LITMIR.BIZ

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stout black woman in her sixties who looked as though she would make it through her nineties with ease.

      “What is it, Mr. John?”

      “I’ve got to run an errand. I want you to keep Annelise with you in the kitchen until Lily gets back. You understand?”

      Rose often forgot things like switching on cell phones, but she was hypersensitive to the subtleties of human behavior.

      “I’ll keep her right by me. Is everything all right?”

      “Everything’s fine.” He got to his feet. “I’ll be back soon.”

      Rose smiled at Annelise. “You run in the kitchen, girl. I’ll let you mix the cornbread today.”

      Annelise smiled, then stood and ran into the kitchen.

      Rose’s smile vanished. “Something bad done happened, Mr. Johnny? Is Lily all right?”

      “She’s fine. It’s business, Rose.”

      Rose’s look said she knew different. “You go on. I won’t let that baby out of my sight.”

      “Thank you.”

      Waters hurried out to the Land Cruiser and roared down the driveway. Picking up his cell phone, he called directory assistance and got the number of Kevin Flynn, the president of the Board of Trustees of St. Stephens Prep. Waters had not known Flynn well growing up, but as a major contributor to the school’s annual fund, he knew the man would bend over backwards to accommodate him.

      “Hello?” said Flynn.

      “Kevin, this is John Waters.”

      “Hey, John. What’s up?”

      “I think we have a problem at the school.”

      “Oh, no. Air-conditioning gone again?”

      “No. It’s much more serious. I don’t want to discuss it on a cell. I think we should meet at the school.”

      “Why don’t you come by my office?”

      An attorney with two partners, Flynn owned a nice building four blocks up Main Street from Waters’s office. “The school would be better. Would that maintenance man still be there? Danny?”

      “I think he stays till five, most days.”

      “Meet me there. Do you know Tom Jackson well?”

      A hesitation. “The police detective?”

      “Yes. He and I graduated from South Natchez together.”

      “Is this a police matter, John?”

      “I’m not sure. But I’m going to have Tom meet us there if he can.”

      “Jesus. I’m on my way.”

      Waters tried to hold the Land Cruiser at the speed limit as he called the police department.

      Kevin Flynn’s Infiniti was parked near the front door of St. Stephens when Waters arrived, and the lawyer climbed out when he saw the Land Cruiser. An athletic man of medium height, Flynn had an open manner that made people like him immediately. Waters got out and shook hands, noticing as he did that some of the school’s front windows were open to let in the autumn air.

      “What’s going on, John?” Flynn asked. “Why the secrecy? Why the cops?”

      “Let’s talk inside.”

      Flynn’s smile slipped a little, but he led Waters through the front door and into the headmaster’s empty office. He sat behind the desk, Waters on a sofa facing him.

      “You look pretty upset,” the attorney said.

      “You’re about to join me.” Waters quickly recounted his conversation with Annelise, omitting any mention of Eve Sumner’s initial warning. By the time he finished, Flynn had covered his mouth with one hand and was shaking his head.

      “Jesus Christ, John. This is my worst nightmare. We do background checks on everyone we hire, for just this reason. We’re required to by the insurance company. Danny Buckles came back clean.”

      A soft knock sounded at the office door. Waters turned and saw Tom Jackson leaning through the door, his outsized frame intimidating in the small space. The detective had light blue eyes and a cowboy-style mustache, and the brushed gray nine-millimeter automatic on his hip magnified the subtle aura of threat he projected.

      “What’s going on, fellas?” he asked, extending a big hand to Waters. “John? Long time.”

      Waters let Flynn take the lead.

      “We’re afraid we may have a molestation situation on our hands, Detective. Our maintenance man, Danny Buckles. John’s daughter said Danny’s been taking some second-grade girls into a closet to ‘show them things.’”

      Jackson sighed and pursed his lips. “We’d better talk to him, then.”

      “I have a civil practice. Nothing criminal. How should we handle this?”

      “Is Buckles here now?”

      “Yes. Or he should be, anyway.”

      “You’re the head of the school board, right? Invite him in for a friendly chat. I’ll stand where he can see me when he goes in to talk to you. You got a portable tape recorder?”

      “Dr. Andrews has one, I think.” Flynn searched the headmaster’s desk and brought out a small Sony. “Here we go.”

      “Tell him you want to record the conversation as a formality. If he starts screaming for a lawyer, that’ll tell us something.”

      “I’d scream for a lawyer,” Flynn declared, “and I’m innocent.”

      “You never know what these guys will do,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “Molesters are a slimy bunch. They frequently take jobs where they’ll be close to children. At video arcades, camps, even churches.”

      “Jesus,” breathed Flynn. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. I’ve got six-year-old twins.”

      The attorney went into the front office and paged Danny Buckles over the intercom system. After about twenty seconds, a hillbilly voice answered, “I’m on my way.” While they waited, Flynn got out Buckles’s personnel file and scanned it.

      “Here’s Danny’s background check. Clean as a whistle.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” said Detective Jackson. “You pay a hundred bucks, a hundred bucks worth of checking is what you get. All kinds of stuff slips through those.”

      A white man in his early thirties suddenly appeared at the window. Blades of grass covered his shirt, and his face was pink-cheeked from labor.

      “That’s Danny,” said Flynn, giving the janitor an awkward wave.

      Waters looked into the bland face, trying to read what secrets might lie behind it.

      “We’ll go out without saying anything to him,” Jackson said to Flynn. “Then you bring him in.”

      Waters followed the detective out into the school’s entrance area, a wide hallway lined with trophy cases. Jackson gave Buckles a long look as he passed, and Waters thought he saw the color go out of the maintenance man’s face.

      “Your little girl told you about this?” Jackson asked Waters as Buckles went through the door.

      “That’s right,” Waters replied, watching through the window as Flynn led the younger man into the headmaster’s private office.

      “Just out of the blue?”

      “Not exactly.”

      Jackson’s face grew grave. “Did he touch your little girl, John?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “You’re

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