“Your mother wasn’t just your mother,” she replied, with an air of triumph. “Your mother was also a schoolteacher. Even though she’s been dead and gone for nearly ten years—God rest her soul— you’re still afraid of what she’ll do when she finds out that you’ve been called to the principal’s office. ”
In an instant I was transported back through time to the nightmarish afternoon when my eleven-year-old self had perched forlornly on the hard wooden chair in Mr. Shackleford’s office while my mother listened gravely to the list of charges he’d drawn up against me: running in the hallway, passing notes during class, and, worst of all, talking back to a teacher. The journey home afterward had been one of the longest in recorded history. My mother hadn’t shouted. She hadn’t scolded. She hadn’t said a single word until we were inside our apartment, when she’d said, quietly and crisply, “I don’t ever want to see you in Mr. Shackleford’s office again.”
She never did.
“Am I right?” Emma asked.
Her question jerked me back to the present. I looked down at the table and nodded.
“I only went to the principal’s office once,” I confessed shamefacedly, “but it was worse than going to the dentist’s.”
“Did your principal have red hair and half-glasses?” Emma inquired.
“No,” I said, picturing Mr. Shackleford. “He had wavy black hair and he didn’t wear glasses.”
“But he was terrifying?” said Emma.
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
9
“He was the principal, for Pete’s sake,” I snapped. “Isn’t that terrifying enough?”
“To a child perhaps,” Emma said sternly. “But you’re not a child, Lori. You’re a grown woman with children of your own. You should be over your fear of principals—and headmistresses—by now.”
“I guess I should,” I mumbled, avoiding Emma’s eyes.
“Your fear will infect the boys if you’re not careful,” she warned.
“In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t even mention the meeting to Will or Rob. After all, it may have nothing to do with them.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” I said, slumping back in my chair, “but I still think the twins are in trouble.”
The sound of someone opening the front door came to us from the hallway, followed by a rush of cold air and my husband’s voice calling, “Lori? I hope you have the kettle boiling, because I’m chilled to the bone.”
“One pot of piping hot tea, coming up!” I called back, and looked at Emma in amazement. “Will wonders never cease? He must have decided to knock off work early for a change.”
“The furnace broke down at the office!” Bill hollered. “Mr. Barlow will fix it, but until he does, I’m working from home.”
“I should have known,” I said to Emma, with a sigh. “Bill never knocks off work early.”
“Speaking of work,” she said, standing, “I’d better get back to mine. Thanks for the tea break, though. I needed it. And don’t tie yourself in knots about tomorrow. I’m sure everything will be fi ne.”
I shrugged noncommittally and busied myself with making a fresh pot of tea for my chilled husband. Emma paused to chat with him in the front hall while she put on her rain jacket and he divested himself of his. I couldn’t quite catch what they were saying, but I heard a short burst of muffled laughter before Emma let herself out the front door.
10 Nancy Atherton
A moment later Bill strode into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. The brisk wind had reddened his handsome face, and raindrops glistened in his dark brown hair. As he took a seat at the kitchen table, he gazed at me so lovingly that I couldn’t bring myself to break the bad news to him right away.
“Your tea will be ready in a minute,” I told him. “Have a macaroon while you’re waiting.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. He helped himself to a handful of macaroons, turned his soulful eyes toward me, and said, with the merest hint of a smirk, “I don’t know why you’re worried about the meeting tomorrow, Lori. I’m sure Miss Archer won’t make you stay after school.”
I felt myself blush crimson as the reason for the muffled laughter dawned on me.
“I’ll kill Emma,” I growled.
“Or clean the blackboards,” Bill went on, snorting with laughter.
“Or write a hundred times, ‘I must not accuse my headmistress of sinking her fangs into my classmates’ necks.’ ”
I gave him such a scathing look that he suspended his comic monologue, but he continued to chortle merrily to himself through the rest of the afternoon and on into the evening. Although he agreed not to mention the meeting to the boys, he was still having fits of the giggles when we climbed into bed. By then I was ready to throttle him.
“I’m warning you,” I said crossly, sitting up in bed and shaking a fist at him. “If you say one word to Miss Archer about vampires, you’re toast.”
“Your vish is my command, dahlink.” With a fiendish laugh, Bill seized my fi st and covered it with kisses.
I fell back on my pillows and groaned. If Miss Archer wasn’t concerned about the boys’ home life already, I told myself, she would be after she met Count Bill.
Two