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  Mr. Williams, murdered.

  Sam could scarcely believe it.

  Fourteen years ago, Mr. Williams’s car had turned up near a remote hiking trail in the Uinta Mountains. Everyone had presumed he’d gone hiking and ended up either lost or hurt, unable to get help. His body was never recovered.

  But this was surreal.

  A vacant lot next to the school seemed like an obvious place to search, and Sam wondered why the police hadn’t done so back when Mr. Williams was first reported missing. Maybe it was understandable, since there’d been no indication of foul play, and all evidence had pointed to an unfortunate accident or misadventure.

  Sam thought back to all the praise and encouragement Jackson Williams had given him when he’d worked on the school paper, inspiring Sam to go into journalism in college. Mr. Williams had also been a supportive soccer coach and good friend, and when he’d disappeared, it had devastated Sam. But he’d also had other things on his mind at the time. Things that he’d rather not have dragged up and be forced to relive now. The same reasons why, a couple months after his teacher disappeared and Sam had graduated, he’d left home. He’d hoped for good.

  The shrill ring of his cell phone on the passenger seat next to him interrupted his thoughts. He picked up the phone. It was Josh.

  “Hey, Dad. Got your message. What’s up? Already calling for an emergency care package with those Trader Joe’s chips you like and some real beer?”

  “Actually, wise guy, Salt Lake does have a Trader Joe’s, and I already have three bags stashed back at my room,” Sam said and smiled. “Plus, you’re only thirteen. Any care package you send better only have contraband coffee beans.” That earned a laugh, and some of the tension in Sam’s neck eased. Which was why he’d wanted to talk to his son. He needed the grounding. And the sound of his voice. “So, how are things going with you at your mom’s?”

  There was a sigh. “The baby cries all night, so mom usually sleeps a lot during the day. But it’s all right. Steve took me to a basketball game last night to get me out of the house.”

  Sam grunted at his son’s references to his new half-brother and stepfather. Sam’s ex-wife really had changed a lot since they were together—definitely for the better. After a few more minutes of listening to Josh’s bemoaned account of the baby’s schedule and how he couldn’t wait for Sam to get back so he could sleep in his own room—a baby-free zone—they said warm goodbyes and ended the call.

  Sam glanced up at his own parents’ imposing two-story brick home and knew that now was the time to get this over with—while he was still heartened from talking with Josh.

  At the front door, he wrestled with whether to ring the doorbell and wait or go ahead and walk in. He didn’t know if he still had the right to just enter when he wanted like when he was a kid. The last thing he wanted was to frighten his mom. But before he could make up his mind, the door swung open.

  “Sam! I’m so glad you’re here.” His mother’s dark, black hair hung straight around her shoulders as usual—which comforted him more than he expected—but what was unusual was how pale and thin she looked. Even more so than when she’d been out to his place for Christmas.

  “Hi, Mom.” He stepped in and hugged her. She felt so frail and light, he worried she might crack like an eggshell under his embrace. Damn. Why hadn’t she told him about the cancer before now? He would have been here sooner.

  Almost reluctantly, she pulled back and tried to smile. “I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here. Come in.”

  He entered the foyer, bright and cold. The old discomfort lodged in his chest.

  She closed the door behind him. “Patty prepared us a small dinner, nothing fancy. It’s in the kitchen. I’m not one for formalities of late.” This statement shook him even more than her appearance. For as long as he could remember, dinner had been eaten in the formal dining room. No exceptions. Even it if was just him and a grilled cheese sandwich.

  Sam nodded and followed her through the house and back to the kitchen. The room had seen a serious update since he was last here, with stainless-steel appliances, dark, cherry-wood cabinets, and new countertops. Something he recalled his mother had mentioned doing four years ago. Just after Dad had died.

  A commercial was playing low on a small television mounted under the kitchen cabinet. A pair of muddy shoes and gardening gloves sat on the mat in front of the French doors. The backyard was swathed in darkness now, but he was sure it was blooming—or would be soon—under her special touch. He was relieved to know that, despite everything, she was still able to do the things she loved.

  He turned his attention back to his mom. “Are you in any pain?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle, dear.” She smiled and grabbed the tea kettle and filled it up. “Having you here already makes me feel much better.”

  “I’m at the Residence Inn. It’s not far. You can call me anytime.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider and stay here with me. You could sleep in the pool house if it’s privacy you’re concerned with.”

  Other than what she’d relayed to him two weeks ago—odd and unexpected for her to reach out to him—he’d been out of touch with his mother and the state of her health. When he’d initially considered staying here, in this cold tomb where he’d grown up, the idea had been repellant. But now, seeing how things really were, it might make sense. And if the pool house was an option, even better. “I may take you up on that. Let me get settled at the school, and I’ll let you know. Has Aunt Kathy been over much?” he asked, referring to his mother’s sister.

  “Almost every day. Whatever our differences over the years, she’s really been there for me.”

  He couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt at hearing that. “I’m here now, too. I can take you anywhere you need to go—your treatments, doctor’s visits, the grocery store…anything.”

