Page 60 of Sweetest in the Gale
She nodded. “Ah. That would explain your expression.” After eyeing him carefully, she strode over to one of her cabinets and returned with a handful of blank paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. “I am absolutely certain you’ve already written your evaluation, so today’s observation is simply a formality.”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
In fact, he’d drafted the praise-packed evaluation Wednesday evening, and was prepared to send it to Principal Dunn as soon as the school day ended. The notes he’d been taking on his legal pad weren’t about Poppy’s teaching talents, manifold though they were. They were his thoughts about Mildred’s disappearance, and about the murder in miniature currently sitting on his table, approximately eight inches to his left.
He’d solved the mysteries—he hoped—last night, but wanted to order his thoughts before presenting his findings to Poppy.
She set her stack of paper in front of him, then handed him the pencil. “Since you’re done with your evaluation, why don’t you distract yourself from the prospect of being buried alive by drawing something?”
“I’m—” He winced. “I’m not much of an artist, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not about the result, Simon.” Her voice was gentle. “It’s about the process. There’s literally no way for you to be wrong, as long as you try. Just…express yourself.”
Her warm fingers trailed along his shoulder as she walked away, and he clenched his eyes shut. Thirty more minutes, and they’d be alone. He could keep control that long. He had to.
By the timethe final bell rang, Simon had finished his drawing. Such as it was.
In one of their early conversations, Poppy had said she couldn’t predict the contents of her students’ hearts or the subjects that consumed their innermost thoughts. That applied to him too, he imagined.
One glance at his paper, which now lay face-down on the table, and she’d know his heart. His innermost thoughts.
He wanted her to know.
As the students filed from the room, he helped her clean up. Then he sat down at the table again and waited for her to venture near.
She fiddled with paperwork on her desk. She typed something into her laptop. She fussed over a splotch of paint on one of the student chairs.
She was nervous.
“Poppy…” At the sight of her right bun, now sagging a millimeter above her ear, he had to smile. “Come here.”
Without turning to him, she shook her head. “I just need to…”
She couldn’t even finish the breathless sentence, and she still didn’t come close. He’d spooked her last night, no doubt. All that heat, all that intimacy, and he’d left her in the cold.
No matter. He knew how to draw her back to him.
“The brother did it. Barron. He set the fire that killed Kaden.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “What’s my reward?”
At that, she spun around and eyed him suspiciously. “Is that your best guess?”
“It’s not a guess. It’s a fact.” His smile was arrogant, deliberately so. “I solved your murder diorama.”
Despite the continued wariness in her expression, she strode to the table and set her fists on her hips. “Explain your reasoning.”
This victory didn’t feel small. Not in the slightest.
“The brothers came home from work.” Simon had pictured the sequence of events over and over last night, until the progression finally made sense. “Barron fixed them drinks from their bar cart. He sat on the couch, while Kaden sat on the recliner and smoked. They watched television. Eventually, Kaden fell asleep. Deeply asleep, because Barron put a few of those sleeping pills from the bathroom medicine cabinet in his drink.”
Poppy’s lips were pressed together as she tried not to smile. “Go on.”
“Then Barron sprayed the recliner and the living room with lighter fluid, set everything ablaze, and retreated to his bedroom to climb out the window and feign panic and grief.” He lifted his shoulders. “All the other suspects had reasons to dislike Kaden, but they were red herrings. Distractions from the true criminal.”
Her eyes sparkled as she edged closer. “What’s your proof?”
“The discarded bottle of lighter fluid hidden under a bush outside their bedroom window, so well placed you couldn’t see it without a magnifying glass. The papers I found on the bedroom desk, which showed how quickly Kaden was piling up debt and emptying their joint account.” He couldn’t even imagine how long writing the papers had taken, given the tiny, tiny print. “Those bank and credit card statements required tweezersanda magnifying glass to read. Which I employed Wednesday, while you were consulting with Tori about coffins.”
She sank into the seat behind her desk, only a foot away. “Good eye, Sherlock.”
