The Suicide Club. Gayle Wilson

committee.

      That wasn’t something she wanted to do, but she knew she would end up saying yes to his request. Which was why she was standing outside the door to his office as if she had been called here for punishment.

      Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly and then, following Melanie’s instructions, turned the knob. Dave, who was seated behind his desk, looked up.

      “Melanie said to come on in,” Lindsey offered.

      Although she’d followed the instructions she’d been given, as Dave stood, he seemed slightly annoyed by the interruption. Or maybe, she realized as she continued to study his expression, he was annoyed because of the presence of the dark-haired man seated on this side of his desk. He, too, got to his feet as Lindsey stepped inside the office.

      He was no one she recognized. A parent with a complaint about something she’d done? Since it was only the second week of school, she’d given out no grades. If he was here to complain, it must be about an assignment. She mentally ran through the ones she’d handed out to her classes, but she couldn’t imagine why any of them would bring a father to the school. Not in person.

      “That’s fine, Lindsey,” Dave said. “Want to close that?”

      The frisson of anxiety she’d felt when she realized there was someone waiting with Dave escalated. She used the excuse of securing the door to hide it. When she turned back to face the two men, her “meet the parents” smile was firmly in place.

      “Lindsey, this is Lieutenant Nolan. Detective, Lindsey Sloan, our gifted coordinator.”

      “Ms. Sloan.”

      That thin, hard mouth probably didn’t do much smiling, Lindsey thought. And he obviously didn’t intend to make an exception for her. His eyes, as dark as his hair, continued to study her as she attempted to retain her own smile.

      “Detective?” she questioned.

      “With the sheriff’s department.”

      “And…you want to see me?”

      “The lieutenant’s in charge of the investigation into the church fires,” Dave interjected.

      Lindsey’s gaze automatically shifted to her principal as he made his explanation. Almost immediately she refocused it on the detective. She realized that his eyes had never left her face, undoubtedly because he was noting her reaction to what Dave had just said.

      Three rural black churches in the county had been torched on separate nights last July. Although no additional fires had occurred during August, the initial three continued to get top billing in both the state and national media.

      “I’m sorry. You must think I’m very slow,” Lindsey said, “but I still don’t understand why you want to see me.”

      “We’ve been working with the FBI to develop a profile of the people who set those fires.” Nolan’s voice was deep, its accent decidedly not local.

      Nor was his appearance. The dark suit was too stylishly cut. And probably too expensive for this setting. His hair was a little long. Not nearly conservative enough for someone associated with local law enforcement. She wondered how the good old boys in the department related to Lieutenant Nolan.

      Of course, her idle curiosity had no relevance to this discussion. And based on the intensity of the detective’s gaze, she had the distinct impression that she’d better get focused on what Nolan was saying rather than on what he looked like before something important slipped by her.

      “And that profile led you to me?”

      She thought she’d figured out where this was going, but she wanted him to put it into words. At least she now understood Dave’s uneasiness.

      “Actually, it led us to the students you teach.”

      Randolph-Lowen wasn’t the only high school in the county. It was, however, the one designated to provide services for the gifted. A few kids even came from outside the county because they didn’t have access to appropriate resources at the schools to which they were zoned.

      “Are you saying your profile indicates the arsonists have high IQs?” All those old wives tales about that supposedly thin line between genius and insanity reared their ugly heads.

      Before she could begin to dispute them, Nolan added, “And that they’re young. White. Male.”

      Lindsey glanced at Dave, wondering why he wasn’t objecting to this. Profiling wasn’t a science. The description the detective had just given with such an air of confidence might be wildly inaccurate.

      Besides, even if there were something to what he’d just said, there was nothing the school could do to help him narrow his search. She wasn’t going to start suggesting that one child or another might be involved in something as high-profile as this crime. That would be a quick way to a suspension followed by a lawsuit.

      “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t think I can help you.” She’d already turned toward the door when Dave stopped her.

      “Lindsey, this isn’t what you think.”

      “Then what is it?” She looked from one to the other.

      “The people who developed the profile believe this is a thrill crime,” Nolan said. “Something designed to get the adrenaline pumping.”

      Despite her doubts about the methodology, she thought that was probably an accurate description. She just didn’t see what it had to do with her. Or with her students. “And?”

      “Once they’ve experienced that rush,” Nolan said, “they’re going to want it again.”

      “And you think other churches will be burned.”

      Even given her animosity toward the investigative process he’d described, she didn’t want that to happen. Not only did those small congregations suffer a huge emotional and financial loss, the entire region had received yet another black eye through the lawlessness of a few individuals.

      “We can almost guarantee it.”

      “Even if I had a suspicion that any of my students were involved—and I assure you I don’t—I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing those with the police.”

      “Those churches were all within a twenty-five mile radius of this high school. If you take a map—”

      “I’m sure you have. Believe me, we all understand that the people of this county are suspects. But even if this community is at the center of the area where the fires occurred, that doesn’t mean any student from this school set them. Nor does your profile, no matter who composed it.”

      “Profiling gives us a place to start. This is it.”

      Lindsey looked at Dave, wanting him to defend the kids of this community. It wasn’t that none of them had ever been in trouble. Or that she thought they couldn’t be. Not after ten years in the profession. But she also wasn’t stupid enough to believe that just because the school sat in the geographic center of the area where the arsons had occurred, that meant the people involved in them attended it.

      Dave shrugged, seeming to indicate he was bowing to what he saw as inevitable. Maybe Nolan had shared more information with him. Considering what he’d shared with her, however, Lindsey wasn’t willing to be sucked in. Not until one or the other of them leveled with her.

      “Anything other than that profile and the proximity to the fires that makes you think my students might be involved?”

      There was a flash of something in those dark eyes. The emotion was quickly masked, but not fast enough that she didn’t wonder if he was laughing at her reluctance to believe her kids could be involved in something like this.

      “Those aren’t enough?” His tone was devoid of sarcasm.

      “Not for me, I’m afraid. Look, if I thought any of my students were involved, I might feel differently. But