He didn’t like the idea of the two of them being alone in here without the vice principal, counselors, secretaries and student aides who were usually around during school hours, and the silence was definitely starting to creep him out, but before continuing on to his own office at the end of the hall to call 911 about the vandalism, he made an obligatory stop to see the financial adviser.

Where three black spray cans were sitting atop the man’s desk.

Anger coursed through him. He stepped forward, into the small room, confronting the adviser. “Did you graffiti my walls?”

“What are you talking about? I found these at the scene and picked them up.” The adviser met his gaze. “Why would I vandalize the school?”

“Did you call the sheriff?”

“I was about to call you.”

“Oh, so you just found them?”

The financial adviser smirked. “Look, I was just trying to help. But if you don’t want my help…” He shrugged. “Here, take them. They’re all yours.” He waved a hand in the direction of the spray cans.

And Dennis saw a black spot of smeared paint on his index finger.

He had done it.

Their eyes locked. The other man knew that he knew, but he knew as well that Dennis did not dare confront him any further. He’d wanted him to know. The adviser smiled. “I have a lot of savings accounts to go over here. Do you think you could get out of my office and find something else to do?”

Dennis left without speaking. He had something else to do, all right. He was going to call the sheriff, show him those cans and have that creep arrested. He strode into his office, flipped on the light, picked up his phone and dialed 911.

The financial adviser popped his head in the doorway. “You know what, boss? I’m calling it a day. See you tomorrow.” He lifted a hand in farewell. Hanging from the hand was a brown plastic grocery bag, and from within the bag Dennis heard the clanking of spray cans.

He should have ordered the man to stop right there, but he didn’t, and just at that second, a dispatcher answered his call on the second ring. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

Chuckling, the financial adviser walked up the hallway toward the front door of the building as Dennis responded, “This is Principal Whittaker at Montgomery High School…”

Fifteen

FIFTEEN

1

“How are things?” Carol asked sympathetically.

Brad shrugged. He felt like shit and knew he looked like it, too.

“Don’t worry. The girls’ll be fine. My Jeremy’s in daycare, and he loves it.”

“It’s not even really daycare anyway,” Hank said to the sheriff, overhearing. “It’s just an afterschool program.”