Chapter 18 Cosi #2
Kids like Paul fucking Johnson, who’d been harassing her for weeks without my knowledge. That little asshole.
“I was going to start today,” I said, “but thought you might need a normal day without me stirring things up.”
“I did.” She gave me a sad smile. “Thanks.”
“You got it, baby.”
She came to stand in front of me, looking up with those pretty brown eyes. “You keep calling me that.”
“Yep.” I traced a finger over the freckles sprinkled across her nose.
“What if I asked you to stop?”
“I won’t.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “If you keep calling me baby, I might get the wrong idea about what’s going on here.”
Or maybe she’d clue in to the right idea.
“People around town are talking about us,” I told her, already loathing this conversation.
“Great.” She groaned. “Do I want to know what they’re saying?”
“Probably not. I didn’t ask for specifics myself. But I’m sure we can both imagine what they’re saying.”
“I’ve been labeled Dalton’s newest harlot, haven’t I?” She scrunched up her nose. “So much for improving my reputation.”
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you about it.”
“Meh.” She shrugged. “Let them talk. I don’t care.”
“Really?” That was not at all what I’d expected her to say.
“It’s no worse than what Paul Johnson says in my classroom. At least he’s got the guts to say it to my face. People will find something else to talk about once I’m back at the cabin.”
She wasn’t going back to the cabin, but we’d talk about that another day. For now, if she wasn’t worried about leaving my place, then neither was I.
“Here.” I opened the flap of my jacket, taking out Ike’s journal and handing it over.
Her body seemed to relax once it was back in her hands, like she hadn’t wanted to let it go. “Did you read it?”
“I did.”
“Did you make any sense of it?”
“Beyond those letters to Donnie? No,” I said. “You about done for the day? I’ll give you a lift so you don’t have to walk.”
She frowned at the papers on her desk. “I need to grade papers and plan a new lesson for tomorrow, since my juniors are clearly not comprehending the material. But I can bring it along. Would you care if we stopped at the post office on the way? I’m expecting a package from my mom, so I’d like to see if it’s here. ”
“Not at all, baby. Whatever you need.”
“Another baby?”
“I like it. And so do you.”
Her cheeks flushed as she fought a smile. She could pretend all she wanted, but we both knew I was right. “Give me five.”
“Take your time.” I wandered around the classroom, taking in the posters on the walls that depicted various algebra functions. “When I went to school here, this was Mrs. Hamilton’s room. She taught English.”
“There’s a Mrs. Hamilton who works in the office a few days a week. Same lady?”
“Sure is.”
“I wonder if she doesn’t like me because I’m in her former classroom.”
“What do you mean, she doesn’t like you?”
Ilsa shrugged. “She doesn’t like me. No one here really does.”
What the fuck? “Why not?”
“No idea.” Ilsa closed her briefcase. “I’d ask, but no one talks to me.
Granted, I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to get to know the other teachers.
This school feels very much like the Good Ol’ Boys Club.
And if I had to guess, I’d say most of the boys are irked that there’s a girl in the sandbox. ”
I wished I could tell her that people in our small town were welcoming to outsiders.
But they weren’t, not always. And the teachers at this school had their noses in the air.
The men would judge her if they’d heard the rumors around town.
And so would the women. There weren’t many female teachers—Harlan made a point of hiring men whenever possible.
And those women who did work here had an impenetrable clique that included Mrs. Riley.
Ilsa had come into this school and, based simply on what I’d seen from Spencer, proved that Mrs. Riley had not been doing a good job.
That clique was threatened by Ilsa. It was horseshit. It was unprofessional and rude. But Principal Harlan was a wimp of a man who wouldn’t put a stop to it. That, and he was Mrs. Riley’s cousin.
I went to the hook beside the door, taking down her coat and holding it open for her to slip on. “I don’t like this.”
“I’m stubborn. I’ll wear them down eventually.”
Yes, she would.
Still, I didn’t like that she was getting flak from teachers and students alike.
“Ready?” She turned off the light and led the way down the hallway.
As we walked side by side, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from trying to hold hers. When we reached the Bronco, I opened her door, shutting her inside before I went to the driver’s side.
She fiddled with a ring of keys from her purse as I drove to the post office.
“What’s your mom sending you?”
“It’s a box of stuff Dad sent her. I was curious about it, and she said I could look through it. Now I’m glad I didn’t get it sooner or who knows what would have happened to it.” She grimaced. “Every time I think about the cabin, I want to scream.”
