Small Kingdoms and Other Stories

Sarah Smiles

I didn’t want to follow the pattern of my first Anne DeWitt story, so I cast about for another way of showing Anne doing what she’s best at.

I wondered what Anne’s past had been. She had been a teenager once and what was she like? Even then, she must have been smart and ruthless. How had her foster parents fared with someone like Anne in their house? When did she begin to realize she could manipulate events to make things go the way she wanted them to go?

How far did she go?

So in “Sarah Smiles,” I switched things up a bit so you could all think about that.

Sarah Toth parked her car in the Travis High parking lot just in time to hear the first bell ring. She and her brother James exchanged a long look as they unbuckled their seat belts. “Isn’t there any other way?” he asked her.

As she shook her head, her glossy braid whipped back and forth on her back like an animal’s tail. “We’ve talked about this,” she said, her voice flat. “Come on, bubba. We’ll be late.” James, whose first class was in the south wing, took off in that direction without looking back. More slowly, Sarah went to the main entrance. It was the oldest part of the school, and there were stairs up to the huge front door. She went up them awkwardly, and as she made her way in she could tell that other kids noticed her limp. The door to the left led to the outer room of the principal’s office, where Christy the secretary reigned. The principal herself, Anne DeWitt, had emerged from her inner sanctum to watch the students flow into the building, as she did from time to time. Ms. DeWitt’s face was always calm, always composed, and Sarah found it impossible to tell what the principal was thinking while she scanned the incoming teenagers. When their eyes met, Sarah nodded, because she was a polite and politic girl. She wasn’t surprised when Principal DeWitt nodded back. Everyone on the faculty knew who Sarah was, a source of some pride to the girl. But Principal DeWitt wasn’t the adult she was looking for this morning.

There. Mr. Mathis, the assistant principal, was standing at the T junction of the main hall and the entrance area, his invariable post in the morning. Sarah could feel him watching her as she limped past. She was sure his eyes followed her as she turned left to go to her first period class. World History was taught by Coach Holt Halsey, who was a surprisingly good teacher for a coach. Everyone – everyone in Sarah’s world, that is, the students of Travis High, Colleton County, North Carolina – thought of Halsey, boys’ baseball coach, as a little forbidding. He wouldn’t put up with foolishness, but he was approachable about serious stuff, and he had the reputation of knowing everything about any student who took part in a sport, both boys and girls.

Sarah was decidedly non-athletic. She was a short, slightly plump, seventeen-year-old senior, with unfashionably waist-length dull brown hair and an unfashionably curvy figure. Sarah wore glasses, though behind them were large blue eyes. She proudly flew the flag for the nerd camp. Sarah was very aware she was possibly the smartest student – maybe the smartest person, teachers included – at Travis High. But that didn’t mean she was happy.

Sarah’s brain was not on Coach Halsey’s mind as he noted the girl’s slow progress to her desk. While he taught the mostly bored first-period students about the Reign of Terror, he was trying to recall how many times he’d seen Sarah with bruises. When the bell rang at the end of the period, he stopped her as she made her way to the door. “Sarah, hold up,” he said, his voice neither quiet nor loud.

Sarah paused, her eyes cast down. “Yessir?”

“Your leg?” the coach asked. He was a man of few words.

Sarah shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I fell on the stairs,” she said.

In the ensuing silence, Sarah’s shoulders stiffened. Finally, her gaze met Coach Halsey’s. He saw that her eyes were filled with rage. He hadn’t expected that. It interested him. He sat down so he wouldn’t be looming over the girl. He thought it might put her at ease. Halsey was well aware he made some people nervous.

Mostly, he was fine with that.

“You’re going to take the SAT again in three weeks?” Halsey asked, after a glance at the calendar.

“Yessir,” she said. “At least, I… I plan on doing that.”

He didn’t ask what might stop her.

“Just two points away from a school record,” the coach observed. “We’re proud of you. The honor you’re bringing the school.”

She smiled quite genuinely. “That’s really nice of you, Coach. Thanks. ’Scuse me, I’m late.” And then she scuttled – well, limped as quickly as she could – to her next class. Halsey noticed that Brian Vaughan was waiting to walk with her. Brian was tall, gawky, and had hair like a bird’s nest. He was a good kid. Brian ran track—not with distinction, but with reliability. Halsey, who was excellent at sizing people up, thought Brian would have a pleasant life unless something crazy happened to him. Halsey knew more than anyone at Travis High suspected (anyone except the principal, Anne DeWitt) about the terrible things that could happen to people. He’d had a previous career that would make parents blanch if they discovered it.

Though he didn’t often spend time in the teachers’ lounge, Halsey got a cup of coffee there at lunchtime. Sarah’s limp was the main topic of discussion that day, though everyone was being carefully oblique. Coach Halsey didn’t join in the talk, but he listened intently.

“James seems okay,” said the older mathematics teacher, very cautiously. “Moody, sure, but healthy.” Sarah’s brother was younger than her by two years, but he was tall and strong and an athlete.

Reading between the lines, Halsey interpreted that to mean that James had no appearance of being abused. Though all the faculty members knew that an abusive parent sometimes picked one child to be the punching bag, James’s well-being made it a bit more plausible that Sarah was genuinely accident-prone.

“James doesn’t seem very happy,” Coach Redding said. James played football for Redding.

“James is a teenager,” the younger biology teacher said. He was the most cynical person on the faculty. “Teenagers are unhappy by definition.”

