At Risk of Being a Fool (23 page)

But boy, it made you feel good, it really did.

So, Danny’d talked the new foreman into it. Vic had half-expected him to get a new boy, but Danny’d shuffled his feet and finally said no, he’d give it another try with this Quinto. Danny liked Quinto, he just felt uneasy about him. Danny’d had a couple bad experiences with boys. There was one, kept slipping out of that detention home, whatever they called it. One of the other boys finally snitched. They’d moved him somewhere,
Eugene
maybe.
Sheridan
? No, that was the main prison. Wherever.

Still, this Quinto, he didn’t seem bright enough to get past those alarms.

The street opened out, filled on both sides with those rectangular buildings that seemed to trumpet their use. These were the government and non-profit places, with a few warehouses shoved in. Vic approved of Danny’s expansion on the recreation center. Put in a few pool tables, air hockey, and basketball hoops, and you could change young people’s lives for good.

Vic slowed, threw up his brights, and took a pass in front of the building. Everything looked peaceful, like the last time. He parked the car and got out, automatically checking shadows.

One thing puzzled him about that pipe bomb. With the bomb sitting there at closing time, it seemed like it must have been stuck there during the day. But they’d notice strangers on the site, wouldn’t they?

His footsteps slowed. Was that it?

Did Danny think Quinto planted it? Or that he knew who did? He’d be some upset if Quinto knew who did it, and wasn’t saying.

He checked the lock on the south gate and rattled it. All secure. He flashed his spotlight into the yard, lighting up dark corners. He moved down the fence, walking the perimeter of the yard. It wasn’t strictly part of the job, but it was the least he could do for Danny.

It couldn’t be Quinto. How could the kid carry it in? In a backpack? In the van from the home? Maybe somebody passed it to him while he was on the site.

Vic threw more light on the spot where Bryce took the blast. Bryce was the target. He had to be. He could be a right son-of-a-gun when he wanted. A bit of a loose cannon since the cops arrested his daughter. And with Bryce gone, the danger here was gone too, wasn’t it? Still, Vic felt better, checking the yard himself at nights.

Vic got to the north gate and stopped, taking a last look around. He nodded judiciously, holding his spotlight higher, double-checking. There were no problems here either. He reached for the lock on the gate. It was secure. He grabbed the gate, gave it a sharp tug, checking hinges.

The blast caught him in the gut.

The blackened spotlight spun out of a mangled hand, and landed hard on the pavement. It rolled a short way and lay there, undisturbed.

~*~

“Jeanie?” Mackie’s voice was almost unrecognizable.

“Yes?” Jeanie backed up and sank into a chair.

“There was another bomb at Danny Rivera’s work site. The watchman was killed.”

“Oh, Mackie, no.”

“The police figure he’d been dead for an hour or so before they got there. He didn’t check in on time, so the security company sent someone to look for him. There aren’t any houses around there. Just a warehouse guard, who thought he heard a car backfire.”

“That’s dreadful.”

“Yeah. There’s more. Our powers-that-be are closing the school.”

“No, Mackie.” Her hand clenched on the phone.

“Jeanie, think about the connections: Bright Futures, the courthouse, and the work site. Our program is the only obvious link. So, Ben decided to close down the school. It’s not,” Mackie argued, “that anyone thinks you could have prevented anything. It’s not like that. It’s just that if it turns out there is a link, and there’s another death—”

“That’s not fair. It’s punishing all of them for something one person did.”

“It’s not safe, Jeanie. You’re not thinking clearly. Whichever one it is—”

“It isn’t
any
of them. They wouldn’t
do
that.”

“It’s someone connected with the program,” said Mackie doggedly. “It has to be. It’s beyond coincidence. I’ve been talking to the police for the last half-hour.”

Sorrel, Quinto, Brynna, Tonio, Rosalie, even Dillon. They wouldn’t do it. Would they? “What about the work experience? Is that closing too?”

“No. The kids don’t meet there. There’s no place for them to talk to each other, so that’s going forward.”