  “You don’t have to do all of that. Really. Kathy and I have… Well, it’s been nice to have her in my life again. And of course, there’s Patty,” she said. Patty had been their maid forever.

  His mom grabbed an oven mitt and pulled a pan from the oven. She unwrapped foil from a loaf of French bread and picked up a serrated bread knife, waving his hand away when he offered to slice it. The crisp crust released a yeasty aroma as she cut into it, and Sam realized how hungry he was.

  The intro for the six o’clock news sounded from the television behind her. Not surprisingly, the headline story was the discovery of the body of former teacher, Jackson Williams, at the school.

  They both stood transfixed, staring at the screen, his mother still holding the knife in her hand, although her knuckles had turned white as she gripped the handle. This time, she let him pry the knife from her fingers, and he set it on the counter.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and turned away, her eyes downcast as she busied herself with turning off the oven. “I just feel terrible for that nice man. And his family. All these years not having a proper burial like that. He deserved better. I remember how much he helped you.”

  When she raised her eyes, they were a more brilliant blue. He couldn’t be sure if they were tears or not because within a moment, they were back to normal, and she was smiling again.

  “Anyway. That’s all in the past,” she said a little too cheerfully. “Let’s eat.”

  …

  The room where the centennial committee met for their Thursday night planning session was especially loud and hectic tonight because every person on the committee—and quite a number not on the committee—had felt the need to be present.

  Allie guessed it had something to do with the ongoing crime scene outside.

  Chairwoman Meredith Sanders was in her element at the front of the room, basking in the attention. As always. Her chestnut hair was worn long and straight, something Allie was certain required monthly maintenance to reach such a shine. A cream-colored knit dress showcased the other woman’s toned, lithe body, courtesy of daily workouts with h
er personal trainer. When your most recent ex-husband was a member of the fourth richest family in the state, time and money were in high supply.

  Must be nice.

  Ally took a seat.

  “Let’s go ahead and get started.” Meredith paused a moment to give people an opportunity to get settled, her sharp brown eyes urging them to be quick. “We are all bereft at the discovery of Mr. Williams’s body here at the school three days ago. A beloved teacher we all considered a friend. Yesterday’s mass held by the student body was rather poignant.” Meredith continued in this vein for a few more minutes, giving accolades to a man Allie knew for a fact Meredith had hated ever since he gave her a D on their first English paper freshman year.

  Allie glanced around the crowded room, recognizing many of the faces—all of the members of the planning committee, Janine and her boyfriend, Tim Allred—the biology teacher—Jeremy, Father Shay, and Señora Sanchez. Allie also recognized the plain but brooding face of Señora Sanchez’s son, Javier, seated next to his mother, likely present because of his mother’s dislike of driving after dark. There was also a handful of notable members of the school’s advisory board, including, if she wasn’t mistaken, Elizabeth Fratto—Sam’s mom. She looked frailer than Allie remembered.

  Mrs. Fratto had served on the school’s advisory board off and on for more years than Allie could remember. She had the stately, commanding presence of someone who knew she belonged. The suit she was wearing was no doubt a designer, but which designer, Allie couldn’t begin to guess. Truth be told, Mrs. Fratto had always been a little frightening. She was just so imposing and…well, she was Sam’s mom.

  Despite herself, Allie automatically scanned the room for him. She wasn’t disappointed. He was standing at the back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, which seemed to be his favorite stance. He was quietly observing everyone in the room. His gaze fell on her, and she squirmed at being caught spying on him. She nodded slightly and pretended to finish searching the room for a different target before turning back to the front.

  “…and there may be an understandable delay in the progress of the much-anticipated peace gardens while the police continue to have the area closed as a crime scene. But we must try to maintain our focus in the coming weeks,” Meredith was saying. “As unfortunate as the discovery is, we need to remember the school centennial is a monumental event for which we have been planning for well over a year. We can’t lose our perspective. In fact, I think our next order of business should be to give a resounding hand to our newest faculty member, New York Times Bestselling author, Mr. Sam Fratto.”

  Meredith paused for the applause. Allie was curious to know how Sam was taking the attention but refused to turn back around.

  “Sam has agreed to come on board as a visiting member of the faculty through the remainder of the school year and lend his name to help garner additional publicity. In fact, Joyce—” Meredith looked around the crowd and nodded when she spotted the woman. “Why don’t you come up and tell us where we are on the publicity schedule for the coming weeks? And then we’ll follow up with Anne-Marie about the donations we’ve secured so far.”

  Allie wondered if she should interrupt now with her idea. Sure, Meredith hadn’t particularly cared for Mr. Williams, but other people might be supportive. If she could just muster the courage to get up. Well, she would give Meredith a little more time. If no one spoke up by the end, Allie would.

  She twisted a thin tissue for the next half hour, trying to calm her shaking fingers while Meredith directed the meeting. Meredith was an expert at directing other people to do the work and taking all the credit. Which, Allie supposed, was necessary in the grand scheme of things, but it also meant a lot more work landed onto her own shoulders when the other woman got too busy with her life of leisure to follow through. Such as with this past weekend’s ground breaking ceremony.

