Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  “God damn students poured grease from the kitchen all over the gym floor mats.”

  “Are you serious?” Claire said. “How did they get the grease? Are students allowed in the kitchen?”

  “How the hell should I know? I only came in here to tell you that you’ve got a problem.”

  During the next two hours, Claire rounded up the students and instructed Kim to call their parents, while the gym teacher and custodial staff cleaned up the mess. After that, Claire spent time talking with parents. After things calmed down, Claire sat at her desk, behind her closed door, and browsed through more files. Two hours into reviewing files she came upon a report from Steve about setting goals for the district. She read it, and then her mind wandered to thoughts of Steve. Despite his apparent doubts about her, she’d taken to him at once. No doubt he was attractive, and he also seemed . . . kind. That meant he was probably married. Weren’t all the good ones taken? Oh, good grief! What am I doing? Maybe the loneliness is finally getting to me. Enough of this, she told herself. He’s too old for you, but more importantly, he’s your boss and you don’t need complications. Don’t be a total moron!

  She gritted her teeth and forced herself back into reading faculty meeting minutes, browsing school yearbooks and reports, and by late afternoon a clearer picture of the school emerged, unfortunately an utterly abysmal picture. The irony wasn’t lost on her: she’d done everything she’d been told to do so that she could protect herself and her son, and now it seemed she’d ended up in a den of drugs, gangs, and violence.

  Claire was interrupted from her thoughts when Kim stuck her head in the office.

  “Ms. Constantine, I have two students here to see you. Mr. Owens sent them with referrals slips.”

  The boys hesitated. Claire motioned for them to enter, and they shuffled toward her and handed her their referral slips. She glanced at the names, then looked at them and said, “Sit down boys.”

  They looked young. One was tall and lanky, hair styled in dreadlocks. The other was average height and sported a buzz haircut. Neither had tattoos that she could see, and neither wore the gang bandanas she’d seen other students wearing. “Are you freshmen?”

  “No way. Sophomores,” the tall boy said, puffing out his chest.

  She nodded. “So why are you here? Why did Mr. Owens expel you from class?”

  “We didn’t do nuttin’ wrong,” the shorter boy said. “We get good grades. Don’t cause no problems.”

  “Which one are you, Le Roy or Curtis?”

  “Huh? Oh, I’m Le Roy,” the shorter boy said.

  “What did Mr. Owens accuse you of doing this time?”

  The boys exchanged glances. Curtis, answered. “He said we was disrupting the class.”

  “What was happening in class?”

  They squirmed and poked each other, then Le Roy said, “Teacher was talking ‘bout boring junk. You know, triangles, polygons, quadrilaterals. Oh, and circles and circumferences and diameters. What are we gonna do with that stuff?”

  “And what were you doing during this boring speech?”

  “Nuttin’. Just sittin’ like I told you.”

  Claire resisted the urge to sigh. It was like talking to a typical five year old.

  A mobile phone rang, and Le Roy pulled it out of his trouser pocket, looked to see who was calling, and then answered.

  Claire hopped up from behind her desk and snatched the phone from his hand.

  “Hey, that’s my phone!”

  She turned it off and placed it in her top drawer. “We’re having a discussion. You can pick this up after school. Now, you will tell me what you were doing during Mr. Owens’s lecture.”

  The boys stared at her with mouths gaping open. Finally, Curtis said, “We was only clowning around. Making shapes with our bodies. You know, trying to look like triangles, pyramids, circles. Everybody laughed, said math was less boring in 3D.”

  Claire shook her head and tried to keep her face blank. “You said you get good grades in math. Is that correct?”

  They nodded their heads.

  She turned to her computer and brought up Le Roy’s record and then Curtis’s from the previous school year since grades weren’t posted yet for this semester. Both had received ‘A’s’ in Algebra. “All right. For now I’m placing you on detention. I’ll speak with Mr. Owens and decide whether further discipline is warranted. You’re dismissed.”

