by Lisa Jackson
The following interviewer had been Dr. Williams, a tall, slim, black woman who was as friendly and warm as Burdette had been uptight and icy.
Mutt and Jeff, Jules had thought.
“Please, call me Tyeesha,” Dr. Williams had insisted while shaking Jules’s hand and flashing a megawatt grin. Nearly six feet tall and dressed in a rust-colored sleeveless dress and multicolored bracelets, she seemed as comfortable in her own skin as Burdette had been itching in hers.
Finally, she’d met Rhonda Hammersley, the woman seated across from her. Solid yet kind, Hammersley seemed intent on wrapping up the meeting.
“Of course, Dr. Lynch has final say. He’s reviewed all your documents.” She leaned closer, elbows on the table. “You know we have a stellar reputation as a school that can do miracles for troubled teens. We offer kids without any other option a new lease on life, so to speak.”
The door behind Jules opened as if on cue. The poodles rose to their feet and started wiggling. A man’s voice said, “Jacob! Esau! Sit!” The poodles quit moving and planted their rear ends on the floor near the hearth.
“Oh, Reverend Lynch,” Hammersley said, standing. She was practically beaming.
Jules followed suit and rose to her feet, turning to find the reverend towering over the tiny, prim woman Jules had met at the door of this house about a week earlier.
“You must be Julia,” he said warmly, and extended a big hand. “I’m Dr. Lynch, and this is my wife Cora Sue.”
Mrs. Lynch also reached forward, the diamond on her right hand glinting in the firelight. “Pleased to meet you.” Her eyes glittered like the rocks on her fingers as she studied Jules with cool gloss. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Not that I remember,” Jules lied, hoping her appearance had changed enough to fool the woman. She’d taken the trouble to add blond streaks to the curls that fell around her shoulders. She’d also bought a pair of high heels she couldn’t really afford, though the slim skirt and matching blue jacket hadn’t been worn since she’d graduated from college. Conservative blouse, strand of pearls her grandmother had willed her, and makeup that had been missing in their last meeting. Jules had done her best to alter her looks, and still Lynch’s wife wasn’t certain.
“I’m sure I would remember you, Mrs. Lynch,” Jules said, and sounded almost sincere.
The knit of Cora Sue’s eyebrows relaxed; she seemed satisfied.
“I know this interview isn’t traditional, but at Blue Rock we like to think of ourselves as family, so I ask people to interview here, rather than at the school. Let’s talk about Blue Rock. Come on into my study. Cora, dear, could you get us some coffee? Or tea?” Lynch asked Jules.
“Coffee,” she said decisively. The last thing she wanted to appear was wishy-washy. She knew instinctively that an I-don’t-care attitude wouldn’t fly, and she was desperate to see her sister again; this was her best chance. Maybe her only chance.
“Coffee it is, Cora. But tea for me, please.”
Cora Sue nodded stiffly.
The reverend paused to pet the expectant dogs on their heads, then with a quick “Go with Momma” and a snap of his fingers, he sent the poodles down the hallway to pad after Cora Sue and Dr. Williams.
Jules’s stomach was jumping, her nerves getting the better of her. Her four-inch heels clicked loudly on the marble floor while cutting into the top of her foot as she walked with Dr. Lynch under a glimmering crystal chandelier that hung from three stories above the foyer. While the other women and the dogs headed toward an archway to the far side of a sweeping staircase, Jules followed Lynch through double doors to a study near the rear of the home. Inside, floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a massive fireplace where a gas fire hissed over “charred” ceramic logs. This room overlooked the lake where the seaplane that had taken Shay to southern Oregon was tied to the dock.
Lynch followed her gaze as he settled behind a carved desk big enough to serve six for lunch. “The plane,” he said with a chuckle. “I guess it’s a bit of an indulgence, but it does make things easier. Our academy is remote, as you know, though there is a road that’s open most of the year. It’s impassable sometimes with the snowfall in the winter. If the weather warms too quickly in the spring, the runoff from the mountains tends to wash the road out.”
