The Suicide Club. Gayle Wilson

interacting with their students more than almost anyone else on the faculty, but she was right. It was dealing with teenagers and their raging hormones that put the stress in all their lives. Shannon dealt with them on a much more personal, one-on-one basis, unlike the relationship in the classrooms.

      “Who’s giving you grief now?”

      “No one in particular.” Shannon raised her head from the back of the couch to take another swallow of her coffee. “Little darlings en masse,” she said, giving the words their correct French pronunciation. “‘Can you change my schedule, Ms. Anderson. I didn’t mean to sign up for Algebra II.’ Translation, I did, but now I don’t want crazy old Ms. Brock.”

      “Can you blame them?”

      “Well, no, but somebody’s got to be in her class.”

      “She needs to retire. She was here when I was in school.” Fourteen years ago, which wasn’t quite as long as she’d just made it out to be. “We called her old Ms. Brock then, too.”

      “Was she as bad as she is now?”

      “I don’t know. I didn’t have her. I don’t remember that kids talked about her the way these do. But, I don’t remember kids talking all that bad about any teacher back then.”

      “You hung with the wrong crowd.”

      “Or the right one.”

      They drank their coffee, the silence that had fallen companionable and unstrained. Shannon leaned her head back, her fingers making that habitual rearrangement of her hair.

      “Something weird happened this morning,” Lindsey began.

      Shannon straightened, her eyes interested. “In class?”

      “Before. Melanie told me when I signed in that Dave wanted to see me. Some detective with the sheriff’s department was in his office. He said the FBI has developed a profile of the arsonists in the church fires.” She hesitated, wanting to see if Shannon reached the same conclusion she had.

      “And they wanted to talk to you? They think your kids are involved?”

      “Apparently. I’ve been thinking about it all day, getting more and more pissed.”

      Shannon didn’t respond, but Lindsey could almost track the thoughts moving behind her green eyes. She knew the counselor was running through the individuals in the gifted program, just as Lindsey had been all day. The fact that she had been was a large part of her building anger.

      “He give you any idea who?”

      “He wanted me to give him ideas.”

      “Well, that sucks. You think…?”

      Lindsey shook her head. “But I admit it ate at me. I kept trying to think of anyone who might be involved, but…You know them. Who the hell would do something like that?”

      “I told you. Little darlings. They aren’t any different from the others except they’re probably smart enough not to get caught.”

      That, too, was a thought that had occurred to Lindsey at some point. She had wondered if that’s why the profilers had zeroed in on the students in her gifted program—simply because of the lack of evidence, something law enforcement officials had openly acknowledged.

      “I think that might be exactly what they’re thinking.”

      “That they must be geniuses because the cops can’t catch ’em?” Shannon asked. “Isn’t that convenient.”

      “They can’t admit that some dumb, redneck yahoo can outsmart them, burn three black churches, and get away with it. So, stands to reason, this has got to be somebody else.”

      “Who was the detective? Anybody I know?”

      Shannon had dated a sheriff’s deputy a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, they’d managed to maintain a friendship after the romantic relationship had ended. If, Lindsey amended, knowing her friend too well not to have wondered if all aspects of that particular relationship had come to an end.

      “Jace Nolan.”

      “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

      “I don’t think he’s from around here.”

      “Want me to ask Rick why they’re looking at your kids?”

      “Would it get back to Nolan if you did?”

      “Not if I tell Rick to keep his mouth shut.”

      “Would he?”

      “Sure. Why not?”

      Why not, indeed, Lindsey thought. And as Shannon said, what could it hurt?

      Two

      So I hear you got finally somethin’ on the fires.”

      Jace raised his eyes to find one of the county deputies looking down at the papers spread out over on his desk. He resisted the impulse to push them together. After all, the man was a fellow law enforcement officer.

      “A profile. From the Bureau. We’re working from that.”

      “Yeah? I always thought those were pretty general. You think this one’s helpful, then?”

      “A place to start.” The words echoed inside Jace’s head. Exactly what he’d told the two at the high school yesterday.

      The transition from that realization to the next was almost instantaneous. Before today, few of the deputies had bothered to speak to him, not even when passing him in the halls, much less visit his desk to ask questions. Not that he gave a damn whether they did are not. Still…

      A glance at the name bar above the man’s shirt pocket provided the name. Had Deputy Carlisle attended Randolph-Lowen? And if so, did he have ties to any of the people Jace had talked to there yesterday?

      Like maybe the redhead who’d been so determined to question the validity of his interest in her kids?

      He didn’t blame Ms. Sloan for her skepticism. She had every right to question why he suspected the students in her gifted program might be involved.

      “So who are we looking for?”

      “Thrill seekers,” Jace said, watching for reaction as he rolled out the now-familiar list of characteristics the Bureau had given him. “Young. White. Male.”

      “How young?”

      “Probably teens. Possibly early twenties. The profile isn’t that precise.”

      “College age. Like those others.”

      “Maybe. But since there isn’t a college in this area—”

      “Junior college over in Carroll. Another near Bedford. Hell, thanks to old George Wallace and Lurleen, we got a junior college or trade school on about every other corner.”

      “And neither of those is in the geographic center of the arsons. This community, and its high school, are.”

      “Sounds like you got your mind made up.”

      Despite the beginnings of what would soon became a paunch, Deputy Carlisle looked as if he might be a few years younger than Jace. Early thirties or so.

      Old enough to know better.

      As he waited for Jace to respond to that accusation, the deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, displaying what might be a hint of nervousness. The movement was accompanied by the creak of his utility belt, reminding Jace that whatever else he was, the man was a fellow officer.

      “Like I said,” he said softly. “It’s a place to start.”

      “I heard you were out at the high school yesterday.”

      At least this approach was more honest than the previous one. Maybe he could even work it to his advantage.