“That’s simply not true,” the calculus teacher said, giving the biology teacher an unfriendly look. She rose to get some more coffee. “They’re as happy as they’re allowed to be.”

“I asked Sarah about her home life,” said the school nurse, and there was a silence in the lounge. “She came to me because her arm was hurting. She said she’d fallen. But there was a mark on her upper arm, looked a lot like a grip mark.”

The faculty members present all stared at the nurse, a middle-aged woman with a sweet face and a practical air about her. “And she said?” asked the older math teacher.

“She said everything was fine at home,” the nurse said, and shrugged. “She said that her father grabbed her to keep her from falling off the front porch. What are you gonna do?”

There was a moment of silence. If Sarah would not confide in someone as trusted as the nurse, she would not confide in anyone, was the unspoken consensus. And if her brother James wanted to report what was happening to his sister – if anything was – he’d had plenty of opportunity. It was not a clear-cut situation. The previous principal, the one before Anne DeWitt, had made an accusation of abuse that had proved to be false, and they were all gun-shy as a result.

After the last bell of the day, Coach Halsey went to the principal’s office. He was glad to see that the secretary had already left, because he wanted to talk to Anne DeWitt without Christy’s sharp ears listening. He knocked on the doorframe of the inner office. Anne looked up from the pile of paperwork on her desk.

“More to fill out?”

“The government,” she said tersely. Anne was in her thirties, young for a high school principal. She was lean and muscular and quietly attractive. When she’d been hired as assistant to the previous principal, the school board had been impressed not only with her steady and serious demeanor, but her glowing recommendations. Also, they’d figured that her status as a childless widow meant she would be free to put in long hours. When Principal Delia Snyder had committed suicide (a shocking and tragic loss), Anne had been a shoo-in to fill the post. The school board had no idea what a total package they were getting. Under another name, Anne DeWitt had trained government operatives at a secret camp. She had trained them to survive in extreme conditions. Naturally, a few students had failed her class by dying; Anne had made a few enemies during her service. Her new name, background, and occupation were fabrications she would maintain the rest of her life—a kind of severance package.

Holt Halsey, who’d graduated from a similar class, waited quietly while Anne took care of a few more forms. When she looked up and stacked the papers neatly, signaling she was ready to talk, Holt said, “We have a problem.”

“Penny Carson?”

“No… wait, the Spanish teacher? What’s she up to?”

“I saw her coming out of a liquor store in Candle Springs. Why go to a liquor store in another town unless you’re buying a lot more than you should be consuming?” They both understood that the issue was not Penny Carson’s morals. The issue was the potential scandal and bad publicity for Travis High School if a teacher was discovered to be an alcoholic.

“So you might have to have a talk with her.”

“Not on the basis of one out-of-town trip to a liquor store,” Anne said briskly. “But I’m going to keep an eye on her.”

Halsey nodded, accepting Anne’s judgment. She’d been trained to evaluate hazardous situations, and she was usually very accurate. “Sarah Toth was limping today,” he said without preamble. “She’s getting beaten at home, but she won’t talk about it. This is not the first time she’s come to school with perceptible physical issues. And the SATs are in three weeks. I’ve never met her parents. Have you?”

“JimBee and Lizzy.” Anne leaned back in her office chair. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure.” She crossed her legs, and Holt enjoyed the view.

“Seriously, JimBee?” he asked.

Anne shrugged. “His real name is Jim initial B period Toth. When he was in elementary school, someone thought it was cute to call him JimBee.”

“And he’s let people keep it up.”

Anne spread her hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. “I’ve been concerned about Sarah’s home life since last year,” she said. Sarah had first taken the SAT in her junior year, and her score had attracted a great deal of attention. “I’d hoped the situation would improve over the summer. I helped Sarah apply for computer camp, which meant four weeks away from home for her, but whoever’s hurting her just can’t stop. I guess it’s time to start the ball rolling.” She smiled at Holt. “Not a baseball reference. I’ll give the Toths a call.”

JimBee Toth was a handsome man, a bit past his prime. He’d married late, in his early thirties, because (as he told everyone) “I was having a good time screwing everything that moved, so I didn’t want to settle down.” When he’d finally decided it was time to start a family – perhaps when it became a little harder for him to “screw everything”—he’d chosen Lizzy Bell, a blonde ten years younger than him. Lizzy was plain in the face but a hot babe in the body. To JimBee’s shock, eight and a half months after they’d wed, Lizzy had delivered baby Sarah. His “hot babe” had turned into a mother, and JimBee was no longer the center of her universe. Worse, Lizzy’s figure changed. Her stomach was no longer flat, her boobs were not as perky, and she had stretch marks.

JimBee had had a hard time adjusting to this new situation. A very hard time. He did not love the baby. He felt he should, and it baffled him, until he had a revelation. JimBee realized one morning – following a night when the baby had cried for hours – that Sarah couldn’t be his.

Eight and half months? Sure, he and Lizzy had been enjoying themselves prior to their marriage. But what if Lizzy had also been enjoying someone else? That chimed with so many of JimBee’s suspicions that he knew instantly it was the truth. And while he never confronted Lizzy with her possible lack of faithfulness, he never loved Sarah. If she’d been an adorable, quiet, baby that would have been one thing… but she wasn’t.