  They left, and she smiled. At least they aren’t all incorrigible. Maybe there’s hope yet.

  Another hour at work, and she could finally go home.

  AFTER DINNER SHE gave Marcus his bath and toweled him off. “Time for bed, my love.” She expected a fuss. Instead, he ran into his bedroom, naked and giggling. By the time she reached his room, he was half dressed in his pajamas.

  “My, my, you’re getting to be a big kid. I didn’t know you could dress yourself so quickly.”

  “I gotta do it fast. You said I can try to read tonight.” He picked up one of his books and climbed into bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CALLUM FULLER LAY on his motel bed, TV remote control in hand, fingers repeatedly flicking the channel button until he came across a National Geographic program. It wasn’t the sort of show he usually viewed, but he needed something to take his mind off problems. Watching animals in the wild, he figured, was better than watching cop shows with car chase scenes. He’d had enough of that in real life lately, most recently being last week when the police had spotted him leaving a train station in Chicago. He’d barely avoided capture.

  Twenty minutes into the show, a mother lion was fighting to protect her cub from a large snake, and failing. Callum’s shoulders tensed. Just what he needed—a reminder that his son was out there somewhere without his father to protect him. Callum avoided thinking about that. It did little good and it caused him to question his decisions and life choices. Juliet, undoubtedly, was a good mother. When it came to Aidan, she was the lioness. But when it came to the dangers of real life, she was more of a kitten.

  The door to the motel room burst open, making Callum jump and nearly fall off the bed. He righted himself and then reached for the gun under his pillow. He wasn’t fast enough. Two large men stood with their backs to the window and with their guns aimed at him.

  Bloody hell. He recognized them—Eddie West and Doug Fray. They worked for the Boss, Regg Kincaid.

  “What are you doing here?” Callum asked.

  “The woman. Your wife. Where’s Juliet?”

  “How the bloody hell should I know? And she isn’t my wife. We were living together. She ran off and took my kid with her. Haven’t seen her in ten months.”

  “Yeah, and I’m the pizza man. Don’t lie. You’re covering for her, and Regg is losing patience. I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I?”

  Callum ran his hand through his hair. Regg had been threatening to cut him out of the operation ever since Juliet had disappeared. Sometimes, Callum wanted out more than anything. Problem was he knew Regg pretty well. When he cut someone out, he usually meant it literally—as in, cut out his heart and delivered it to the next of kin. Even though Regg was in police custody, awaiting trial, his power hadn’t decreased one bit. Callum wasn’t that desperate to quit the syndicate.

  As for Juliet, Callum truly didn’t know where she had gone. He’d tried to find her himself and was still looking. If he found her, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he didn’t like the way they’d left things between them. And he certainly didn’t like that he couldn’t see his own son. A boy needed his father.

  “Juliet won’t help you anymore. You’re wasting your time looking.”

  “We don’t need her to help, moron. She’s a loose cannon. She knows too much about our operation.”

  “I. Don’t. Know. Where. She. Is. Got it?”

  “Find her. Else next time we might be charging an arm or leg for your next pizza delivery.”

  “Hey, Eddie, you just made a funny joke.”

 
“Shut up, Doug. Let’s go.”

  Callum smashed his hand into the motel room wall after the thugs left.

  ON THE DRIVE to work the next morning, Claire checked the rearview mirror frequently to make sure she wasn’t being followed. After almost being killed once by a sniper back in Boston, she couldn’t be too careful. Ha, maybe hiding out in a den of delinquent students isn’t as bad as I first thought. The people who want me dead wouldn’t think to look there, would they?

  As she drove, she tried to mentally review her schedule for the day. Although she had no planned meetings, if the past two days were any indication, she could expect parents, students, teachers, or administrators to drop in for impromptu meetings. Definitely different from life at University where meetings were always scheduled in advance, and only during certain hours.