Again his softly amused chuckle. “Not to worry, though, we have the seaplane and a helicopter pad. Only in the very worst weather are we completely isolated, and even then it’s not a problem. With our own generators, live-in staff, and stores of supplies, we can get through any catastrophe God sees fit to send us.” He waved Jules into a visitor’s seat at his desk and settled into a leather executive chair opposite her. “Well, I guess we might not survive the ten plagues of Egypt as they were described in Exodus.”
“Right.” Jules knew nothing of the plagues but kept it to herself and made a mental note to bone up on Exodus. Attempting to appear comfortable in the stiff wing-back chair, she listened while Lynch, obviously in his element, began a diatribe about the school, its history, the good it had brought the community and youth across the country. Nothing negative, no bad vibes at Blue Rock. An orator at heart, Lynch explained how the school, “a little bit of heaven here on Earth,” attained its goals. Aside from academics, the eighteen-month curriculum included eight moral-value workshops, four drug and alcohol sessions, and gender-specific classes that dealt with sexual issues. The students were divided into peer groups and were encouraged to work together to solve interpersonal problems. Lynch went on about the school’s mission, about the good Blue Rock Academy was doing in turning around young lives.
Jules would have loved to believe it—what an incredible and altruistic vision! However, she knew it was just too good to be true. Lynch, however, seemed to be buying what he was peddling, his dedication sincere.
After a tight-lipped Cora Sue brought in the tea service, he even went so far as to play a CD about Blue Rock Academy wherein several people gave their testimonials.
The first was a graduate of Blue Rock. He had been a famous soap opera star, according to his sincere message, “strung out on heroin and on the verge of suicide” before he was twenty. His “totally self-destructive” behavior would have killed him if not for the faith and self-respect he found at Blue Rock Academy.
The next familiar face was a popular and handsome TV evangelist who praised the academy for its good works of showing the nation’s youth the “true and glorious” path to Christ and saving young lives.
What about Lauren Conway? Jules wondered, but managed to hold her tongue. She couldn’t afford to blow her cover before she was hired. If she was hired.
The third testimonial was by a husband and wife team of authors who published self-help books. The covers of You Are What You Believe and The Answer were flashed upon the screen.
He clicked the television off after the infomercial and after pouring a bit of cream and lots of honey into his tea, stirred the concoction and said, “We have had our share of detractors, of course, and though most of the charges are completely unfounded, there have been a couple of black marks—blemishes, if you will—on our reputation.”
Here we go, Jules thought, sipping her black coffee and waiting to hear the spin on the “blemishes.”
“One of our students went missing last fall.” He sighed loudly as he stared into the depths of his teacup, as if he could read the leaves or come up with some answer. “We don’t know why, nor has she been found. Yet. I have my ideas of what happened, but I can’t even begin to speculate. It wouldn’t be fair to her family.”
Translation: The lawyers for Blue Rock Academy advised anyone associated with the institution to clam up.
“I heard about that,” Jules said, realizing that anyone who applied to work at the school would have done his or her research about the institution.
“Then you probably know that the reason we’re looking for a new teacher is that one of ours was accused by a student of taking … liberties. Again, I wouldn�
��t want to comment on that except to say these two little situations are to be expected, I suppose, people being what they are. But”—he held up a long, judicious finger—“I would remind you that the students we work with aren’t mainstream; they have issues. Problems. The reputation of Blue Rock Academy speaks for itself.” He paused then, cocking his head as if hearing the music for the first time. “Is that Bach?” He closed his eyes and moved his hand as if waving an invisible conductor’s baton in rhythm to the softly flowing notes from the string section.
“Excuse me.” He opened his eyes at the end of the interlude. “Sometimes … Well, music moves me.” Then, straightening, he asked, “How quickly could you take a position with the academy?”
Jules’s heart began to beat a little faster. “The information on the Web site indicated a position was open immediately.”
“And you could do that?”
“Yes,” she said easily. “I could be ready tomorrow.”