Sarah had allergies that kept her indoors, clogged and wheezing and crying. Lizzy was always exhausted staying up with the little brat, suctioning her nose and rocking her, held upright against her chest to breathe. When Sarah was old enough to begin solid food, of course she had food allergies. Then when she was ten, she’d needed glasses, and couldn’t wear contacts, for God’s sake. The girl couldn’t catch a softball, and she sure couldn’t hit one. She had to carry an EpiPen, and she got plump, and she had to get allergy shots… the list of strikes against the girl grew with each year.

Though Sarah could read by the time she was four, JimBee didn’t think much about that. He figured any girl of his would grow up to be a cheerleader, or a Homecoming Queen, or at least popular. When Sarah had been born, he had imagined it might be kind of cool, watching boys trailing after his daughter, giving her advice on what to put up with and when to shut it down. But Sarah never had many phone calls that he knew of, and she never came to him for advice. He finally had to admit there was only one thing that made “his” daughter special.

Sarah was smart.

She was in the Honor Society, and she got some award for writing a poem. She had a bunch of certificates. And other dads congratulated him on Sarah’s achievements, from time to time.

But really, what use was her brain? He sure as hell couldn’t afford to send her to Davidson University, which the girl had set her heart on. She could damn well get a scholarship to the local junior college, and he told her so. He was not going to send her to a fancy place like Davidson when she wasn’t even his own daughter. And he told her that too.

Lizzy’s second child, James B. Toth, Jr., was a son any tire salesman could be proud of. It was evident fairly soon that James wasn’t real long in the brains department, but he could play sports (though not brilliantly), he passed in school (though with an effort), and he was popular (in a modest kind of way). The only strange thing about James was his strong bond with his sister. JimBee wondered at this bond and resented it, in equal measure.

JimBee, who cheated on Lizzy – though not as regularly as he would have liked—found himself fantasizing about Anne DeWitt after he’d attended a Rotary Club meeting at which she’d spoken. So when she called the Toths into her office for a conference, he simply didn’t tell Lizzy, so he could meet Anne on his own. The principal was a fine-looking woman; and as a widow, she must need some lovin’. It stood to reason.

JimBee was full of a pleasurable anticipation when he arrived at Travis High. When Christy told him Anne was ready to see him, JimBee cheered inwardly. DeWitt was wearing a straight skirt and high heels. Her legs were spectacular.

He was a bit disappointed when she took her seat behind the broad desk. The surface hadn’t been cleared for action. There were stacks of paper everywhere, and a metal in-basket that was far from empty.

“What’s on your mind, Miss Principal?” he asked, flashing the big white smile that had helped him sell a lot of tires. “I can give you a great price on some steel-belted radials. Real safe driving.”

“In a way, it’s safety that I want to talk to you about,” Anne said. “Specifically, your daughter’s.”

An alarm bell sounded in JimBee’s lizard brain. “Sarah’s not sick, not that I know about,” he said cautiously. “She’d have talked to her mother about that.”

“She seems to get hurt a lot.” The principal’s expression was neutral.

“She’s always been a clumsy gal,” JimBee said, his inner alarm bell clanging nonstop. “I’m afraid her brother got the athletic skills.”

“Really? Coach Redding tells me all he can do is play football,” the principal said. Her face was as calm and immovable as a glacier. “Redding tells me that on the field, James is not good at strategic thinking. He has to be given the same directions repeatedly.”

“You shouldn’t be down on James because he’s no big brain,” JimBee said righteously.

“Not like his sister.”

“The girl’s smart,” he admitted. Where was this going?

“She’s very smart,” the principal corrected him. “She’s one of the most intelligent students we’ve ever had at this school. She’s so intelligent she may make a record score on her SAT. If nothing happens to her.”

JimBee thought this through. “You mean…” And then he hesitated, uncertain as to how to phrase his sentence.

“No tripping. No falling down stairs. No walking into doors, no bruises, no broken bones. She shouldn’t even shake because someone’s yelling at her. And that situation should be maintained while she’s attending Travis High School. Am I perfectly clear?”

“I can’t promise that girl will suddenly stop being clumsy,” JimBee protested. “But I’ll try my best to make sure she doesn’t take a wrong step between now and the test.” He wavered between confusion and resentment. After all, he had a right to discipline the girl if he saw the need. That girl and her problems! It was just me me me all the damn time. His parents had never hesitated to give JimBee a lick if he needed it, and look how he’d turned out. Whose business was it if he gave the girl a slap every now and then?

“I’m glad you understand me,” Anne DeWitt said, though she sounded as if she doubted very much that he did. She stood up, and once again he got to admire her shapely legs, though not with as much gusto as he had before. “I’d really hate to think we might need to have this conversation again.”

It never occurred to JimBee that she was threatening him.

That night he got Sarah alone in the kitchen. He said, “I don’t know what you’re saying at school, girl, and I don’t want to have to say this again. You keep telling people I’m beating you, and you’ll find out what a real beating is.”

Lizzy’s daughter just stared at him through her thick glasses. “I never said that,” she told JimBee. “Never.”

Three weeks later, after the SAT was safely in the past, but before the test results had become available, Sarah was invited to the Homecoming dance by Brian Vaughan. She told her family at the dinner table, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Lizzy beamed at her daughter, but JimBee said, “Just don’t get pregnant. The babies would be ugly as sin.”

“But they would be smarter than you,” Sarah muttered as she looked down at her plate. Her mother gasped.

“What did you say?” JimBee’s tone was ominous.

“I said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of getting pregnant, thanks to you,’” Sarah said.

