“Yeah.” Larry opened the front door for him.
“See you later, bud. Going good, huh?”
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the women catching on.”
Grinning, Pete slapped his arm. “See you later. Don’t let your meat loaf.”
When Pete was gone, Larry hurried to the bathroom. He threw his clothes into the hamper and rushed to the tub.
As he stood under the hot spray of the shower, he wondered why he hadn’t mentioned finding the ring. He should’vetold Pete about it, told him that the body was a girl named Bonnie Saxon who was graduated from Buford High in 1968.
How come I didn’t? he asked himself.
Pete’ll find out sooner or later. He’ll realize I kept it from him.
So what?
Twenty
“Good morning, ma’am.”
Lane swung her locker shut and turned around. “Well, hi, stranger.”
Jim’s hands were pushed into the front pockets of his jeans. Smiling, he drew them out for her to see, and slipped them in again. “Keeping ‘em to myself,” he said.
“Good for you. You’re learning.”
“Did you have a nice trip?”
“It was okay. I missed you. How was Candi?”
“Oh, she was grateful. She’d like you to go away more often.”
Lane tried to hold onto her smile, but she felt it being tugged down. Her arms tightened around the binder and school books clutched to her chest.
“I was kidding.”
“I know.”
“Youbrought her up.”
“I know. Dumb, huh?”
“I wouldn’t go out with Candi. Or anyone else. Not as long as I’ve got you.”
Lane’s smile came back. She lifted an eyebrow. “Think you’ve gotme, do you?”
“Hell, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Give me one of those hands.” She moved to his side, dropped one arm away from her load of books and squeezed his hand when he offered it. “Want to walk me to the library?” she asked.
“The library?”
“I’ve got an errand.”
“It’s only ten minutes before the first bell.”
“Shouldn’t take very long.”
Holding hands, they made their way through the crowded hall.
“Is it still on for Friday night?” she asked.
“Sure. I hope so. Rather go out Saturday, but...”
“Hamlet.”
“I know. What a drag.”
Outside, they cut across the quad. Jim opened the library door for her. “Guess I’ll make myself scarce,” he said. “Ol‘ lady Swanson and me don’t exactly hit it off. See you at lunch?”
“Fine. See you.” Lane gave his hand another squeeze, then let go and entered the library. She headed straight for the circulation desk. There, Miss Swanson was busy checking out books to several students.
“Ol' lady Swanson” was probably no older than forty, an attractive woman with very short red hair and a freckled face. But Lane knew what Jim meant. Though the woman was hardly ancient, her rigid posture and high, thin eyebrows suggested a severity that made her seem older than her years.
She’d always been nice to Lane, but she seemed to enjoy visiting grief upon students who acted up. Kids usually referred to her as “the bitch.” She was also known as “the dyke” and “the shithead.” Henry, perhaps the most literate of her detractors, preferred to call her “the Scarlet Pimple.”
After the last student wandered off, Lane stepped up to the desk.
“Good morning, Miss Swanson.”
“Lane? How are you?”
“Fine. I was wondering if you could help me. Are old yearbooks kept around somewhere?”
“Indeed they are. We’re missing certain years, of course. Books flyout of here if I’m not constantly on the alert. The students are a pack of thieves. And several of the teachers are just as bad, if I do say so myself.” Her left eyebrow climbed her forehead. “What year would you be interested in?”
“Nineteen sixty-eight.”
“That’s long before I took over. Matters were an absolute shambles back then. I’ll take a look, but don’t be at all surprised if ‘sixty-eight is among the missing.”
Lane smiled politely and said, “Thank you.”
Miss Swanson entered the office behind the circulation desk and stepped out of sight.
Lane leaned forward. She propped her elbows on the desk and crossed her feet. She waited.
“And how are you this fine morning?”
Before she could turn around, Mr. Kramer appeared beside her. “Oh, hi!” she blurted, and felt the warmth of a blush.
“All rested up and rarin‘ to hit the books?”
“Sure. I managed to reread Hamletover the weekend,” she said, hoping he would be pleased by the news.
“Wonderful.”
He smelled wonderful. After-shave lotion? His cheeks looked smooth. They had a faint bluish hue where his beard would be if he grew one. She wondered if he ever had trouble shaving the deep cleft in his chin.
She met his eyes for a moment. They were soblue. She looked away and said, “It’s really amazing. I get more out of the play each time I read it.”
“Well, old Billy Shakespeare was no slouch.”
She laughed, then faced forward as Miss Swanson returned to the desk. The librarian held the tall, thin volume of a yearbook. Seeing Mr. Kramer, she smiled and color came to her face. She suddenly looked softer, more feminine, younger.
“Good morning, Shirley.”
“Mr. Kramer. May I help you with something?”
He shook his head. “Just visiting with one of my ace students, here.”
Miss Swanson nodded, and turned her smile to Lane. “You’re in luck, young lady.”
“Terrific. How long can I check it out for?”
“I’m afraid you won’t be ableto check it out. Rules of the house. You may peruse it to your heart’s content, but it remains in the library.”
Lane wrinkled her nose. “Not even overnight?”
“I’m afraid not.” She glanced at Mr. Kramer as if seeking approval. “If we allow the yearbooks to leave the library, we soon won’t have any at all. You understand.”
“Yeah.” Lane shrugged. “Well...”
“Now please, those are the rules.”
“This is my fault,” Mr. Kramer said. “I asked Lane to pick the book up for me.”
“Oh?”
He reached out and slipped it from Miss Swanson’s hands. He nodded. “Yes, this is it. ‘Sixty-eight. Is there a problem with mechecking it out?”
“Why, no. Of course not. Let me write up a card.” She slid open a drawer, took out a blank card, and jotted down, “Buford Memories, 1968.”
“I really appreciate it,” Mr. Kramer said as he signed the card.
Miss Swanson blushed even more. “Quite all right. Will you be able to return it tomorrow?”
He glanced at Lane. She nodded. “I should be done with it by then.” Lifting the book, he said, “Thanks again, Shirley.” He tucked the book under his arm, gestured for Lane to follow him, and walked out to the quad. “Here you go.” Handing it to her, he gave his face a silly, terrified expression. “For heaven’s sake, don’t lose it.”
Lane laughed. “I’ll be careful.”
They walked together. “How come you’re interested in a yearbook that old?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s for Dad. He’s planning a novel that has stuff happening in ‘sixty-eight. He wants to check out the hair styles, clothes, that kind of thing. Thanks an awful lot for handling Miss Swanson.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
Lane felt a pleasant glow spread through her. “I wish there was something I could do for you.”
“Well, if you mean that, I can always, use an able hand to help me correct papers.”
“Great. When?”
“Can you spare half an hour after school? I still have those spelling tests from Friday that need to be marked.”
“Sure.” The bell rang.
“Uh-oh. We’d better get to first period. See you later.”
Nodding, Lane watched him hurry away. She took a trembling breath, then forced her weak legs to carry her forward.