“Really?” He looked surprised, and she inwardly kicked herself. She didn’t want to appear too eager or raise any suspicions.
“I could arrange it, yes, though, of course, it would be best to have a few days,” she admitted.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully; then he checked the wall clock over the fireplace. “I’ll get back to you, Ms. Farentino,” he promised. “Soon. Either way.”
“I appreciate it.” She stood and extended her hand, looking him squarely in the eye. “Your school sounds very interesting. Cutting-edge. A necessity for so many of our disenchanted youth.” The words nearly stuck in her craw with what she knew, but she managed a smile.
One of his eyebrows lifted a bit as he held her hand just a millisecond too long. Did his gaze slip a little, down her neck to her breasts?
A moment later, they were both facing the door, Jules wondering if she had imagined things.
She might have been mistaken.
The interview over, Lynch escorted her to the foyer. Dr. Williams and Burdette waited there with another man, whom Lynch introduced quickly as the pilot for the academy.
Kirk Spurrier shook her hand. Tall, with dark hair and eyes that matched, he was all business. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she said.
He flashed a smile, then turned to Lynch. “If possible, I’d like to fly back in daylight,” he said.
The reverend nodded curtly. “I think we’re finished here.”
“Thanks for applying to Blue Rock,” Tyeesha Williams said, clasping Jules’s hand in both of hers. Her smile was wide and gleamed as brightly as the silver bracelets on her wrist.
Adele Burdette gave her a cursory nod, and Cora Sue ignored her altogether.
A disingenuous group, Jules thought as she drove off in the rental car she’d used as part of her ruse. She’d been concerned that Cora Sue, mistress of the biblically named poodles and seemingly unhappy wife of the reverend, might recognize her battered Volvo four-door.
Jules could be found out easily enough, of course, though any communication from her old address in Portland was currently forwarded to her in Seattle. If asked, she’d admit to moving up here but that she just hadn’t gotten around to all of the paperwork, and she could claim that her car was in the shop. She only hoped that it wouldn’t come to any darker deception. She didn’t really have a moral qualm against lying—not while trying to save her sister—but really, she wasn’t very good at it. Jules was a lousy liar, a novice in schemes and deceptions.
Then again, she was a quick study.
CHAPTER 12
Rhonda Hammersley just wanted to hire the woman and be done with it, but that, of course, wasn’t Reverend Lynch’s way. No, siree, Lynch prided himself on looking at “all sides of the issue.” Snap decisions were not his forte.
They were seated at the library table where Julia Farentino had been interviewed less than an hour earlier. A fire glowed in the corner where Cora Sue, knitting needles softly clacking, sat on a love seat, the poodles at her feet. The reverend’s petite wife never spoke in these meetings, but she listened. Oh, boy, did she listen. The woman gave Rhonda the creeps, but, of course, she never admitted as much. If the money from Cora Sue’s family had started Blue Rock’s endowment, then Rhonda could keep her mouth shut. Blue Rock was worth it to her.
Waiting impatiently in the doorway to the foyer, Kirk Spurrier shifted from foot to foot. The pilot was always in a hurry, always had an eye to the sky, edgy about the weather.
Hammersley could tell that Adele Burdette was satisfied with the interview and ready to move on. “Let’s hire her,” Burdette suggested as she flipped through the pages of Farentino’s résumé one last time. “At least until the end of the school year. If she doesn’t work out, we’ll terminate her contract.” She looked to Williams and Hammersley for support.
“Sounds good to me,” Hammersley offered. “She’s certainly qualified.”
Lynch lifted a staying hand. “We can’t be too hasty.”
“But we don’t have any other prospects,” Burdette argued. “And we can’t be too picky. Everyone else we approached either had trouble with our location or they’ve been scared off by the Lauren Conway business.”
Lynch actually winced, but Burdette wasn’t finished.
“It doesn’t help our credibility that she’s never been found.”
“She was a runaway. I can only assume that she met with some kind of accident or is in hiding.”
“Maybe. The truth is, we don’t know,” Burdette argued, “and that’s not good.”