  She arrived at work and was at her desk by half past six. As usual, her phone had a red light blinking on it which meant she had messages. She listened to those, took notes, and then read through the emails she hadn’t had time to read the day before. Many of those were requests for meetings with parents or teachers, so meetings for next week were filling up rapidly.

  Her last email, probably the most important, was from Steve Jensen. The message told her that all of the district’s high school principals, the HR Manager, one of the assistant superintendents, and two of the school board members, including President John Richmond, were invited to the Superintendent’s Bi-Weekly Luncheon Meeting. She stared at the screen momentarily and then leaned back in her chair. So, in a week-and-a-half she would finally meet the board President. Was that a good or a bad thing? She jotted a note in her appointment calendar to be sure she didn’t miss it—if she was here that long—because although it said ‘invited’ the wording left no doubt that everyone was expected to attend.

  By Monday Claire was falling into a routine. She checked her messages first thing, made coffee, and did as much of her paperwork as possible before teachers and secretaries arrived between a quarter past seven. From then until the third morning bell, it was chaotic with teachers using the copy machine, phones ringing, and teachers demanding to see her. She tried to leave the door open so they could come in as they pleased, except kept it closed when she had a meeting or was handling something that needed to be done immediately. This morning Nancy Palmer stopped by.

  “I have some notes for you for tomorrow’s advisory meeting.”

  “What advisory meeting?” Claire asked as she took the paper Nancy was offering.

  “The Speech teacher, George Bryant, and I chair the Debate team’s advisory meeting. The principal attends our meetings. Didn’t you know?”

  “Uh. No. I didn’t see anything about that in the records I’ve read. Didn’t know you had a debate team. When do you meet?”

  “Every other Friday after school.”

  “All right. Thanks. I’ll read this over and get back to you.”

  After Nancy left and Claire finished reading the notes, she did a quick walkabout. She was beginning to dread them because she invariably saw problems she didn’t know how to solve.

  On Wednesday, one week on the new job, Claire sat in a Subway restaurant eating lunch with her supervisor, Frank Lawrence.

  “Sad to say, it’s like a reform school run amok,” she said. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea. “Yesterday, we caught students flushing paper cups, drinking straws, and plastic spoons and forks down toilets in a boys’ room on the second floor. It’s unusable until we get a plumber.”

  “Damn,” Frank said, shaking his head. He took a big bite out of his submarine sandwich.

  “Oh, and this morning, someone carpeted the fourth-floor corridor with toilet paper. The entire corridor end to end.”

  Frank grinned and wiped his mouth. “Huh. Inventive. At least that’s harmless. You know kids. They think it’s cool to teepee. Pretty common, I’m afraid, though they usually do it to other kids’ homes and with their own rolls of toilet paper. Can’t say I’ve seen it inside a school. I don’t like it, but I’ve gotta give them credit for creativity.”

  Claire had taken to Frank immediately when he turned up on her third day; a comfortable, slightly untidy man with a lopsided smile and a good sense of humor.

  “I think they used up a two months’ supply of toilet paper.”

  “On the bright side, they could have sprayed graffiti over the entire building, then teepeed the hall. You’re lucky.”

  “How comforting.” Claire took a bite of food.

  Frank sipped his soda and studied her with such intensity that Claire wondered if he was trying to read her mind.

  “Sorry.” She looked down at her sandwich on the table and said, “I’m complaining too much.”

  “Not at all. That’s what I’m here for. To listen, to help. Let it out. I’ve found that principals need to vent, especially those in such cushy jobs.” He smiled. “So come on. Vent. Talk to me.”

  It could be a trap. Supervisors did that sometimes. Talk nice. Get you to let down your guard, then bite with a snake’s venom. But Frank seemed genuine. Her spirits were low, frustration level high. Who else would listen to her grumbling? No one cared, not even the Superintendent, if his lack of follow-up was any indication. Frank, though, had shown up and whisked her away from the school where she wouldn’t be sucked back into the dramas.

