By Chris Culver
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As a public employee, I was accustomed to second or third best. The Principal met us outside. His forehead glistened, and his pink Oxford shirt stuck to his chest and arms with sweat. “Principal Eikmeier, I’m Detective Olivia Rhodes. We spoke on the phone,” said Olivia. She gestured at me. ” I shook the Principal’s hand and immediately stuck my own back in my pocket to wipe off the sweat. I hoped he didn’t notice. “We’re ready to go,” he said. “One of our guidance counselors made a list of Rachel’s friends.
She asked. I shrugged. “Most, maybe all,” I said. “My niece didn’t do drugs, and my sister has test results that prove it. ” Olivia looked off into space for a moment, her eyes unfocused. She nodded. ” Before I could answer that, another girl came in. She gave us nearly the same story as Alicia, and rather than waste our limited time with a third and fourth interview, we decided to check out Rachel’s locker. While I wandered in the school's main hallway, Olivia ran to her car for her crime scene kit.
The next morning came early when a pair of sticky hands shook me awake. I don’t know how my daughter always had sticky hands, but she somehow managed it. ” My eyes fluttered open to see Megan’s straight, brown hair and brown eyes. The blinds were still drawn, but it was dark enough outside that I knew it was before sunrise. I glanced at the alarm clock. A little after six. My daughter beamed at me, as if proud to wake her father up before any sane man should ever rise. ” I asked. I reached over and tickled her shoulders through her Winnie–the–Pooh pajamas.