Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"Mr. Gleeson's waiting for you," she says, nodding toward his closed door.
"Any idea what's up?" I ask.
She leans in like she's telling me a secret. "There was a detective here a couple hours ago."
My eyes widen. It's not exactly uncommon for the police to show up at the school, especially given the home lives of a lot of our kids, but it is worrisome.
"Thanks," I tell her and then hurry across the office to knock on Bryan's door.
"Come on in," he shouts.
I adjust my blouse and then step into his office. He's sitting behind his desk, his reading glasses in one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. He's one of the most laidback men I've ever met, able to go with the flow and adapt to whatever is thrown at him, but he looks weary. His brows are drawn together and he's frowning. His bald head shines beneath the overhead lights. Papers litter his usually tidy desk, his tie is undone, and he's got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his dark forearms.
"Rough day?" I ask, closing the door behind me.
"You know it." He motions toward one of the chairs across from his desk. "Have a seat."
I slip into it, folding my hands in my lap.
"How are things going?" he asks, setting his glasses on the desk and leaning back in his chair.
"Things are good. The kids were restless today, but they usually are when they're cooped up inside," I say, shifting in my seat, not sure why he sounds so formal.
He offers me a small grin. "I saw a few of their masks. Superheroes, huh?"
"They've been talking nonstop about the new Marvel movie," I hedge, hoping I'm not busted for letting the kids make masks for a movie way beyond appropriate for five and six-year-olds. "I thought they'd have fun making masks to wear. We've been talking about myths and stories lately, so it was a good tie-in." My explanation is completely true, albeit by a stretch. "Plus, it'll give them something to show their parents besides more worksheets."
Bryan's lips twitch and then he chuckles. "That bad, huh?"
"Oh my god, you have no idea," I admit with a rueful laugh. "I was desperate."
He shakes his head, still chuckling. "It certainly made their day."
"So, I'm not in trouble?"
"No. Well, not with me. But I did want to give you a heads up."
"About what?"
"A detective stopped by a bit ago," he says, leaning forward in his chair again. "He was asking about you."
"Me?" I blink.
Why in the world are the police asking about me?
"Mmhmm." Bryan snags a business card from his desk before holding it out for me.
I take the card, my eyebrows climbing as I read. "I don't know a Detective Lewis. Was he here about one of my kids?" I ask, my mind grasping onto the only thing I can think of that might have one of San Francisco's finest looking for me.
"I don't think so," Bryan says. "He asked a few questions about how long you've worked here, if we've ever had any concerns about you, that type of thing." He pins me with a serious gaze. "Is there anything I should know, Ivy? And I'm asking as your friend, not your boss."
"No," I say, as perplexed as he is. "There's nothing. You know me, Bryan. I come to work. I sing around town whenever I can. I volunteer at the nursing home. I go out for drinks with Erin or some of the other teachers occasionally, but I've never been in any sort of trouble."
"I know," he reassures me. "But you know I have to ask."
"What did he say?" I glance from Bryan to the card in my hand and then back. "Did he mention what he was looking for or why he was asking about me?"
"He said your name came up in relation to an investigation. Something about a missing college student. More than likely, the kid was at one of your shows before vanishing." Bryan nods at the card. "He wanted to talk to you, but I requested that he wait until after school hours. There's no sense upsetting the kids with this."
"Thank you." I curl my hand around the card. The last thing I want to do is cause my kids any unnecessary stress.
"He wants you to give him a call tomorrow," Bryan says. "Said he'll be in his office most of the day."
"Okay. I'll do that."
"Let me know how it goes," he advises and then his phone rings.
"See you Monday," I mumble as he reaches for it. My mind spins as I make my way out of his office and past Eloise's empty desk. When I reach my classroom, I snag my purse out of my desk and grab my cellphone. Sinking into my chair, I dial the number on the business card, only to reach a generic voicemail message.