“So now you’re saying it’s several of them. That there’s a conspiracy going on.”

“I don’t know,” Mackie said sharply. “Jeanie, this isn’t like you.”

“I’m a teacher, Mackie. I fight for my kids, just as you do. You can’t tell me you didn’t have a heck of fight with Ben over this.”

“Yeah,” she said, defeated.

“I thought our funding was based on education and work experience, the two of them together.”

“I know, it is. We’ll have to figure out something, maybe merge it with another program.”

“Then they’ll be linked in that program too. You’d have the same problem.”

“The college has night classes. Maybe I can put a couple there in different sessions.”

“Or?”

“Or what? Jeanie, please, don’t give me a hard time here, okay? I feel awful about it. Look, if you need the money, maybe—”

“I can make home visits.”

“To all of them? Jeanie, you can’t possibly—”

“For a while, until things sort out. I’ll start today. Can you fax the address list here to the Nest? You’ve got the number. Thanks. They’re all working this morning?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d better tell them not to go today. It’s not good for police to show up at the work sites. Quinto can’t work until I line up another site. Delancey Brothers nixed the mentorship. Jeanie, the program can’t cover your extra hours or the mileage. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking, I am. No, I’m not, I’m telling you. There’s just one thing. Let them come to school on Thursday. That’s testing day, and four of them have to go in.”

“Jeanie, I can’t. They can get rides to the testing center.”

“But they won’t, you know it. You told me yourself, if you don’t take them directly to the testing center, half of them won’t bother going. Do you want me to go around and pick them up? They’d still be in the car together.”

“No, no, I’ll do it. No, wait a minute. I can’t. Hills of Glory has a re-inspection coming up and I promised I’d be there. Well, I’ll clear it with Ben just for Thursday. It’s only an hour. I’ve got time to haul them to the
Testing
Center
as long as they’re all there. As soon as the police figure things out, we’ll start up again. It can’t take too long, can it? Whoever this is, he’s crazy. They’ve got to catch him soon.”

Jeanie hung up the phone. She said a prayer for the watchman and his family. They’d be grieving, just as she would if it were Edward or one of the boys. Tears stung her eyes.

As the tears passed, anger flared. It was intolerable that anyone could do such a thing. And if, God forbid, it was one of her students, the police shouldn’t tar the others with the same brush. Tonio was doing well at the yard and Dillon at the cannery. But how long could they work there, if their employers saw the notices in the papers, added two and two, and connected them with the ill-fated GED program?

There was Sorrel, too. If Jeanie let the matter go and the school closed, Sorrel’s time at Oriole’s Nest would end too. Dolores Cuthbert resented the community service idea already, and all the house chores that Sorrel was “escaping.” The nets would close in on Sorrel, the pregnancy officially discovered, and Sorrel would be back in Corrections until the end of her sentence. The baby, at best, would go to Sorrel’s mother with Tiffany, but foster care was more likely.

Jeanie retrieved the address list from the fax machine, and began planning her route. She didn’t want to wind up on
Lancaster
or Commercial during the evening rush hour. Highway 22 wasn’t bad though, at that time of day. Unless it was Friday afternoon, when half of the valley drove to the coast for the weekend.

She frowned, running her mind back over the days. First, there’d been Bryce Wogan, on that Saturday. Then it was the courthouse, early on the next Tuesday. Next came Estelle, also early on a Tuesday.

Early this morning, a bomb killed a night watchman. Today was Tuesday. Except for the first one, every bomb had been set on a Monday night.

~*~

“Thank you, Mrs. Otero. It’s so kind of you to let me bother you like this.”

“It is not a problem, Mrs. McCoy,” said Mrs. Otero. The delightful smile crinkled her eyes, warming the carefully spoken words. “My Dillon, he was not to go to work today. He has appointments, because of this terrible thing. He has every wish to help the police, of course.” She spoke without sarcasm, pitching her voice to reach beyond the doorway. Mrs. Otero was educating her grandson, telling him by her manner:
This is how it should be, in a good family. We want to help the police. The police are our friends.