“Were you smart-mouthing me, you little bitch?”

“No,” Sarah replied instantly. “I would never do that.”

“Go up to your room and finish your homework,” her mother said. “Your dad wants to watch the football game.” Sarah, whose homework had been finished before she left school, left the room hastily, followed by her brother.

“Where’s James going?” JimBee asked. “He always watches the game with me. Hey, who’s he taking to Homecoming?”

“Mercedes Webster,” his wife said. “He’s going over to her house tonight.”

“She a cheerleader?”

“No, she’s the editor of the school newspaper. Real nice girl. Her parents go to First Baptist.”

“What’s she look like?” asked JimBee, slurring his words just a bit.

“Nice looking.”

“He should be dating that Dawn Metcalf,” JimBee said. “Head of the cheerleading squad. Her assets were sure bouncing around at that last game.”

Sarah came down for a mug of hot chocolate later in the evening and passed between the television and her father when his team scored a touchdown. That earned the girl what JimBee thought of as a light slap.

He was very surprised the next morning to see that Sarah’s face was swollen. Lizzy and Sarah left the dining room for the kitchen. He could hear them talking. “It’ll go down by Homecoming,” his wife said. “Here’s an ice pack. You’ll look pretty by then. Honey… why’d you do that? You had to know you’d set him off.”

Darn right. It was all Sarah’s fault. And he really hadn’t hit her that hard. It troubled JimBee enough that he actually thought about the incident while he checked his Facebook page that morning. No. He really had only slapped her.

By the time Sarah went to school on a very cold Monday, the bruise had turned to a yellowish-purple color. She’d put on a little makeup, but it was impossible to hide completely. Sarah had pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. Finger marks on her arm showed too.

“Good morning, Sarah. Did you run into something?” Ms. DeWitt asked, her voice calm and low. She was in her usual spot outside her office.

“Yes, ma’am, a door,” she said, not even trying to sound convincing. “My dad says I’m awful clumsy.” Sarah saw Mr. Mathis noticing. And Coach Halsey.

By lunch time it had warmed up enough for Sarah and Brian, wrapped in coats and scarves, to sit on the bleachers on the practice field sharing a candy bar.

“I could tell my dad,” Brian said. “I hate that you’re living like this.”

“No,” Sarah said. “Then they’d make our family split up. I’d never get the money out of him to go to Davidson.”

“I got early acceptance,” Brian said, and she bit her lip to keep her bitterness in.

“I’m glad for you,” she said, in the steadiest voice she could manage. “I guess it’s the ju-co for me.”

Brian didn’t speak. She was sure he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You remember last year when Teddy Thorndike’s family got evicted from their house?” Sarah said.

“Teddy’s the one who sings lead in the a capella group? Yeah, sure.”

“You remember the guy who evicted them had a change of heart and told them they could move back in?”

“Yeah. Everyone said it was Jesus who changed him.” She felt Brian’s body move in a shrug.

“I babysat for them. His little girl told me someone had told her daddy they would cut off his, ah, thingy if he didn’t let the Thorndikes back in their house.”

“Who?” Brian asked her, totally amazed.

It was her turn to shrug. “A secret hero,” she said, smiling to show she was half-joking. “Someone who wanted Teddy to stay in Travis so he could do the solo at State.”

“Oh, come on,” Brian said. “Who’d do that?”

“I figure it was someone here at the school,” Sarah said, smiling. “Or someone we see all the time, like our mailman or our minister.” She wanted to tell Brian. He was so sweet. She knew he’d never believe her, though. But that wasn’t important. “Someone strong and… crafty.”

Brian looked very skeptical, and Sarah was glad when they spotted Principal DeWitt.

She was speed-walking around the track wearing hi-tech sneakers, instead of her heels. Ms. DeWitt only did her walking at lunch when the weather was cool; Sarah figured she didn’t want to be sweaty the rest of the day. After a moment, Coach Halsey came out of the workout room below the bleachers and fell into step with her.

Brian said, “You think they’ve gotten your test scores?”

“I checked online this morning. Nothing yet.”

Brian nodded toward the coach and the principal. “Do you think they’re sleeping together?”

“Is that what people think?” Sarah was really startled. It seemed so strange to imagine people the age of DeWitt and Halsey being swept away by passion.

“I’ve heard some comments,” Brian said, trying to sound worldly. “The guys on the team have seen them out together.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“At the shooting range. At a restaurant in Candle Springs.”

“They’re both single,” Sarah said, smiling. “Why not?”

Sarah was pretty when she smiled. With extreme boldness, Brian put his arm around her shoulders and scooted closer, and he was delighted when she did not move away.

The next day, Sarah checked online first thing in the morning.

She was only two points off of a perfect score on her SAT. Surely she would get a scholarship to Davidson. She sat, stunned into silence for a moment, thinking about the happiness within her grasp. She ran downstairs.

“I’m sure I can get a full scholarship to Davidson,” she told JimBee and her mom. “I know it. Brian’s going to Davidson too.”

“Slut,” said JimBee. “You ain’t going to Davidson. You’re going to commute to the ju-co.”

“You keep telling me you’re not my father,” Sarah said with a terrible intensity. “I hope that’s true.” As she ran upstairs, she saw her mother turn to JimBee with the fire of battle in her eyes. Sarah knew, from long experience, that Lizzy’s anger wouldn’t last long.

