Dead Against Her (Bree Taggert, #5)

Dana said, “You worry because you love them. That’s never going to change. You just have to learn to live with it.”

“You’re probably right.” But the thing that ate away at Bree was her fear that she was screwing up, that she would make major mistakes raising the kids, that she wasn’t good enough.

“You can’t control everything.”

“And that is the problem.”

“You’re doing a great job with them,” Dana said as if she could read Bree’s mind.

“I wish I could be sure of that. Some days I feel like someone pushed us all off a boat, and I don’t know how to swim, let alone save them. I’m floundering along trying not to let any of us drown.” And potentially failing. Pressure built in Bree’s chest until it felt as if it would burst. “What would I do without your help?”

“You need to chill,” Dana said. “I’ve seen you face murderers with less stress. Luke isn’t perfect. Stop expecting him to be. It’s not fair to either one of you.”

“You’re right.” Bree parked the SUV at the curb in front of the school. “I’m here. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

A tension headache throbbed at the base of Bree’s skull. She reached for the door handle.

Dana said, “Deep breath.”

Bree filled and emptied her lungs.

“Now go find out what happened, and be Aunt Bree, not Sheriff Taggert.”

“Thanks.” Bree ended the call and climbed out of the vehicle.

Something didn’t feel right about the situation. All kids made mistakes. She didn’t expect Luke to be perfect. But he just wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t the kind of kid who came out swinging. He harbored some residual anger from his mother’s death, but he internalized emotion. He dealt with his grief by exhausting himself with work. In that way, Luke was a lot like Bree.

Could she have been wrong? Had she missed a sign that he’d backslid?

She went into the office. Luke and three other boys sat in the outer lobby. A counter separated this reception area from the administrative personnel and offices. Behind the counter, several women worked on computers. An older woman with her hair in a tight bun manned a phone and kept one experienced eye on the four sulking boys.

Luke sat in a plastic chair against one wall. He held an ice pack to his mouth and glared at three boys on the other side of the room. Among the other boys, Bree counted two blackening eyes and a split lip. Outnumbered three to one, Luke had given as good as he’d gotten.

She shouldn’t be proud of that, but whatever. Parenting was weird.

The tallest boy sat in the middle of the trio, flanked by two dark-haired teens. A long bang of blond hair fell over his forehead. As Bree entered the room, his mouth twisted into a smug—smackable—sneer. Something in his posture made him appear to be the leader. Bree had been a cop long enough to know instinctively that this one was the problem.

She approached Luke and crouched in front of him. He kept his gaze on the other boys. The hate and hot fury in his eyes startled her. She lifted the cold pack away from his face. His lip was swollen, and a bruise was darkening his jaw below his mouth. She replaced the ice and spoke in a low voice. “Are you OK?”

He gave her a jerky nod. But he didn’t look at her, and the discomfort in Bree’s chest cranked tighter.

“Let’s go out in the hall,” she said. “I’d like to hear what happened from you first.”

His gaze shifted to meet hers, and he shook his head once. The muscles of his face were hard as stone, his mouth strained, as if he were working hard to keep quiet and didn’t trust himself to speak.

The familiar helpless, flailing feeling flooded Bree. Her instincts told her he needed to know she had faith in him—no matter what. But what could she do if he wouldn’t talk to her? She gave his forearm a quick squeeze. His mouth twitched. Then he shifted his eyes over her shoulder again and resumed glaring at his opponents.

Bree stood and crossed the floor to the counter. She gave her name to the woman with the bun on the other side. The woman eyed her uniform. “I know who you are.” She picked up the phone and pressed a number. “Sheriff Taggert is here.”

A few seconds later, a door opened, and the principal emerged from an office. A sturdy woman in her late fifties, she wore a navy-blue pantsuit and radiated an air of no nonsense. Bree had interacted with her only a few times. Most of their discussions about Luke’s emotional health and schooling had been with the guidance counselor.

She hated to leave Luke there alone, facing his opponents. But she had no options.

Bree rounded the counter.

Principal Newton held out a hand. “Sheriff Taggert. Thank you for coming.”

They shook hands, and the principal gestured to her doorway. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Bree entered the office. With cinder block walls and no windows, the space reminded Bree just a little of the county jail.

Principal Newton closed the door, rounded her desk, and sat down. She tossed her glasses on the blotter and rubbed her forehead.

Bree sat in a chair facing her and waited.

The principal dropped her hand to her lap and sighed. “I don’t even know what to tell you. None of the boys will talk.”

“Do you have the fight on surveillance video?” Bree asked.

The principal shook her head. “We don’t have a hundred percent coverage of the school. We have the entrances covered, along with most of the hallways and the cafeteria. The fight happened in the locker room. We obviously can’t have cameras in there.” She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the desk. “The gym teacher who broke up the fight said he saw Luke throw the first punch at Bobby. Bobby came back swinging, then his two friends joined in. From there, the situation deteriorated into general melee, with usual encouragement from the crowd.”

“But the teacher has no idea what started the altercation?”

“No.” The principal lifted both hands in the air. “I tried grilling them each individually, but none of them will say what started the fight. Not that it matters from a punishment perspective. I have no leeway when it comes to dispensing punishment for fighting. Regardless of the cause of the fight, all four boys will be suspended for three days.”

Exasperation heated Bree’s belly. She wanted to defend Luke, but how could she? She had no idea what had happened. “Zero-tolerance policies aren’t the answer.”

The principal nodded. “It’s a district decision. My hands are tied.” But deep, disapproving lines bracketed the principal’s mouth. “It’s no secret that I’ve been lobbying to change the guidelines. But until that happens, I have no option. You should contact the school board. I expect your arguments will garner more respect than the average parent.”

Frustration welled in Bree. “Suspension seems like the least appropriate punishment. Some kids will view it as a vacation. Others will feel like outcasts. Either way, you haven’t changed behavior, and taking them out of the classroom makes them fall behind in their studies, which is the opposite of the goal of education.”

The principal flattened her palms on her desk. “I can’t change the penalty, but I would very much like to know what made Luke lash out. He’s a junior, and he’s never been in my office before.” Her tone suggested the other boys might have.

Bree nodded. “So would I.”

The principal frowned. “I also have to tell you that an additional infraction could jeopardize Luke’s eligibility for the baseball team. I don’t want to see that happen.”

Baseball was one of Luke’s passions. Right now, he played fall ball with a regional travel league. But in the spring, he’d try out for the school team. He would be devastated if he couldn’t play. He was hoping for a scholarship.

The principal wasn’t at fault, but Bree couldn’t bring herself to thank her. “Please keep me informed.”