A good lesson, but a dozen years too late.

“This bad man, he must be caught. Poor Daniel,” murmured Mrs. Otero. “Such a terrible thing.”

“Daniel?”

“Daniel Rivera. So sad for him, two of his friends attacked with the bombs.” She read Jeanie’s confusion. “You know Daniel Rivera? The builder.”

“Danny Rivera? Yes, I’ve met him. One of my students works with him.”

“I have known him since he was small.” She measured a distance waist-high. “Such a nice boy. This is so sad for him. His mother and I attend the same church. I saw her last night at choir practice. I thought perhaps my Dillon could work with him, and Miss Sandoval arranged it, but after all, it did not work out. Dillon did not care for the construction work. He likes the machinery at his new job.”

Mrs. Otero knew Danny. Dillon then, knew Danny Rivera before the abortive job attempt last summer. Although perhaps he didn’t, since he’d lived in
Portland
. Did Dillon go to choir practice on Mondays? It seemed improbable.

Dillon sat at the small table, regarding the remains of a mountain of pancakes. A platter sat in front of him, holding a couple of scraps of bacon, half a sausage, and a few shreds of hash browns.

“My Dillon,” said Mrs. Otero affectionately, “only now does he wake up. I tell him an hour ago, Dillon, if you want the pancakes, you get up now. Or the cook, she goes shopping with friends.” A quick look of concern crossed her face. “
Hijo mio, quieres más
? More pancakes, bacon?”

Dillon gave a half-smile, looked at Jeanie, and let it slip. “No, Grandma, I’m ready to bust.”

“Perhaps some coffee, little one?” Mrs. Otero bustled towards the kitchen. She paused behind Dillon, and rested the palm of her hand against his cheek. He leaned into her hand, rubbing his cheek against it. The fleeting affection took Jeanie’s breath away. Mrs. Otero moved into the kitchen.

“Ah yes, I know it. You are after my
chocolada
again, bad boy. Whipped cream? Mrs. McCoy, could I get you some hot chocolate? Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Dillon looked at her, sidelong. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Hot tea?”

The look intensified. “Ah, yes, thank you, that would be kind.” Dillon’s eyes slid to the cat carrier. Jeanie reached to unlatch it. Dillon crouched on the floor, fingers wriggling coaxingly. He’d left the dishes, she noticed, and the napkins wadded into a mass next to it. A gooey syrup spill on the table engulfed a clean spoon.

Rita nosed her way out of the crate and pounced on Dillon’s hand. He cupped her in his hands as he sat down in the only armchair. Jeanie sat on the small sofa. The boy’s huge hands moved with a delicacy that argued against his case file. He’d been convicted of robbery, Randy said, and carjacking with only his fists. The police had never tied him to a weapon.

Mrs. Otero presented Jeanie with hot tea, a sugar bowl, and small cup with milk in it. Dillon’s hot chocolate sported whipped cream and chocolate chips.

“Ah
, la gatita pequeñ
a. Que linda
.” Mrs. Otero passed a gentle hand over Rita’s ears, and directed a covert glance at her grandson. “So nice, you bring the little Rita with you. Is Corry-gan here as well, in the car perhaps?”

Jeanie’s eyes widened. Dillon talked with his grandmother a lot, it seemed. “No, actually, he’s at home. Bringing two pets in a single visit seemed a bit rude.”

“Dillon tells me has the next test Thursday. So exciting. He is the first in our family to finish school, did you know? I went to eighth grade in
Puerto Rico
. Dillon’s mother,” her voice broke, then recovered, “she stopped at tenth grade.” Mrs. Otero cleaned the table with quick, competent hands. “I am so proud of my Dillon. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“We’re delighted to have Dillon. He’s a good worker.” Stock answer number 342, straight from the teacher’s manual. It was the things you didn’t say that gave the true picture, but few relatives realized it. “Thank you for letting me interrupt you this morning. Dillon, I thought we’d review some percentages today, since you’re taking the math test on Thursday. And I’ll leave you a book with some lessons. You can look at them between appointments.”