“Then scream.”
She looked over and smiled. “Maybe later tonight.”
“Promise?”
That smile widened.
Better. If all I could do to help her through this until I found the person responsible was distract her with sex, then so be it.
Ron, the postmaster, was sitting behind the desk when we walked inside the building. His thick pop-bottle glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and his long, black braid was draped over a shoulder.
“Ron.” I shook his hand as Ilsa went to the wall of boxes, fitting her key into number 392.
“Cosi.” Ron’s dark eyes shifted to Ilsa. He stared at her long enough that I glanced over my shoulder.
She had a red slip of paper in her hand, probably for the package that wouldn’t fit into the mail slot. The small metal door to her box was open, but she’d moved down the row.
She was standing in front of PO Box 286.
I held up my finger to Ron, leaving the desk to go and stand at her side.
“What if this is the box he meant?” she asked, voice lowered. “I thought he meant one of the boxes in his house, but I don’t remember seeing numbers on any of them.”
She returned to her box, locking it up to retrieve her keys. Then she flipped through them, shaking her head the entire time. “Most of these are from Dad’s key chain. I don’t know where half of them go. But I kept them in case. Do you think one might be another post office key?”
I bent over her shoulder, inspecting each of the keys as she looped through them. “The small gold key probably goes to a padlock.”
Ilsa paused on a larger brass key with D scratched into the metal. “It’s different than the one for Dad’s box. His is gold.”
“The boxes are different sizes. His might have been rekeyed at some point.”
“D for Donnie?” she asked.
“Probably.”
“Do you think this was her post office box? Would he tell us?” She tilted her head toward Ron.
“Not without a warrant.”
“Should I just try this key?” she asked. “What if it’s someone else’s? Think he’ll get mad?”
“Can I help you with something?” Ron asked, standing from his chair.
Ilsa worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
I took the red slip of paper from her hand and walked it to the counter. “She’s got a package, Ron.”
He gave me a pointed stare from over the rim of his glasses before he disappeared into the back room to get her parcel.
The sound of a key sliding into a lock filled the lobby.
Ilsa opened the box, wide eyes finding mine as the door opened. There was another red slip inside.
Ron emerged, a box tucked under his arm. He paused, staring at her for a long moment. “Wondered when you’d finally clear out that box. Was going to mention it but you usually come in after the lobby is closed.”
“That was Ike’s box too?” I asked.
“Used to be Donnie’s. After she passed, Ike took it over.
Never changed the name on it. I think he liked to see mail come in with her name.
Pretend she wasn’t really gone.” Ron pressed a hand to his heart.
“Donnie was a good friend. We went to school together in Browning. After she moved here in ’74, we’d get together from time to time.
She was real close with my wife. Now they’re both gone, but I like to think they’re in heaven together, making beaded earrings and talking about Days of our Lives. ”
“You knew Donnie?” Ilsa asked, coming to stand by my side.
“Sure did.”
“I never got to meet her, but I think my dad loved her. Very much.”
“That he did.” Ron nodded. “You don’t remember, but I knew you when you were just a little thing. When you’d come visit your dad in the summers.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
“No apologies. Glad to know you now.”
“You too.” Ilsa gave him a smile that brightened the lobby.
I hadn’t seen Ron smile in years. But damn if she didn’t make him grin.
It was impossible not to be pulled into this woman’s orbit. Eventually, the assholes at Dalton High would realize it too. Like Ilsa said, she’d wear them down, one magnificent smile at a time.
Ron held out a hand for the slip of paper she’d taken from Donnie’s box. He set down the box addressed to Ilsa, then went to the back again, returning with a large stack of mail kept together with three rubber bands.
Most looked like fliers and junk mailings. But folded around the smaller pieces was a large goldenrod envelope.
“Thank you.” Ilsa took the bundle, then gave him a wave as we walked to the door.
She clutched the mail to her chest as we got into the Bronco and immediately started unfastening the rubber bands. The first piece she tore into was the large envelope.
And the second she pulled out an atlas, my stomach dropped.
“Cosi.” She reached her hand across the center console.
“What the hell?” What had Ike been up to?
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I threaded our fingers together, staring blankly through the windshield as my mind whirled.
The spying. The fire. The vandalism.
What if this had never been about Ilsa?
What if this was all tied to Ike?