Page 19 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

“I guess you did the best that could be done, Mr. Holloman,
without getting into any of the real issues.”
Oh, no, I thought. She’s still obsessed with the accident.
“Why don’t you come over to my office, Labelle, if you have the
time, and we can discuss it.”
She nodded gravely. “Of course, sir. I wouldn’t dream of talking
about it here. Please go on ahead, and I’ll be there in five or ten
minutes.”
I had no choice but to agree to her conspiratorial demand: she had
melted into the crowd. Taller than most of her peers, she bobbed up
a moment later in the company of another girl I didn’t recognize. On
my way across campus I ruminated on the problem Labelle appeared
to present. Her senior year was almost at an end; she had been
accepted at the state university; and her disciplinary record was
spotless. Foster Kerr was determined to close the case of his biology
teacher’s freak accident and prevent any more dirt being thrown in
the well-oiled mechanism of his clockwork high school. My student
and my principal were on a collision course, and their vectors
intersected right at my neck.
The familiar environment of my office calmed my nerves a little. I
sat down behind my desk and tried to remember all the tricks and
techniques three decades of counseling adolescents had taught me.
Calling in the parents was a last resort, almost an admission of failure,
as far I was concerned. After all, if the parents had known what to do
for their child in the first place, I wouldn’t even be involved.
Labelle’s father worked for the city; a traffic engineer, I believe. She
had three older brothers, all of whom had passed boisterously
through West Valley High before her, leaving a checkered trail of
academic and athletic achievement. Older males (I thought of Brad
Fassner) did not, therefore, impress her as much as they might a
more sheltered girl.
She approached so quietly that I did not realize she was standing in
my open doorway until she spoke. “The other office staff isn’t here.”
“Eh? Oh, come in, Labelle. Have a seat. No, that’s right. Miss
Givens is helping out over at the auditorium. We won’t be
disturbed.”
“Good.” She began fishing around in her bag for something.
“Well, Mr. Ewidge’s papers are gone, and nobody knows where. The

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