Sarah went to James’s room. He looked up from tucking in his shirt, and he crumpled at the look on her face. “Not again,” he said, as if he were begging.

That morning, a miserable James had to drive them to school. Sarah was in too much pain. She winced every time she sat down.

Two nights later, JimBee was driving home for dinner. It was already dark, because he’d stayed late at the tire store doing inventory. He was looking forward to taking off his shoes, having a beer or two (or three) and eating his dinner. He turned off the road and started down the driveway, rounding the curve up the hill to the house.

There was a wooden crate in the middle of the road.

He screeched to a stop just in time, and leaped out of his car. When he got closer, he could tell it wasn’t as large as it had seemed when it appeared suddenly in his headlights. A shove proved that it wasn’t heavy either.

“Well, goddamn,” he said. Who could have been driving up to (or away from) his house so quickly that he didn’t know he’d lost a crate of this size? He gripped a corner with his hands to try to work the crate to the side of the road. Then he noticed there was no address label, and he had time to think, That’s funny.

Suddenly, JimBee felt a sting. Surely it was too cold for wasps? And surely wasps didn’t attack at night? His shoulder burned. He stepped away from the crate, felt his shoulder. In the dim light, he was shocked to see a dart sticking out of his coat. It felt like the time he’d his wisdom teeth removed, though he couldn’t think why…

And then he felt nothing.

When JimBee woke up he was face down on the road beside his car, which was turned off. His body ached and there was no crate in the road. It was as dark as dark could be.

He hurt all over.

A voice beside him, above him, said, “How does it feel to be on the receiving end?”

“Of what?” he said, as confused as he’d ever been in his life. His face felt stiff when he spoke. Had something fallen on him?

“Of a beating,” the voice said.

And then he felt that the other person on the road with him had moved away. JimBee was sure he was all alone in the dark. And he heard his cell phone ringing in his car, where he’d put it in its clip on the console. He couldn’t move; it went to voice mail.

He managed to move, finally, dragging himself over to his car, though every move was painful and cost him more than he wanted to pay. The receiving end. That was where he was. Though all his thoughts and feelings were bound up in the rapidly mounting pain from various places in his body, he understood (theoretically) that someone had beaten him because he slapped his daughter… and perhaps every now and then, his wife. And just once in a while, his son. But who would do such a thing? The punishment didn’t fit the crime.

The next day, as he lay on the couch in the so-called family room – a room no one but JimBee frequented—he had time to ponder the incident. He was full of Tylenol, with a heating pad under his back and an ice pack on his face. He’d wasted a lot of money on a trip to the emergency room, just to find out that nothing was broken. JimBee was so lost in his thoughts he barely registered the knock at the front door and his wife’s voice.

“The police are back,” Lizzy said as she came into the family room. She helped him sit up. He noticed she was glad to pull her hands away the minute he was upright.

“Bring me some more coffee,” he said, not bothering to thank her for the help. He was angry at everyone. Lizzy would pay for her revulsion. When he was better. So would Sarah, who’d appeared shocked by his appearance when he’d finally staggered into the house. James, who should have been swearing vengeance on anyone who dared to lay hands on his father, had simply seemed confused. And they all swore they’d been together in the house since James had returned from football practice at six.

They hadn’t even scrambled to the phone to call the police until he’d hollered at them.

And here the cops were, back again this morning. JimBee was getting his taxpayer’s dollars’ worth.

But after the police left, JimBee was even angrier, and more puzzled, and more anxious.

“We can’t find tracks of any other car off the road,” Detective Crosby had told him. She was a smart-mouthed woman in her forties. “There’s no crate, as you described, in the trees on either side. So we have no physical evidence that you were attacked where and when you say you were.”

“Goddammit,” JimBee roared, and winced as his whole face hurt. “You think I did this to myself?”

“No sir,” she said, all cool and collected. “But we did wonder if you had been gambling on the side, maybe? Or did you stop into a bar, didn’t want to mention it in front of the wife? Something of that nature? You say you have no enemies, but this whole scenario seems very elaborate and mysterious.”

“I got no enemies, I’m just a tire salesman,” JimBee mumbled, his mouth sore and painful. “I don’t gamble, except for friendly bets on college football games. Nothing more than fifty dollars on those.”

“Are you maybe seeing someone else outside your marriage?” the detective asked, leaning forward confidentially. “Someone who has a boyfriend or husband who might object?”

“Not at the moment,” JimBee said unguardedly. The detective’s face hardened. Uh-huh, he’d hit a nerve there. Bitch had been cheated on, and who could blame the unlucky man who’d gotten saddled with her?

“Who can you think of who has it in for you?” she asked. “If the event happened as you’ve described, someone went to a lot of trouble to give you a beating. Someone must not like you, Mr. Toth. Help us out, here.”

JimBee glared at her. He hadn’t overlooked that “if.” But he was genuinely puzzled.

“I really, truly, don’t have any idea who did this,” he said. Without even checking the clock, JimBee knew he was due to take some more Tylenol. “It happened just like I told you. Believe me, if I knew who had laid into me this bad, I’d tell you in a heartbeat.”

Detective Crosby looked at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. “Okay, Mr. Toth,” she said, getting up from the easy chair. “That’s what we’ve got to go by.”

She didn’t believe him at all. He felt like crying.

Lizzy brought him his medicine when he yelled for her, and when he’d swallowed it she sat down in the easy chair the detective had vacated. “JimBee,” she said, “you know you can tell me if you’re in some kind of trouble.” And she waited.

