was in that hallway. I’m just trying to work through what might have happened, why she might have gone into Ms. Jovan’s office.”

“Ronnie wasn’t in Piper’s office,” Lane insisted. “She doesn’t need money.”

“Lane,” Ronnie said nervously, swinging her head around. It felt like she’d just slipped ten feet deeper into the hole.

Then she noticed Esme peek around Lane’s legs. Ronnie motioned her into the room, and the little girl ran into her arms.

“This your daughter?” the cop asked.

“Of course,” Ronnie said, hearing her voice crack. Esme had lifted her head from Ronnie’s chest and was staring at him curiously, her eyes roaming from his badge to his belt and holster to his shiny black shoes.

“I’m calling our lawyer.” Lane pulled out his phone. “No more questions without him.”

“Lane,” Ronnie repeated, “it’s okay.” She looked back at the cop, daring herself to say something—because maybe it seemed safer to speak up?

The cop’s phone beeped, and after he studied it, he was on his feet. “I have to go,” he said grumpily. “I’m just asking questions. But let me leave you with this.” He turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “If you were in that office, Ms. Stuckey, you’re better off telling us.”

Lane walked the officer out. As the door closed, he turned back to Ronnie, his mouth twisted. “What a jerk,” he muttered.