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“I don’t think so,” Danny says. “Kansas is an at-will state. What that means is that my employer doesn’t need to provide just cause for my termination.”

“That’s so unfair!”

Danny smiles. “For which of us?”

“Both of us, man! I mean shit!”

Danny says, “Could I still have some of that chili?”

27

He doesn’t call Susan Eggers that afternoon, he Zooms her. He wants to look her in the face. But first he checks the Wilder County budget for last year and the current one. He finds what he expected.

Eggers is a middle-aged woman with a helmet of gray hair, round gold-rimmed glasses, and a narrow face. An accountant’s face, Danny thinks. She’s at her desk. Behind her is a framed, jumbo-sized version of the Little House on the Prairie book jacket, little girls in the back of a Conestoga wagon, both of them looking scared to death.

“Mr. Coughlin,” she says.

“That’s right. The man you just fired.”

Eggers folds her hands and looks directly into her computer’s camera lens. “Terminated, Mr. Coughlin. And although we didn’t have to, we even gave you a valid reason—”

“Budget cuts. Yes. But the county’s school budget isn’t smaller this year, it’s actually ten per cent larger. I checked to be sure.”

She gives him a tight little smile that says Oh ye of little knowledge. “Inflation has outpaced our budget.”

Danny says, “Why don’t we cut through this, Ms. Eggers? You didn’t terminate me, you fired me. And the reason wasn’t budgetary. It was because of rumors about a crime I didn’t commit and haven’t been charged with. Tell the goddam truth.”

Susan Eggers clearly isn’t used to being talked to this way. Her cheeks flush and a vertical line grooves her previously smooth forehead. “Do you really want to go there? All right. I have been given some rather unpleasant information about you, Mr. Coughlin. Aside from your current situation, you were arrested for violating a restraining order after stalking your ex-wife. You were jailed in Wichita, I understand.”

The jail part is true, but he was only in the cooler for a night and it was for being drunk and obstreperous. Saying this, however, won’t help his case… not that he has a case to make.

“You’ve been talking to a man named Jalbert, haven’t you? You or the superintendent? Inspector with KBI? Wears a black coat and baggy jeans?”

She doesn’t answer, but she blinks. That’s answer enough. “Mr. Coughlin, the school department has been more than generous with you, in my view. We are paying you through July for work—”

“And the first week of August, don’t forget that.”

“Yes, through July and the first week of August for work you won’t be doing.” She hesitates, clearly debating the wisdom of going forward, but he’s stung her. If he wants the goddam truth, he can have it. “Let us say, for the sake of discussion, that your current… situation… has played a part. Your name is in print, in connection with a terrible crime. What would you do if it came to your attention that a high school custodian in your district, a man who is around teenage girls every school day, was an accused wife abuser and is now being questioned by the police about a rape and murder?”

He could tell her that Margie never accused him of abuse, she just wanted him to stop yelling on her lawn at two in the morning—come on back, Margie, I’ll change. He could tell her that he has no idea who killed Yvonne Wicker. He could tell her that he’s morally sure the freebie rag got his name from Inspector Jalbert, because Jalbert knew they’d have no qualms about publishing it. None of that is going to make a dime’s worth of difference to this woman.

“Are we done, Mr. Coughlin? Because I have work to do.”

“Not quite, because you don’t seem to have thought about what’s going to happen at WHS once I’m gone. The whatdoyoucallit, ramifications. Who’s going to replace me? I have one summer hire, a kid named Jesse Jackson. He’s a good kid and an excellent worker, but he can’t do the job by himself. For one thing, he doesn’t know how. For another, he’s only seventeen. Too young to take on the responsibility. For a third, he’ll be back in class full-time come September.”

“He will be let go as well,” Eggers says. “When you lock up on Friday, the keys should be returned to the school principal, Mr. Coates. He lives right there in Manitou, I believe.”

“Does Jesse also get paid for July and the first week of August?” Danny knows the answer to this question, but he wants to hear her say it.

If he was hoping for embarrassment, he doesn’t get it. What he gets is an indulgent smile. “I’m afraid not.”

“He needs that money. He’s helping out at home.”

“I’m sure he’ll find another job.” Like they’re just lying around in Wilder County. She picks up a paper on her desk, studies it, puts it down. “I believe you had another boy, Patrick Grady. His parents have lodged a complaint. They called Mr. Coates and told him the boy quit because you threatened him.”

For a moment Danny is so amazed and infuriated he can’t even speak. Then he says, “Pat Grady was fired for chronic tardiness and sloppy work. He wasn’t threatened, he’s just a common garden-variety slacker. Jesse would tell you the same thing, if you were to ask him. Which I doubt you’ll do.”

“There’s hardly any need for that. It’s just one more part of a picture that’s less than handsome. A picture of your character, Mr. Coughlin. Be happy that we’re letting you go for budgetary reasons. It will look better on your resume when you seek further employment. And now, as I’m rather busy—”