She unfolds the magnetic chessboard on her desk and pushes it toward me. “Your move,” she says as she scoops some loose tea from a metal tin into a teapot. I don’t know anybody else who makes tea like that. It smells good, like spicy oranges and lemons and something else I can’t quite figure out, maybe some kind of herb.
One look at her and you can tell she’s not from around here—tailored clothes, clear nail polish, long hair pulled back into a fancy bun thing. Pretty in that Playboy librarian kind of way, but I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
Edging forward in my seat, I move my bishop. I act like it’s a big drag coming here, but I’ve grown accustomed to it … to her. It’s calming in a weird way. And she never asks me about football. Sometimes we don’t talk at all, which is nice. Sometimes we just sit and stare out the window. There’s always music on—it’s classical, but it’s good. She doesn’t like the quiet, either.
“Here.” She leans over her desk to hand me a cup of tea.
The only jewelry she wears is a small clear cross around her neck with a little mustard seed floating around inside. She doesn’t go to church at Midland Baptist like everyone else. She’s Catholic, which is pretty exotic around here. Nearest Catholic church is four towns over in Murpheyville. Folks are nice to her, but they keep her at arm’s length. Hell, Garry Henderson’s family moved here when he was two and he’s still considered an outsider.
Miss Granger’s been real helpful with Noodle’s application to All Saints—the private school connected with the church over there. Sure, there’s nuns and that’s weird, but I can’t let what happened to Jess happen to Noodle. This town has a way of ruining people.
“Any news about Noodle?” I ask as I take a sip of the tea. I don’t really like it, but I’m trying.
She sits back, studying the board. “Not yet.”
“I’ve been checking the mail twice a day. If she doesn’t get in, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Miss Granger smiles. “She’s gifted.”
“It’s going to be tight, money-wise, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.”
Miss Granger moves her queen. “How’s the harvest coming along?”
Maybe it’s the classical music, or the smell of the tea, or maybe it’s just her, but I blurt, “I ran over an animal with the combine this morning.”
She looks up at me from the board. Her gray eyes are soft, but curious. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Pissed.” I force a chuckle. “It got caught up in the cutting blade. It’s going to take me an hour to get that thing running again.”
Instead of turning up her nose, she seems interested. “What kind of animal?”
I think about lying, just telling her it was a fox. But there’s something about her that makes me want to open up like one of her Chinese puzzle boxes. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t seem to make myself do it.
She leans forward. “Clay, what is it?”
“Look.” I let out a heavy sigh. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone … or freak out.”
“I told you, you can trust me.”
I run my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “A calf.”
“A calf?” She nearly chokes on the word. She gets up and closes the door then sits in the chair next to me. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know who did it. Tonight’s the one-year anniversary and he’s been staring at me nonstop.”
“Are we talking about Tyler Neely again?” Her razor-sharp brows knit together. “You think he placed a dead calf in your field? We’ve talked about this, Clay. How are you doing on the medication? Those sleeping pills can have some serious side—”
“It wasn’t dead … at least not for long.” I shake my head. “The blood … it was fresh. I saw someone moving low through the wheat to the east and then I hit it. The cut on its throat looked too clean for the combine. It had golden fur.” Just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Have you ever seen a calf with golden fur?” I lean my elbows on the desk, accidentally knocking over my cup.
She springs up to grab a couple of tissues. As she’s dabbing the tea from my folder, her movement slows and her eyes narrow on the drawing of the upside-down U with two dots above and below.
“Where did you see this?”
“It’s nothing. Just something I’ve seen around,” I say as I take the folders from her and cram them into my backpack.
“Around where?” she asks, scratching the side of her head with her pencil.
“Tyler Neely.” I look up to gauge her response, but she’s hard to read. “He has it on his wrist. And then I saw it on the back of Ali Miller’s neck this morning.” Just saying it out loud ticks me off all over again.
I notice Miss Granger’s slender fingers gripping the pencil, her knuckles straining white.
“Why?” I ask. “Does it mean something?”
She reaches her hand to her neck, twisting the cross between her fingers.
The bell rings, startling us both.
She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something more, but then changes her mind. “You can go.”
I gather up my bag.
“And, Clay?” She gives a tight smile. “You can call me anytime.”