Page 22 of Peak Suspicion
“It’s just me,” he said. “I heard there was a bomb threat at the school. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The flutter in her chest at these words made her a little lightheaded. Her cheeks heated and she had to shift her gaze away from his face, so full of concern. For her. Over Carter’s shoulder, Shayla stared at her, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “Um, Shayla Green, this is Carter Ames.” She managed the introduction with a calmness she didn’t really feel.
“Nice to meet you, Carter,” Shayla said. “That’s so sweet of you to worry about Mira’s safety.”
He looked around at the crowd of teachers and administrators. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Was there really a bomb?”
“There are people and dogs inside, searching,” Mira said. “We haven’t heard that they found anything yet.”
“We’re all waiting around until they allow us back inside to retrieve our belongings,” Shayla said. She shifted from foot to foot. “Standing on this concrete is definitely getting old.”
“Attention!” A muted rumble of a hundred shuffled feet rippled through the crowd as everyone turned toward the speaker at the front of the school. “The building has been cleared,” a deep male voice intoned. “You may return to collect your belongings.”
“Finally!”
“About time.”
“Did they find anything?”
The crowd—and their crisscrossing conversations—surged toward the building. Mira moved in that direction, too, Carter at her side. They were at the bottom of the steps when the principal, Peter Martin, intercepted her. “Mira, can you come with me, please?” he asked.
As he spoke, Sheriff Walker and a man in a dark suit moved closer. “What is it?” Mira asked. “Is something wrong?”
“We need to ask you some questions,” the dark-suited man said.
She felt faint again, but not in the heady, happy way she had felt with Carter. Then his hand was on her arm, warm and steadying. “I’ll come with you,” she said.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“I’m Carter Ames. Mira’s friend. Who are you?”
“Detective Jameson Porter, Colorado Bureau of Investigation. We need to speak to Ms. Veronica alone.”
“Am I under arrest?” she asked, panic rising.
Porter—a thin-faced man with piercing brown eyes—studied her a long moment before answering. “Not at this time.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere alone with you,” she said.
“Carter can come with her,” the sheriff said.
Porter looked as if he wanted to argue, but pressed his lips together, turned and headed toward the school.
Mira and Carter followed, the sheriff and Principal Martin behind them. Carter still held her arm, his presence steadying her.
They passed a crowd of fellow teachers exiting the building and entered the principal’s office. Principal Martin closed the door, shutting out the murmur of conversation in the halls. “Sit down, Mira.” He indicated the two chairs in front of his desk. Mira sat in one, and Carter sat beside her. He had released his hold on her, but sat close enough that their legs were almost touching.
Detective Porter sat behind the desk. The sheriff stood against the wall behind him. Principal Martin leaned on a credenza to Mira’s left. Porter reached beneath the desk and took out a paper bag. From the bag, he pulled a pair of boy’s jeans. “Do you recognize these?” he asked.
Mira stared at the jeans. They were definitely a child’s, with scuffed knees and one frayed hem. “No. Do they belong to one of the students?”
“They were found in the bottom desk drawer in your classroom,” Porter said. “Do you still say you don’t recognize them?”
“No. How did they get into my desk? Did a student put them there?” But why would someone do that?
“They belong to Bryce Atkinson,” Porter said. “He was wearing them yesterday when someone grabbed him off the street, shoved him into a car, restrained him, and removed the jeans and his shoes. Now would you like to tell us how they came to be in your possession.”
“If they were in her drawer, they weren’t in her possession,” Carter said. “Anyone could have put those there. The classroom wasn’t locked, was it?”
