Page 47 of Everything You Want Me to Be

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’re staying right there and printing out every email you’ve got off of Hattie’s computer. And take that busted fax machine out of the interrogation room. And make sure there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

“You’re going to try the friendly angle?”

“No, I’m thirsty.” I hung up and tossed the half-full coffee cup Jones had given me into the trash. He grinned.

“Somehow it’s heartwarming to know the crusty-sheriff cliché is alive and well.”

“Happy to oblige.” I got up and shook his hand. “Jones.”

I took the highway back to Pine Valley at a hundred miles an hour, lights flashing. The speed felt good. It got the blood up, helped clear the morning away. I walked into Pine Valley High School less than fifteen minutes later and the principal met me before I’d even crossed the front door.

“Sheriff. This about Hattie?”

“I wouldn’t be pulling one of your teachers out of the classroom otherwise.”

“Which one you need?”

“Lund.”

He made a sort of sucked-in face before hollering to his secretary to call for a sub.

“This way.”

We walked back to the classrooms and he led the way to the end of a hall.

“Anything I should know about Peter?” he asked, just as we got to the right classroom.

I knocked on the window. Lund looked up from his computer and froze a bit. I pointed at him and then at my feet.Get your ass out here.

“A lot of things you should probably know about him.” We both watched him fumble around and say something to the students. “I’m only interested in one.”

Peter came out and glanced between the two of us. “Sheriff. Do you have more information about Hattie?”

“Matter of fact. Need you to come down to the station.”

“Can’t it wait until the end of the day? I’ve got classes.” He waved behind him, looking at the principal, who was eyeing him like he was trying to picture the knife in Lund’s hand.

“We’ll take care of the kids,” the principal said. “Go get your stuff.”

Lund did as he was told and we headed out to the cruiser. I let him ride in front.

“What’s your take on this curse nonsense?” I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot. I could sense his whole body relaxing as he heard the question.

“Bullshit.”

I laughed once and he eased up a bit more.

“The legend part of it, anyway, is a load of superstitious paranoia. The real curse is dealing with actors—or in my case, kids—who believe in the bullshit and make the director’s life a living hell. You saw how Portia Nguyen got everybody scared on Sunday?”

I nodded.

“She’s been like that the whole play, feeding this curse crap to anyone who’ll listen.”

“Did Hattie listen? She and Portia were mighty close.”

“No.” His voice quieted down. “No, Hattie was one of the only ones who didn’t buy it. She... she was different from most teenagers. She understood the space between reality and illusion.”