JimBee’s eyes watered something fierce. He was touched that she cared enough to express concern. “I got no idea who did this. I can’t think of anyone who might have thought I deserved this.”

She looked at him, and he could not decipher her expression. “All right, JimBee,” Lizzy said. She got up and left the room. He called after her, “Heat up some soup for my lunch!”

People were talking about Sarah’s father after the mysterious beating, and in a way that let her know he was not as universally popular as he believed. She was able to act baffled about the whole thing, and to hide her inner exultation at being right.

With her dad at home moaning in front of the television, she and her mom shopped for Sarah’s Homecoming dress and ordered James’s tux at the rental shop with a giddy sense of fun they’d never gotten to enjoy before. Sarah picked a long dark blue dress with sparkles on the bodice. She wasn’t surprised at all that James selected a completely conventional tux or that he seemed morose. He only began smiling when he ordered Mercedes’s wrist corsage.

Unfortunately for the short-lived bliss of the rest of the Toth family, after a week of recovery JimBee felt almost well again. He was anxious to get back to work full-time, anxious to get out of his damn house, and pretty tired of having soup for every meal. Not even homemade! His wife had stocked up on Campbell’s. He was bored.

James was shut up in his room every night. When he did share a room with his dad, he looked grim and anxious. And Sarah spent all her non-studying time on the phone with that Brian boy, talking about the Homecoming dance. No one paid attention to JimBee.

So the next time JimBee spotted Sarah walking around with her cell phone clapped to her ear – smiling to herself, like a bitch in heat – he leaped to his feet, grabbed the phone away from her, and hit her in the back with it. She went sprawling.

Sarah screamed so loud that James came out of his room and looked down the stairs at his dad, and Lizzy ran out of the kitchen. Oddly, James looked relieved.

JimBee realized that for the first time he was facing a wall. It was composed of the other members of his family.

“No more,” his wife said. Her hands were so tense he thought she might actually swing at him. “You said no more, and I believed you.”

“Hey, she asked for…” he began, sounding even to his own ears like he was younger than his son.

“Don’t you dare,” Lizzy said. “Don’t you dare say that.” She was shaking, not only with fear but with rage.

And as suddenly as if they’d discussed it, Lizzy, James, and Sarah scattered to other parts of the house, leaving him by himself.

JimBee remembered tomorrow would be the Homecoming game and dance. He didn’t care if he saw Little Miss Bitch in the damn dress or not. Or even James in his tux. He conceded inwardly that he might go to the game, see if James got something right out on the field.

But that was all he’d do.

Though he’d known for two months that he and Lizzy were scheduled to chaperone the dance, he decided she could do that on her own, if she was so damn mad at him.

The next day, Travis High was buzzing with excitement. The cheerleaders put up laboriously created banners (“Panthers CLAW the Bears”), parents came and went all day decorating the gym and dropping off refreshments for the dance, and though the kids rotated through their classroom schedule, it was easy to see that learning was the last thing on their minds.

“Yes, Sarah?” Coach Halsey said. She’d stopped at his desk when the second period bell rang.

“My dad promised to chaperone tonight, but he’s not going to come. Just my mom will be there.”

“I’m sure there are enough parents coming, Sarah.”

“I just thought you ought to know.” She went out. She was walking stiffly.

He related the conversation to Anne DeWitt later that day.

“That’s very interesting,” Anne said. “I heard Sarah telling Buddy the exact same thing when she came in this morning.” Buddy Mathis, Anne’s assistant, was a burly plodder who talked tough and looked tougher, befitting the person in charge of discipline.

“Hmmm,” said Holt. “Why would she…?” And then he paused, startled.

“Yes,” Anne said. And to Holt’s surprise, she laughed.

That night at the Homecoming Dance, Principal DeWitt was the subject of many admiring comments. The warm slacks and boots and coat she’d worn to the game had been exchanged for a dressy emerald-green suit and some notable high heels consistent with conservative chic, her adopted look since she’d assumed the name and persona of Anne DeWitt. Holt Halsey (who himself looked fairly mouthwatering in a suit that fit surprisingly well) appreciated Anne’s grace as she made a point of talking to all the chaperones working the first shift. The two moms closest to him were talking about Anne. He listened in, of course. “How can she afford such an outfit on her salary?” said a senior’s mom. Her husband had just lost his job.

“I don’t know, but it sure looks good on her,” said a very plump mother, with a sad touch to her envy. “You know, she’s a widow. Maybe she got a big insurance payment?”

“Oh, right,” said the first mother with some sympathy. “Well, I’d sure rather have my husband.”

Not everyone felt that way, Holt thought, and his gaze lingered on Lizzy Toth, who was wearing tired slacks and a creased silk blouse. Holt searched the happy throng for the Toth kids. Sarah was holding hands with Brian, and she looked as pretty as she ever would, with her brown hair hanging free and the dark blue of the dress bringing out her eye color. Unfortunately, the lingering bruise on her upper shoulder wasn’t covered by her hair. She was looking around the room smiling, but she seemed a bit anxious. James and his date Mercedes were dancing. James looked like he’d been let out of prison early.

Holt worked his way around the room to stand by Anne. He leaned toward her wearing his public smile, and said, “Well?”

“Seems wrong to let her down,” Anne said, clearly surprised at her own conclusion.

Holt shrugged. “Whatever. I can slip out.”

