Page 97 of Snow Creek

Paul Singer looks up from the job application.

“You wouldn’t come this far if this wasn’t bad.”

I slide into a seat across from his blank, hospital-clean desk. I want to ask how long he’s been there, if his clean office is an indication that he’s ready to bolt if he gets a better offer. But I don’t. He’s sweating, and I find it hard to keep my eyes off the leakage oozing out from his armpits.

“It’s serious. But this will go down easy.”

I show him the photo I’d sent over.

“You sure this is her?”

He takes my phone and studies the photograph.

“Yeah. I’m positive. She seems so nice. So normal.”

He reminds me of the neighbor of a just-discovered serial killer.

“Want me to buzz her now?”

“Tell her you need to go over some paperwork or something.”

He looks wary as he presses an intercom button.

A woman answers.

“Ms. Cathy, is Ms. Webster there?”

“Yep. I’ll get her.”

“Tell her to come down to my office. One of her students is moving away and her mom is here to thank her for the extra help she gave her in reading.”

“Nice,” she says. “On her way now.”

Forty-Six

The clacking of heels announces Becky Webster’s arrival even before she knocks on the door to the administrator’s blank little office.

“Come on in, Becky.”

The door opens to reveal a lithe blond with blue eyes and only a touch of eye shadow.

She looks at me, then at her boss. A confused expression comes across her pretty face.

“Cathy said there was a parent here. I don’t recognize you. I’m sorry.”

I tell her to sit.

“I recognize you, Sarah.”

Her neck grows taut, like rubber bands nearly stretched to snapping.

“My name is Becky, not Sarah.”

I hold out my phone and show her the same family portrait that had hung on the wall in the Wheaton living room.

Her hands grip the arms of the chair.

“That’s not me. I mean, it looks like me. It’s definitely not me.”

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