Dear Miss Demeanor

The patient was sprawled on her bed, the offending foot elevated on a pillow. Her glower had all the subtlety of a roman candle. “No thank you, Mother-you’ve done Quite Enough. I had to tell Rhonda I can’t work on the float tomorrow afternoon, since I can barely walk. She demanded to know what happened. I had no idea what to say without thoroughly humiliating myself, so I made up some stupid story. I could tell she didn’t believe me, and she’ll tell everyone at school what a total klutz I am.”

Better than the truth, which was likely to get back to certain cops a-lurk in the building. “Let’s talk about the Homecoming schedule,” I suggested, perching on the corner of her bed nearest the door. One never knows. “The parade is Friday afternoon?”

“Right after school at three-thirty, up Thurber Street and around the square. I was going to walk beside the float and do our class yell, but I doubt anyone will offer to push me in a wheelchair and I couldn’t possibly keep up on crutches. The band would march right over me.”

“You can see so much better from the sidewalk. Are you going to the game and dance? I need some advice about what to expect, and some support while I chaperone.”

“Inez and I have to sell programs at the game to earn pep points. Maybe I’ll sell more doing my Tiny Tim Cratchett imitation. She sucked in her cheeks and held out a cupped hand. “Please, sir, a pe

I almost laughed, but the sparks in her eyes kept me sober. “It will probably work, especially if you wear burlap. What about the dance? Are you and Inez going together-or do you have dates?”

The cupped hand went over her face, muffling the next words. “No, I don’t have a date, Mother. Some geek from my homeroom asked me, but the thought was nauseating. I told him I wasn’t allowed to date until I was thirty. He’s geeky enough to believe it. Inez and I haven’t decided whether to go or not, but after Rhonda finishes telling everyone about klutzy Caron Malloy, I may not show my face in public again-ever.”

“If you handle this carefully, you can win a lot of sympathy. You’ll have all the boys waiting on you, bringing you punch and that sort of thing. It’ll be fun.”

“The geek will sit beside me all night, and I won’t be able to get away from him,” she sniffled. “I’ll end up with pimples and herpes.” She was already dialing for sympathy as I left her room.

The time had come for drastic measures if I was to avoid the Homecoming dance, save Miss Parchester’s reputation, defend freedom of the press, discover the author of the Miss Demeanor blackmail letters, solve two murders-and keep Peter Rosen from locking me away for the rest of my life. I had forty-eight hours, tops. Or forty-eight years, if one used the actuarial tables.

I therefore yelled at Caron to get off the telephone, took several deep breaths, and called Sherwood Timmons.

After a round of diplomatic maneuvers, I asked him if he was willing to let me in the high school that night.

“So you are still on the case of the fiddled books,” he said, sounding delighted. “Occasbo fact furem; the occasion makes the thief. Are we to wear rubber-soled shoes and use penlights to wend our way through the ledgers? Black turtlenecks and smudges on our faces? Incognito et incognita?”

“If you wish,” I said meekly. Personally, I had on a wool jacket and my face was immaculate, but I decided to permit him his fantasies. The case of the fiddled books was no longer my primary motivation to search the office, since Peter had told me the money was still in the account. However, it seemed prudent to allow Sherwood to remain both incognizant and incognito, if he wished. I agreed to meet him in the darkest corner of the faculty parking lot. I then told Caron I had an errand and left her to continue her conversation with Inez about Rhonda-or Rhonda about the float-or the geek about hygienic distances-or something along those lines. She didn’t even wave good-bye.

Sherwood loomed beside me as I climbed out of my car in the parking lot. “I must tell you how charmed I am by our little tryst, Claire. I do hope this will not be the only opportunity we have to get to know each other intimately. In fact, I’ve tucked a bottle of wine in my refrigerator in case we feel the urge for a spot of vino veritas once we complete our breaking-and-entering diversion.”

I removed my elbow from his hand and gave him by best enigmatic smile. “We’re merely entering, Sherwood, in that you possess a key. I realize it’s unimaginative, but it’s also less likely to get us arrested.”

“Indeed. And we won’t have to worry about the despicable Pitts appearing to fumigate, since someone has already exterminated him. De nortuis nil nisis bonum-but it is difficult not to interpret his demise as a gift from the gods.”

“Then you believed all the rumors concerning drugs, alcohol, and back-alley abortionists? I was thinking about it earlier, but I wasn’t around the school long enough to arrive at any valid conclusions about him.”

“Only those on Olympus know for sure.” He unlocked the door and held it open. “Jacta alea est, as Caesar was reputed to mutter; the die is cast.”

The hall stretched like the interior of a monster, the lockers on either side glinting like rippled ribs. I hadn’t cared for Sherwood’s oblique reminder that we were alone, but I couldn’t see him in the role of crazed poisoner. Praying my vision was accurate, I switched on my flashlight and led the way to the office, and the file room beyond.

“Is this the most likely place to find ledgers?” Sherwood breathed on the back of my neck.

“Perhaps you should stay by the door in case someone’s in the building,” I said through the wintergreen haze. “Keep a lookout, listen for footsteps, that sort of thing.”

I waited until he left, then found Jerry’s folder and put it on top of the cabinet. After a quick glance through the doorway, I flipped it open and sca

After a second glance through the doorway to confirm my sentry’s position, I took out his file and looked at the contents. Nothing beyond the same sort of thing as in the coach’s file. I closed the drawer and went into the main room. “I’m going to look through Weiss’s desk,” I whispered.

He nodded tersely. “I thought I saw movement at the end of the hall. Can’t be sure. How much longer will you be?”

“Just a few minutes.” I started for the i

“Perhaps it’s your policeman, dear sleuth. At least he wouldn’t pull a gun on us and shoot us on the spot.”

“Don’t count on it,” I murmured, deciding my lookout was too caught up in his assignment to be credible. I went into Weiss’s office and sat down behind the desk. The drawers on either side were filled with forms, copies of memos, thick state regulation manuals, and other officious stuff. The middle drawer was crammed full of stubby pencils and confiscated goodies. A plywood paddle, worn shiny from use. Thumbtacks and ancient, lint-covered mints. A packet of letters held together with a rubber band-and addressed to that paragon of propriety, Miss Demeanor.

I jammed the packet in my pocket. And without a flicker of remorse, since they were already hot property, stolen from the journalism mailbox. By the principal, presumably. Who’d been murdered. Over a handful of letters?