“Of course it isn’t.” The reverend’s face collapsed into a mask of concern as he agreed, just as he had a hundred times before. “Unfortunate thing, that.” He looked away. “Tragic.”
Hammersley was nodding; she’d liked Lauren. So bright. So inquisitive. An athlete with keen intelligence and a sharp wit; Lauren Conway had been a natural addition to the college program in which the older students became teachers’ assistants in the high school classrooms. Lauren hadn’t been jaded or scarred, a refreshing change from some of the TAs at Blue Rock. It bothered her on a very basic level that the girl had gone missing, and she didn’t want to think too much about what might have happened to her. If Lauren truly had tried to run away, how far could she have gotten in the wilderness that surrounded the academy? And why run at all? That didn’t seem like Lauren.
Had she gone hiking and fallen? Come across a bear or a cougar? Or had she met some other deadly fate? Hammersley wouldn’t let her mind wander down that treacherous path again; she’d gone there before and every time had come up with no answers.
Burdette was still pressing her point. “Maris Howell was no accident, and no teacher wants to be associated with that scandal.”
Lynch scowled, as if he’d bitten into a lemon.
Spurrier tapped his watch. “We have to go.”
“Can’t you fly at night?” Burdette asked, obviously agitated.
“I’d rather fly in daylight.” Spurrier was calm but firm. “It’s safer.”
“But it’s not convenient.” Burdette’s eyes closed to shiny slits.
What was it that bothered the headmistress about the pilot? Hammersley wondered. Spurrier was a loner by nature, but affable enough. Not only was he trustworthy in the cockpit, but he was as an educator as well.
“If you didn’t notice, we’re trying to conduct business here,” Burdette groused.
Hammersley had seen this before, an undercurrent of tension, some kind of petty power struggle between these two. Both were just too competitive, in Hammersley’s opinion.
His eyes sparked, but Spurrier tamped down his temper. “I’m just saying it would be best if we left soon.”
“Okay, we get it,” Burdette said.
“Back on topic?” Williams’s brows rose, the chastising face that academy teachers all wore so well. “I’m with Adele. We’re only talking about a few months, but the staff is stretched thin. Things were already tight before Maris left.”
“She was fir
ed,” Burdette cut in.
“Whatever.” Williams sighed, obviously tired of the argument. “Julia Farentino has the qualifications and certifications; she could be just what we need. Her criminal background check came back clean, credit’s okay, though it looks like she could use a steady job. We know why she’s not teaching right now, and she’s single. There’s no husband or children to stop her from taking the job. She’s also willing to move down temporarily. That’s always difficult to find. If, in June, we … you change your mind about her, then don’t renew her contract.” Then, deferring to the director, Williams offered a smile. “But, of course, this is your decision, Reverend.”
“I know.” He smiled benignly and tented his hands, then nodded curtly. “Fine. Let’s do it. Rhonda, give her a call, advise her the job is temporary, get the paperwork together, and see when she can get down to Blue Rock. The sooner, the better. Everything can be handled by e-mail, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good!” He slapped his hands on the arms of his chair. “There, that’s done. Let’s get out of here.”
As they gathered their documents, stuffing them into briefcases, Spurrier dashed outside and jogged toward the dock where the plane was moored.
Lynch’s wife straightened from her chair and proffered her cheek as her husband passed.
“I’ll see you this weekend, darling,” he said. “You’re coming down?”
“Of course.”
Hammersley tried not to stare as Lynch and his wife walked to the French doors. Domestic bliss? The reverend and Cora Sue always looked amiably photogenic, but Hammersley never observed anything to indicate that a real love burned in their hearts. There seemed to be some invisible barrier between them, as if they were acting out their affection. Not that it was her place to judge. First Corinthians told her to “judge nothing,” and she knew good advice when she saw it.
The dogs stretched and nuzzled at the glass to get out. Hammersley thought the poodles might walk them down to the dock, but Lynch had other plans. A firm “Stay” from the reverend was all it took to convince the poodles and their tight-lipped mistress not to follow.
