Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [100]
Charla sighed. “I really shouldn’t talk about her.”
So much for subtlety or beating around the bush. “Because of the lawsuit?”
“That was dropped,” she snapped fiercely, then caught herself. “Just recently…It’s no secret, I guess. Maris was caught with one of the students, Ethan Slade. Understandably, his parents were upset.”
“But he’s still here,” Jules pointed out.
“Oh, yes. And he became a TA and is going to college through the school, all gratis—part of the deal his parents worked out. Maris was let go, but even the DA backed off. Charges dropped.” Obviously Charla didn’t approve. As if realizing she’d said more than she should, she picked up the pace. “This is our gymnasium.” She motioned grandly to the huge building with its soaring, curved roof. “Every student is required to take physical education courses along with survival training. You’ve met the instructor, Mr. Trent. He’s relatively new to his position but works with each of the kids, and the curriculum isn’t limited to indoor sports. Mr. Trent spends a lot of his time outdoors. Everything from soccer to archery, to horseback riding, yoga, and windsurfing.
“Reverend Lynch, he’s quite an athlete himself, a boxer, and he believes in physical fitness, that the body and mind are God’s gifts. Each student is taught to take care of both.”
Back to the good reverend. Boy, Charla had it bad.
They passed several groups of students who were helping clear walkways, and Charla waved to a big man wearing an insulated hunter’s cap with earflaps. “Hi, Joe!” At six-foot-four or five, he was built like a lineman for a professional football team. “Joe Ingersoll, our maintenance supervisor.”
Appearing perturbed, he nodded but never stopped instructing three of the teachers’ aides whom Jules didn’t know by name yet.
Charla held a gloved hand up to her mouth. “We were talking about Ethan Slade. He’s the one next to Joe.” She pointed to an earnest boy, the one supposedly caught up in a scandal with Maris Howell. Jules made a note to talk to him. “The kids with him are TAs as well,” she added, “Roberto Ortega and Kaci Donahue.”
“You know all the students by name?” Jules asked.
“Of course.” Charla’s breath was a puff of white. “Some of the TAs take instruction from Joe before leading teams to work on the grounds or in the buildings.”
“And the TAs also help with security, right?” Jules asked.
“Yes, under supervision, of course.”
“Whose supervision?”
“We hire people, like the guard at the gate, but ultimately, if you have a problem, you need to talk with Bert Flannagan or Kirk Spurrier. Flannagan was solely in charge until one of the students went missing,” she said nervously. “Since then, he and Spurrier have been a team.”
“You’re talking about Lauren Conway,” Jules said, seeing a way to switch to the topic. “I read that she disappeared without a trace.”
Charla stiffened. “There’s all sort of speculation, I know. But, if you ask me, she ran away, plain and simple. The press, they wanted to make it look like something horrid had happened to her, and I can’t say that it didn’t, but she was a manipulator, that one. Came down here, begging to be part of the TA program to help her pay for school.” She shook her head. “I had her pegged from the start, you know. Knew she was up to no good.”
“You think she had another reason for being here.”
“I can’t prove it, of course. But there was just something not right about the entire situation.” Then, as if realizing she’d again said too much, Charla made a sweeping gesture toward the administration building and effectively changed the topic. “Here we are, back where we started. If you want coffee, tea, or cocoa, it’s available all day at the cafeteria.
“And it goes without saying that if you have any questions, I’m usually available.” She added, “The reverend wanted me to remind you that you have a meeting with him tonight. Seven o’clock in his study at the chapel.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jules said, trying to keep the bite out of her words.
As Charla hurried up the snowy steps of the admin building, Jules