Page 17 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

his records. They weren’t in his desk drawer in the biology lab, and I
don’t think they were on him when he fell.”
I tried not to get excited. “First of all, Labelle, the location of Mr.
Ewidge’s papers cannot be of concern to you. If they are in his car,
or at his home, or even scattered all over San Pajaro preserve, it is up
to the police and the school authorities to find them. Are you worried
about something in them?”
“Me? No, I was doing all right in his class.”
“Ah. So you think someone who was failing in one of his courses
took advantage of the confusion surrounding the accident to destroy
the records?”
She shrugged. “It’s a possibility. The desk in the lab is not difficult
to break into. Child’s play for anyone with a screwdriver.”
I didn’t want to ask how she had come into that sort of
information. “Anyway, the registrar has all the midterm grades, so
even if everything since then is lost, you should all be able to recover
from it.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she granted. “But I examined the desk after
class, and there were signs that the lock had been forced. You know,
fresh scratches on the wood and a few tiny splinters on the floor.”
“Have you told anyone about this?”
“No. Only you. I think I can trust you, Mr. Holloman.”
I should have been flattered at this vote of confidence, because the
success or failure of my job really rested on getting that kind of trust
from the students. Of course, that often meant going against the less
rational strictures of administrators like Foster Kerr.
“Then let me handle it. It’s my responsibility—really, everyone’s
responsibility—to get through this tragedy without making things
worse. Nobody will be helped by stirring up a lot of bad feelings at
this point. Promise me you’ll keep your suspicions to yourself about
the papers—or, if you must talk about them, come to me.”
Her head turned as she watched the tow truck leave the lot.
“Okay. But the police should be doing their job, too. This may not
be as cut-and-dried as that Captain Fassner seems to think.”
And she walked away. I found my own car and left West Valley
High and all its problems temporarily behind me. It was Friday, and I
normally had little or no school business to concern myself with over
the weekend. That was one of the advantages of being a counselor

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