Brooke frowned. "Jeff," she said sharply, "you know that name isn't tolerated. "So where is Thad today?" she repeated more soberly.
Jeff's smile made a shiver raced down Brooke's spine. Jeff's smiles were mean. Jeff was mean. "He got a stomachache," Jeff said blandly. "He's at the clinic."
Thaddeus Lewin was a quiet kid, rarely spoke. Brooke wasn't sure who'd nicknamed him Faggeus. She was positive she didn't want to know why. She picked up her copy of Lord ofthe Flies with a sigh. "I asked you to read chapter two. What did you think?"
Linking Lord of the Flies to the Survivor TV show had produced a flicker of interest the week before. Now their faces were blank. No one had completed the reading. Then to her surprise a hand went up. "Manny?" Manny Rodriguez never volunteered.
Manny leaned back in his chair. "The fire was cool," he said smoothly.
Jeff's brows went up. "They got fire in this book?"
Manny nodded. "These kids get stranded on this island, so they start a signal fire to get rescued, but it gets out of control." His eyes gleamed. "Burns the whole side of a mountain and takes out one of the kids. Then later they catch the whole island on fire."
He sounded almost awed and Brooke's skin prickled. "The signal fire is a symbol-"
"How did they make the fire?" Jeff asked, ignoring her.
"They used the fat ass's glasses like a magnifying glass," Manny answered. "The fat kid gets it in the end." He grinned. "Boulder smashes his head open. Brains everywhere." He looked over at Brooke with a leer. "I read ahead, Teacher."
"I used a magnifying glass to kill a bug once," Mike offered. "I didn't think it would work, but it really does."
Jeff's smile flashed, wolfish. "They say that sticking a hamster in the microwave is a myth, but they're wrong. Cats are even better, but you need a really big microwave."
"That's enough," Brooke snapped. "Manny, Jeff, Mike, stop it."
Jeff slid back down in his chair, smirking as his eyes slid back to her breasts, slowly so that she would know he stared. "Teacher likes pussy… cats," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. Brooke decided it was best to ignore him.
Manny just shrugged. "You asked," he said. "The fire was cool."
"The fire is a symbol," she said firmly. "Of common sense and morality." She frowned at the class. "And stay away from the microwave. Now let's talk about the symbolism of the signal fire. You have a quiz on Wednesday."
Every set of eyes dropped to her breasts and Brooke knew she'd be talking to herself. Three months ago she'd arrived at Hope Center, the ink barely dry on her diploma, fresh-faced and eager to teach. Now she just prayed she'd get through the day. And that somehow, someway she'd get through to these kids. Please. Just one.
Chapter Three
Monday. November 27. 9:15 a.m.
Reed Solliday drew a careful breath and let it out. For a split second the woman had looked angrily stunned. Well, that made two of them, because Reed wasn't thrilled about his new "partner" either. Marc Spinnelli insisted that Mia Mitchell was one of the best, but he'd seen the woman staring at the precinct door like a deer caught in the headlights. He'd stood behind her for a full minute before she'd detected his presence.
Not the highest recommendation for her skills. Plus, with her battered leather jacket, worn-out hat, and scuffed boots she'd looked… well, not like a detective he'd want watching his back. Still, he extended his hand. "Detective Mitchell."
Her grip was solid. "Lieutenant Solliday." She turned to her boss, her face calm, but her spine rigid. "What's this all about, Marc? Abe's coming back."
"Of course he is, Mia. OFI discovered a homicide in one of their arson scenes. Abe will be out for a few weeks. Consider yourself on loan. Sit down and let Reed explain."
They sat and Mitchell gave him her full attention. Her eyes were clear and alert now. And blue, like Christine's china they used only on holidays. The scruffy hat she'd worn kept her short blonde hair dry except for the edges that curled around her face. She'd stowed the ratty jacket and fortunately now looked more professional in a black blazer. Unfortunately the thin, clingy shirt she wore under the blazer didn't do a thing to hide her curves. For a small woman, Detective Mia Mitchell had a hell of a lot of curves.
Reed enjoyed staring at a nice set of curves as much as the next guy, but what he needed was a partner, not a pinup and certainly not a distraction. However, he sensed no flirtation in her, no softness, so he wouldn't hold the curves against her.
"On Saturday night there was a fire in Oak Park," he began. "We found a body in the kitchen. This morning the ME called. The X-ray showed a bullet hole in her skull."
"Carbon monoxide in the lungs?" Mitchell asked.
"Barrington was going back to check. He wanted me to know about the bullet since it changes the nature of the investigation."
"And the jurisdiction," she murmured. "You've seen the body?"
"I was going to the morgue after I finished here."
"You have an ID on the victim?"
"Tentative. The house is owned by Joe and Donna Dougherty. They went out of town for Thanksgiving and hired a house sitter named Caitlin Burnette. She's the right size and age, and the car we found in the garage was registered to Roger Burnette, so for now we've assumed the body we found is Caitlin. The ME will have to make a positive ID based on dental records or DNA." She flinched at that, though the movement was barely enough to catch.
Spinnelli handed her a sheet of paper. "We printed a copy of her license from the DMV's files."
She studied the page. "She was only nineteen," she said, her voice gone low and husky. She looked up, her blue eyes now dark. "You've informed the parents?"
The thought of breaking the news to the girl's parents nauseated him. It always did. He wondered how homicide detectives hardened themselves to the task, doing it every day. "Not yet. I went by the Burnettes' twice yesterday, but nobody was home."
Spinnelli sighed. "There's more, Mia."
Reed grimaced. "If the body in the morgue is Caitlin Burnette, her father's a cop."
"I know him," Spinnelli said. "Sergeant Roger Burnette. Vice for the last five years."
"Oh shit." Mitchell rested her forehead against her palm before shoving her hand through her short hair, leaving it standing in blonde spikes. "Could it be a grudge kill?"
Reed was wondering the same thing. "I guess that's what we have to find out. The Doughertys are flying back some time today. I'll interview them when they come home."
She met his eyes for a brief instant. "We'll interview them," she corrected quietly.
The challenge was implicit. Annoyed, he nodded. "Of course."
"We'll need to get a crime scene unit out there." She frowned. "You've already been over the house, right? Shit, this rain's gonna make a mess of things."
"We were out there all day yesterday. I photographed every room and gathered samples for the lab. Luckily we tarped the roof. The rain shouldn't be a problem."
She nodded evenly. "Okay. What kind of samples?"
"Carpet, wood. I was looking for evidence of accelerants."
She tilted her head a fraction. "And?"
"My instruments say they're there and the accelerant dog picked up two different kinds. Gasoline and something else. The lab said they'd have results later today."
She shook her head. "As crime scenes go, this one's going to suck eggs. Marc."
Reed straightened. "Our procedure is to gather evidence to support arson as quickly as possible. We got a warrant. We took nothing more than we needed to establish source and cause until we knew how the girl had died. Our search is clean."