  Finally, it sounded like Meredith was wrapping things up—with no further business from the committee or audience. Now or never. With reluctance, she raised her hand.

  “Yes, Allie. Was there something you wanted to add?” Meredith’s tone was impatient.

  “Well…” Allie cleared her throat. “I thought maybe, since we’re honoring the school’s first hundred years at the Founder’s Day picnic and Gala, we could reserve a moment to honor Mr. Williams’s memory, too. Perhaps through a video presentation or slide show? I believe there’s also some room in the budget that would allow for a bench, or a fountain, or something, we could dedicate to Mr. Williams. It would be a beautiful addition to the peace gardens.”

  “That’s awfully thoughtful of you, Al.” Allie gritted her teeth at the condescension in Meredith’s tone. “And I don’t want to appear callous or anything, but we have to remember the school’s reputation. We’ve been striving these past few months to get the word out about what St. Andrew’s Academy has to offer our students and, in turn, the community, by turning out such fine graduates. Graduates like Sam Fratto, a nationally recognized author.” Meredith paused a moment to smile widely at Sam. “I worry that if we emphasize Mr. Williams and the…unfortunate fact that he appears to have been murdered, too much publicity will be turned toward the murder investigation. It could cloud everything we’ve been striving for with this event. We only want to focus on the positive things, don’t we?”

  A number of people grunted in approval, and there was a smattering of applause.

  Jeremy, who had been sitting in the front row, went to stand next to Meredith. “I know your intentions are in the right place, Allie. But Meredith has a point. I’m not sure the Gala is the right forum for that sort of video. I do think your suggestion of adding a small memorial dedicated to him in the peace gardens has merit. But we can table that for further discussion when we get closer to the centennial.”

  Jeremy stepped aside, and Meredith resumed her place at the podium. Allie’s heart sank. Was she the only one who had thought Mr. Williams deserved better?

  “Yes…Mrs. Fratto,” Meredith said. “Good to see you here tonight. Please, go ahead.”

  Mrs. Fratto remained seated, but her voice was strong and still managed to carry through the room. “As a major financial contributor to the school, including a generous donation I made on behalf of my husband’s memory earlier this year, I think…”—she paused, and Allie was certain she was trying to recall her name—“Allie’s suggestion is a wonderful idea. To honor a man who, in my opinion, molded a number of St. Andrew’s students, including my own son, to go on to become the strong, influential people they are today.”

  Allie saw Meredith take a moment to recover. The wheels were, no doubt, turning to see how she could salvage this. It was one thing to marginalize Allie’s suggestions, quite another to oppose someone of such power and stature as Mrs. Fratto. This was Allie’s chance to press her claim home, before it was too late. She stood.

  “Recently, I volunteered”—she paused and looked pointedly at Jeremy— “to take over the school’s centennial video project. There are boxes of old film and VHS tapes and photos in the archives that I’ll be reviewing. I know that in the years Mr. Williams was here, he helped direct the high school video yearbook staff and the school paper. There will surely be some footage of him. What I’m proposing is a brief, five-minute clip honoring Mr. Williams and everything he did for the school. Many of us might not be where we are without him.”

  Jeremy looked alarmed. “I doubt there’s much left. You have a big enough task as it is without digging through the mountains of stuff down there to find clips of Mr. Williams. Besides, I believe anything we did have was returned to his family back in Ohio after the police closed the investigation. To his sister, I recall.”

  Allie breathed deeply, willing herself to stay on task and not buckle under the pressure. For Mr. Williams. “You may be right. But if I come across something, I would like to have the committee’s permission to put together a brief, respectful montage in his honor. I can assure you the video will be short and tastefu
l and won’t distract from the Gala and the rest of the events.”

  The room was silent, unsure now where to throw its support between the two polarized sides. Father Shay had been quiet throughout the evening, looking as he often did at long school meetings—like he was sitting up in his sleep. He rose and came to join Jeremy and Meredith at the podium. Allie returned to her seat, unsure what the priest’s presence meant.

  “I think what Allie is proposing sounds reasonable,” he said in his thick Irish brogue. “As a school, we must remember it’s the work of all of our faculty, our students, and our supporters that make us the fine institution we are. If Allie should find some items, some old video clips, let’s permit her the opportunity to see what she can do with them. We can all review the video when she’s done and make a final decision. Would three weeks give you enough time, Allie?”

  She tried to restrain her joy and elation. “Yes, Father.”

  “Then I think we can all agree this would be the best plan for the time being. The rest of the planning will continue in the meantime.” Having said his piece, Father Shay returned to his seat.

  Meredith smiled. Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good. “Then it’s settled. We’ll take a look at Allie’s little video in three weeks’ time and make a final decision. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll end the meeting here. Thanks for coming.”

  Allie felt a little shaky. She’d done it. And she was going to follow through, no matter what goodwill it might cost. Hearing Mr. Williams’s death had not been an unfortunate tragedy like everyone had believed, but was actually something far more sinister, had played a heavy toll on her conscience. It was like they—she—had failed him. All these years, and he’d been right under everyone’s noses the whole time.

  Murdered.

  Waiting to be found.

  And making one big question start to niggle in her mind: