“We were hoping you didn’t mind if we left it here until Friday to finish,” Tony said.
“That’s not a problem.” The more Cooper looked at Tony, the less he saw a newly graduated high school student and the more he noticed a grown man with wisdom in his years. Like suggesting he leave his car there instead of asking. A kid would have asked. But with the car stuck in the garage, there wouldn’t be any tracking of Tony’s movements that way. “Do you have another car?”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “A buddy is letting me borrow one of his.”
A buddy with two cars? Nineteen-year-olds don’t have friends who lend them cars. Cooper grabbed a donut. “Be sure to lower the lift before you take off,” he instructed.
Claire walked into homeroom with one of her earbuds in her ear, and stopped at Eastman’s desk. “Since my aunt didn’t yell at me when she got home, I’m guessing you gave a good report.”
“I told her the truth. Said you were improving and were a little less of a pain in the ass.”
“I need to try harder, then.”
Sean walked behind Claire on the way to his seat. “Hey, Claire.”
She twisted, said hi.
“My aunt is hot, don’t you think?”
Eastman did a double take.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. You know, you’re single, she’s single, could work.”
“Are you suggesting I hit on your aunt?”
Claire smirked. “Dude, my aunt would never go out with you in a million years. She has excitement standards, and you’re a schoolteacher.”
“Have a seat, Porter.”
Twenty minutes went by fast. She hoped her needling would have resulted in something. Instead, Eastman jumped on a couple of the students in the class, and talked about the limited time to graduation.
Claire left the room frustrated. Every hour at school was one closer to her last. Without new information, or confirming information, the players at the school level stood a chance at getting away.
Her mind was stuck on the image of the charred remains as she walked the halls to her next class.
“Hey, Claire.” Sean walked up behind her.
“Hey.” There was no intel to gather in Wallace’s class . . .
“I heard you took second place at that track thing this weekend.”
“Yeah . . .”
“That’s cool.”
They kept walking.
“Hmm . . . Sean, do you know of any parties that happened last Friday?”
He shrugged. “There’s always something going on, but nothing big.”
Hopefully Jax could draw something out of Ally.
Sean stopped her. “Claire, uhm . . .”
He was fidgeting. And he’d done something different with his hair, or maybe it was just washed. How different could a guy change his hair unless he shaved it off?
And the memory of Marie’s shaved head surfaced.
Claire closed her eyes, shook it away. “What?”
“I know it’s kinda lame, but we only do this high school thing once . . .”
“Yeah.”
“I want to know if you wanted to go to prom.”
Claire stood shocked.
“With me.” Sean smiled.
She did not see this coming. Fuck!
“Oh . . . I wasn’t planning on going to prom.”
His face fell in disappointment. “I get it. Like I said, it’s lame.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sean swallowed hard. “We’re cool.” He turned and walked away.
Son of a bitch!
During Cooper’s lunch, when the shop was empty, he took a picture of the VIN on Tony’s car, sent it to the team, and made a call.
Neil answered, “What do you have?”
“I just sent a VIN on Tony’s car. And since it isn’t leaving the school until Friday, hopefully we can get something useful from the car itself.” With the phone to his ear, Cooper opened the passenger door, rifled through the glove compartment.
“License plate number?”
He rattled off the number on the plates, then found the registration papers, took a picture of it, and sent it in.
“Got ’em. Keep looking.”
“I will.” Cooper disconnected the call as frustration started to build.
Claire graded papers instead of getting a lecture during algebra and was told to come back at lunch so Coach Bennett could review her grading before sending her into Dunnan’s tutor pool.
Making sure she wasn’t late, Claire made it to Bennett’s classroom before the lunch bell rang.
“You’re early.” Coach Bennett had already pulled out his soggy sandwich.
“I’m an overachiever, what can I say.” Claire dumped her backpack, found her eyes scanning the pictures on the wall.
Marie’s face was never far from Claire’s thoughts. Her throat started to constrict. Damn it . . . she did not need to tear up.
“I looked over the work,” Bennett said.
“And?” She kept her back to him and tried to get it together.
“I think you need to go to college.”
“I heard.”
“You’re bright, Claire. I’ve been doing this for twenty years, and it takes me longer to grade these papers.”
She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat after looking at Marie’s smiling face on the cross-country team picture, and turned around. “I should go to college so I can be the head of the math department at a high school?”
“I know this isn’t glamorous, but it’s what I chose.”
“What, besides the heartburn from that lunch, is the perk behind going to high school for the rest of your life?”
Bennett smiled.
“My schedule’s easy. Most of the kids aren’t as much of a challenge as you. As you can see by this room, track is my passion. And don’t think I haven’t seen that in your eyes, young lady, because I have.”
She snorted.
“The district sends me twice a year to different symposiums. It’s like a free vacation.”
“Your idea of a good time is questionable, Coach.” And yet something clicked in the back of her head.
“Well, I don’t teach for the pay, so I’ll take my kicks when I can. Especially if someone else is footing the bill.”
“So you go to a convention where you party with all the other math nerds?” Click, click, click . . .
“Fine, don’t become a teacher. But go to college and become something.”
She had to give the guy kudos for his effort. “Maybe tutoring will change my mind.”
Bennett sighed. “We have a little problem with that.”
Not what she wanted to hear. “Oh?”
“Dunnan doesn’t want to work with you.”
“What?”
“He has to take the time and supervise you tutoring someone before he puts you in rotation. And he’s not convinced you’re worth the time.”
Claire felt that lead slipping away. “You’re the head of the math department, convince him.”
“I’m not his boss.”
“C’mon, Coach. What do I have to do?”
She turned back to the wall of pictures, placed a hand on Marie’s.