“You know… I think I’ll do it. She’s watching you and Mathis. It’s about time Miss Sarah got a surprise.”

“People will notice your being gone more than me.”

“Not in these shoes,” she said wryly, and held out one foot, inviting his gaze.

She began easing her way to a corner of the room where a few parents were sitting. She dropped a complaint about her aching feet into three ears before settling herself into one of the metal chairs close to an exit. After a moment, she slipped out, right after asking Buddy Mathis to do a tour of the boys’ bathrooms.

In forty minutes Holt saw Anne come back into the gym in a lower pair of heels, reappearing as unobtrusively as she’d left. She drew her change of footwear to the attention of a few moms. “I keep these in my car,” she told Lizzy Toth. “They’re my go-to shoes.” She and Lizzy laughed together.

Holt Halsey completed his tour of the perimeter of the gym, confiscating a flask from a sophomore and reminding a junior couple that public displays of affection in the school gym were not cool before he drifted close to Anne, who was talking to the president of the senior class, a go-getter named Leon Gilchrist. Gilchrist was trying to persuade the principal that he would be the logical choice for Outstanding Senior.

With a few well-chosen words, Anne let Gilchrist know that he was definitely on the list, that his name would be given all due consideration, that she thought he was a good class president… and that he should enjoy the dance with his date, instead of talking to her.

“Done?” Holt said, smiling broadly for whoever happened to be watching, as soon as Leon departed to claim his date at the food table.

“Done,” she asked, smiling back. “Stairs. He was drunk.”

Holt understood from this that JimBee had made an involuntary and very quick trip down the stairs. He had certainly had help, but that would not be apparent.

“Shame on him,” he said mildly.

He waited while Anne took a moment to greet some parents who were arriving for the second shift of chaperoning. The first shift parents, among them Lizzy Toth, were easing their way to the door. Lizzy took a moment to crane over the crowd and see her children, with their dates, having their pictures made by the hired photographer.

As Friday night turned the corner into Saturday morning, the gym began to empty out. Holt thought it took a surprisingly long time for the Toth children to get their phone calls from their mother. She must have waited until the body had been removed.

Sarah was so upset her father was dead that she hugged the assistant principal, which Buddy Mathis endured until he was relieved by a friend of Lizzy’s. Buddy was glad to resume marshalling the parents who were on the cleanup team. From a distance, Holt thought that it seemed as though Sarah started to walk toward him, but the cluster of solicitous parents moved her inexorably toward the parking lot and a ride home to her mother, sweeping James up into their net. Holt made his way over to the Toth kids’ stunned dates, to suggest that Brian take Mercedes home. They were grateful at being organized, and left quickly.

The temperature had dropped on Sunday night, so on Monday afternoon Holt Halsey wore a suit and an overcoat to JimBee’s funeral. He was accompanied by Anne, Buddy Mathis, and two other teachers who’d known the deceased. They drove directly to the Presbyterian church from the school.

Buddy said, “Is it true that Sarah’s score is the best one a Travis kid has ever made on the SAT?”

“True,” said Anne. “I’ve spent this morning studying the scores of our kids.”

“And then this has to happen,” said the calculus teacher. “Lizzy is a sweet woman, and Sarah and James are good kids. Maybe…” But she stopped short of sharing her opinion that the whole family would better off now. They all understood that.

Buddy Mathis said, “I heard his alcohol level was way high.”

Holt nodded. “No surprise he went down the stairs,” he said.

“I hope they come back to school soon,” Anne DeWitt said. “James doesn’t need to miss any classes.”

In fact, the Toth kids returned to school the next day. Holt was not too surprised when Sarah came into his class. She seemed much as usual, though she walked with her head up.

In the teachers’ lounge that day, Coach Redding told them all how much happier James seemed. “Like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulder,” the coach declared. “I guess it was true, the talk about what happened in that home.” He shook his head in a weighty, regretful way. “Them poor kids. Poor Lizzy, all by herself.” And Redding, a divorced man, looked suddenly thoughtful.

Sarah followed Holt Halsey into Christy’s office after the last bell rang. While he walked straight through into Anne’s inner sanctum, Christy stopped Sarah to ask her what she could do for her. Holt and Anne heard Sarah’s clear voice asking if Anne was available. Christy appeared in the doorway, barely giving Holt a glance. He’d gotten the impression that Christy did not think her boss should be dating a coach.

Christy whispered, “It’s Sarah, whose dad just died? She wants to talk?”

Anne nodded. “Tell her to come in,” she said. Christy, after checking to make sure there was a box of tissues available on Anne’s desk, went back out to tell Sarah that Anne was ready. Christy tactfully closed the door behind her.

“Sarah, how are you?” Anne asked. Her voice was carefully calibrated to convey a medium amount of warmth and concern. Holt smiled inwardly. “Do you mind if Coach Halsey is here?”

“Not at all,” Sarah said. “It’s really him I came to talk to.” She took a deep breath. “I’m good, better than I’ve ever been.”

Holt and Anne exchanged glances. He felt a little jolt – of anticipation? Curiosity? A little of both, he decided.

“Are you relieved the funeral is over?” Anne said.

Sarah gave her a Get real look, loaded with the scorn teenagers can pile on. “He’s gone, and he’s never going to slap me again, or mock me, or tell me I’m not his daughter,” she said. “He’s never going to tell James he’s dumb, he’s never going to talk ugly to Mom, and he can’t stop me going to the college I want.”

