The Third Victim Read Free Page B

and so was Shep.
    They just kept going around and around, and now Becky was spending all her time sequestered in her room with an army of stuffed animals she believed could talk, while Danny spent more and more time playing on the Internet in the school’s computer room. He’d told Sandy that he was earning extra credit from Miss Avalon. But both Sandy and Shep suspected that their son didn’t want to come home anymore. Then last month there had been the incident with the lockers. . . .
    Sandy was unconsciously rubbing her temples. Mitchell took a small step into the room, then caught himself and moved back.
    “By tomorrow morning,” he said quietly.
    “Absolutely. First thing in the morning. I know how important the meeting is.”
    He finally nodded, though Sandy could tell he wasn’t satisfied. She didn’t know what else she could say. That was her life these days. No one was completely satisfied—not her boss, her husband, or her kids. She kept telling herself that if she could just hang in there a little longer, things would work out. The meeting with Wal-Mart was something they’d been working on for nine months. Keeping late hours, burning the midnight oil. But if it went well, a lot of money would be pouring in. The commercial real estate company could finally hire more employees. Sandy would probably take home a nice-size bonus. Shep might finally notice she had real abilities and ambitions, just like him.
    One forty-five P . M . Sandy got up and closed the blinds on her window, hoping that would help her focus. She poured herself a glass of water, picked up a pen, and prepared to get serious.
    She’d just started reviewing the market data when the phone at her elbow rang. She picked it up absently, one half of her mind still processing numbers. She was not prepared for what she heard.
    Lucy Talbot sounded hysterical. “Sandy, Sandy! Oh thank God I reached you! There’s been a shooting, at the school. Some man, they claim he’s run away. I heard it on the radio. There’s blood in the halls. Students, faculty, I don’t know who. People are running in from everywhere. You gotta get there quick!”
    Sandy didn’t remember hanging up or grabbing her purse or yelling to Mitchell that she had to go.
    What she remembered was running. She had to get to the school. She had to get to Danny and Becky.
    And she remembered thinking for the first time in a long time that she was glad Shep O’Grady was her husband. Their children needed him.

TWO
                                                                                                                                                                                                               
    Tuesday, May 15, 1:52 P . M .
    B AKERSVILLE ’ S K – 8 LOOKED LIKE a scene out of bedlam. As Rainie came to a screeching halt half a block away from the sprawling, one-story building, she saw parents running frantically across the parking lot while children wandered the fenced-in schoolyard, crying hysterically. Fire alarms were ringing. Walt’s 1965 ambulance siren as well, damn him. More cars came careening dangerously around the residential streets, probably parents called from work.
    “Damn,” Rainie muttered. “Damn, damn, damn.”
    She could see teachers gathering up their charges into small groups. A man in a suit—maybe Principal VanderZanden; Rainie had met him only once—took up a post by the flagpole and seemed to be trying to organize the chaos. He wasn’t having much luck. Too many parents were running from group to group trying to find their children. Too many children were circling aimlessly in search of parents. A young boy with blood-soaked jeans staggered away from the whirling madness and collapsed on the sidewalk. No one seemed to