  “You’re right. There is something.” She hesitated, then whispered, “It’s hard to admit this to anyone, especially my supervisor. After only one week on the job I already have to force myself to come to work. Am I a terrible employee?”

  Frank smiled and said, “Yep.” Claire stared at him. He smiled, then became serious. “No, Claire, everybody goes through at least some of that. Me included. Not every day. But then I don’t work at Midland.”

  “There are daily student fights. Most teachers stand by and watch. Only a few step in to break them up. One of these days somebody’s going to get seriously hurt.” She sighed, pushing wayward strands of hair out of her eyes. “And then there’s the constant bullying.”

  She paused, took another sip of tea. “Not only do the teachers let it continue, but some also have shoved each other or argued with one another right in front of students. I’ve seen it happen. They’re supposed to set good examples. It’s taking all of my self-control not to scream ‘Grow up’ to all of them. Students and teachers.”

  “Maybe you should,” Frank said. “Don’t be so polite. Be tough. Don’t go postal, of course. Remember, these students and teachers need to be reined in. Disciplined. Sometimes a bit of fire and brimstone are necessary. It’s about time someone with guts let them have it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, you can’t win a war without fighting. Give ‘em hell, but stay in control of your actions. And remember, I’m here. You can call me whenever you need support. Or when you need someone to listen.”

  And he did listen. For an hour, he let her vent, offering advice when he could. His manner was so relaxed, his comments coming at the right times, and showing unwavering interest and compassion, that Claire came away feeling like she’d gone through a counseling session. Frank talked, too, about his longtime friendship with Steve Jensen and about his own family. It was the first time anyone in the school district had engaged her in a real conversation without causing her anxiety.

  However, the following day, Claire’s spirit hit a new low. After her worst morning yet, she sat at her desk scoffing down a sandwich between emergencies. The day had begun with a fire that students had deliberately set in a storage closet. It went downhill from there.

  Her phone rang, and she groaned. Don’t answer it. Whoever it is can leave a message.

  But when she heard Steve Jensen’s voice on the answering machine, she picked up.

  “How’s your day going?”

  She sighed. Did he already know? Had Frank told Steve about their talk? Why else would he call now?

  “Well, I’ve had better. I’m having one of those days, the kind where
you wish you’d stayed in bed even if that meant you were sick as a dog. It’s pretty bad when I’d rather have the flu or food poisoning than come to work.”

  “Hmm, I’ve had those days, myself. Believe me.” He chuckled.

  “I guess I shouldn’t complain. Things will get better. The first weeks on a new job are always hard, aren’t they?”

  “Absolutely. It takes time.” After a brief pause, he said, “Hey, the reason I’m calling, I got a call a few minutes ago from the police chief. I heard there was a problem at Midland.”

  “Uh, yes.” Which one was he referring to? “Uh, we had a student overdose on cocaine this morning. Paramedics and police came. It was a frightening scene.”

  “How’s the student?”

  “The hospital says he’ll recover.”

  “That’s good. Anything else?”

  She told him about the early morning fire and about an incident involving a BB gun. “No one was hurt in either of those.”

  “Did you put the school on lockdown?”

  “Yes. We’ve been in lockdown off and on all morning. I think the student body’s goal is to get the school in permanent lockdown. We finally found something they’re good at.”

  “That’s gotta be tough,” Steve said. “At least you’re getting the chance to perfect the procedures.”

  “Procedures? Should I have called you or Frank about these incidents?”

  “Frank needs to know. In the future, when these things come up, give him a buzz. He’ll notify me if he thinks I need to be informed.”

  “Right. I didn’t know, but I probably would have called when I had time, anyway.”

  “On another subject,” Steve said, “I came by the school yesterday morning. Your assistant principal told me you were in a meeting. Said he’d let you know I was there.”

  “He didn’t say anything.” Damn, he had plenty of chances to tell me yesterday and today. So what’s going on? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I would have called had I known.”