Holt could see Anne considering several responses before she said, “I assume he left your mother some source of income? Or will she need to go back to work?”

“Both,” Sarah said with some satisfaction. “Today she went for a job interview as a receptionist at the mayor’s office, and she’s got an appointment with an investment counselor to keep the insurance money working for us.” It was clear Sarah had been giving her mother some advice. Though the girl had said she wanted to talk to Holt, she seemed pleased to have a chance to tell Anne about her new condition too.

Holt reminded himself of how intelligent Sarah Toth was. And how young.

“Is James doing as well as you are?” he said.

“No, James is really troubled, but he’ll be okay in time,” Sarah said confidently.

“I’m sure what you made James do really bothered him,” Anne said.

Sarah’s face froze.

“What do you mean?” she said, in a much shakier voice.

“Making him hit you,” Anne said. “Much harder than your father ever did.”

“James doesn’t like to be violent,” Sarah said, dodging the allegation. “Like Dad was.”

“James doesn’t like to hit people?” Anne said. Holt watched her deconstruct Sarah, with admiration.

“Not people he loves,” Sarah said. She smiled.

“You told him to do it,” Anne said, with no emotion at all.

The little smile was still on Sarah’s face as she nodded.

Holt absorbed what he’d just learned. Anne was so sharp. She’d been the best interrogator at the training camp, he’d heard. Trainees would give up their deepest secrets when they’d met her eyes. “Your father didn’t beat you,” Holt said. “He really did just give you a little slap now and then.”

“Even a slap is an assault,” Sarah said righteously. “I just got James to improve on the situation.” A smile was still on her face. “Dad would never have let me go to Davidson. After I thought about Teddy Thorndike’s last-minute rescue, I realized there were a few other kids at Travis who’ve gotten their way paved, unexpectedly. There’s someone helping. I knew someone would help me too. If they thought I really needed it. If I was a victim.”

Holt took a deep breath, but decided not to speak. It was one of the few times in his life when he truly had no idea what to say.

“Who did you think this mysterious helper was?” Anne said, sounding mildly amused.

“I don’t know. That’s why I made sure everyone knew I was being beaten. I thought maybe it was you, Coach. Or maybe Mr. Mathis. Some man bigger and meaner than my dad.”

Holt glanced over at Anne, who was wearing a small smile.

“When you’re at Davidson, I hope you remember to speak well of Travis High,” Anne said, in a social voice.

Though Sarah looked disappointed – perhaps she thought she deserved more praise for figuring a way out of her dilemma—she said, “I will. I’ll tell everyone that at Travis, someone goes the extra mile for the students. I thought maybe it was Mr. Mathis, because he left the gym. But he really didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about, when I stopped in at his office today.”

Holt could see that Anne was not surprised to discover that Sarah had been watching that night at the gym. Sarah’d been waiting, hoping someone would pick up on the hints she had thrown out before the dance. Anne had shown a lot of foresight, getting Buddy out of sight.

“I like to think we do our best for our students here,” Anne said blandly. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Someday I’ll figure it out.” Sarah had the cocky confidence of someone supremely sure of her own brain. “Who helped the other kids. Who helped me.”

It was time to squelch this bug. “You will, Sarah?” Holt said. He sounded mildly amused, as if Sarah was discussing a favorite fantasy. “And when you do?”

“Nothing,” Sarah said, surprised. “I keep my mouth shut.” For the first time, she looked a little uneasy.

“What if someone comes to you and says, ‘Oh, Sarah, my mom stole my boyfriend,’ or ‘My dad is selling drugs to my friends.’ Are you going to say, ‘Gosh, I might know someone who can handle that for you?’ Because they’ll be really disappointed.”

Sarah stood and shrugged into her backpack. “No sir. Because I’m not going to be here. I’ll be in college. At Davidson. And I’ll be away from this place forever.”

“You certainly have a lot of imagination,” Holt said. “And a lot of bravado. What if Mr. Mathis walked in now, and Principal DeWitt and I left? If I believed that someone might have thrown my father down some stairs, I wouldn’t risk being alone with such a dangerous person. I’d assume that person wouldn’t want to be suspected of murder. I’d know that person might silence me if they thought I’d talk.”

Sarah’s face drained of color.

Anne stood up too. “Study hard the rest of the year, and I’m sure Davidson will welcome you with open arms in the fall,” she said, in dismissal. “Thanks for coming in, Sarah.”

Now completely off balance, Sarah paused when her hand touched the doorknob. “By the way,” she said, and her voice had a distinct edge, “Darryn Seymour’s dad is screwing him.”

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Anne and Holt exchanged glances, and Holt sighed. He hoped that wasn’t true. Darryn was not going to get any assistance from him or Anne. Darryn was not smart, or athletic, or outstanding in any way, so his attendance at Travis was not contributing anything to the glory of the school. Besides, all bad parents in Colleton County could not meet an untimely end. That would be conspicuous.

“Do you think we need to do something about her?” Holt asked Anne. “It would be a pity, after all the trouble we went to.”

Anne smiled, looking suddenly as happy as Sarah had looked. She said, “I’m going to plant a word in the ears of some friends I have left in the business. Let them keep an eye on Sarah. I think in a few years she’ll be a valuable asset.”

Holt said, “That’s the best solution of all.”

“If she talks in the interim,” said Anne, “we’ll be right on it.”

He smiled at her, and Anne smiled back: smiles honest and open, chilling and feral.

Just the way Sarah had smiled.