8
Uintah High School was the same dusty brown as the rest of the basin.
The perimeter of the school grounds was clearly marked, as was so often the case in Utah, with the high steppe’s rocky soil, thistles, and scrub rolling up to an invisible line, after which there was a thick carpet of dormant grass.
In the spring, the contrast would be even greater, with the vibrant green of a well-fertilized lawn juxtaposed with the basin’s natural browns and grays.
The school itself consisted of a central two-story building, with single-story wings branching off.
And, of course, there was a football field that bordered on professional.
Tean tried to consider the best course of action as Jem found a parking spot.
They had decided, in the end, not to call ahead, in case that was how the wolves had learned about River’s investigation.
It seemed like a small possibility, but still.
On the other hand, they might have driven nearly three hours only to waste their time.
They had to press a button near the front door and wait for a secretary to say, “May I help you?”
Jem smiled into the camera. “Hi, Jem Berger. We’re supposed to be meeting with Ms. Winfield.”
Silence. And then “Sign in at the welcome center.”
Something buzzed, and Jem grabbed the door and ushered Tean ahead of him.
They found themselves in a large atrium open to the second story.
Kids trickled past—a boy with AirPods in his ears who didn’t glance over, and then two girls with their heads together, whispering, and then a girl hitching up sweatpants that kept trying to slide off her hips.
Double doors nearby were marked Welcome Center, and Tean started that way.
Behind the front desk sat a woman with a lot of highlights in her hair. She appeared to be in the middle of making some sort of craft that consisted of wooden hearts covered in glitter, and she smiled at them only long enough to nod at a clipboard.
As Tean signed himself in—first name, last name, time, and date—Jem said, “Wow, how much do you charge?”
The woman laughed. “These are for my girlfriends. I saw it on Pinterest.”
“You could sell those,” Jem said. “I’d buy one. A hundred bucks, right now. Tean, pay the lady.”
Instead, Tean slid the clipboard over to Jem, and Jem signed his name while the woman laughed again.
“Could you direct us to Ms. Winfield’s room?” Tean asked.
The woman leaned in her seat to point as she directed them to the theater.
“Do we need to do anything else?” Tean asked, with a look at the clipboard.
“Pay me my hundred dollars,” the woman said.
Jem shrugged. He gave her one of those surprisingly guilty smiles that were somehow even more endearing. “Left my wallet in my other pants.”
That only made the woman laugh again, and as they left, she called after them, “Come back when you find that wallet.”
Following the woman’s directions, they made their way through the school.
The halls were still empty, but some of the classroom doors stood open.
The rooms they passed had whiteboards and tablet-arm desks that were currently filled with students, most of whom seemed to be talking over one another.
Then Tean and Jem were passing the cafeteria or the lunchroom or whatever it was supposed to be called, where the unmistakable smell of carbs under heat lamps hung thick in the air.
A man in a Uintah High T-shirt and jeans was setting up a sign warning people around a wet patch on the linoleum.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Tean said.
“Well, I was kind of exaggerating. A hundred dollars would be a lot for one of those hearts.”
“No, I mean, don’t they have any security?”
Jem shrugged.
“So, anybody could just wander in here and say they’re meeting a teacher.”
“I guess so.”
“But that’s a problem. What if they’re lying?” Tean looked around; no one was nearby, but he still lowered his voice when he said, “What if they’re planning on, you know, doing something?”
“Stealing all the pizza on Pizza Tuesday?”
“No.”
“Oh shit. Like the Hamburglar, only for pizza.”
“Jem, they shouldn’t just let anybody walk in here.”
“Wait, wasn’t there already a Hamburglar for pizza?” Jem snapped his fingers. “The Noid. Remember? Avoid the Noid?”
“And it’s not just school shooters,” Tean said. “What about pedophiles? What about creepy guys who are at least twenty years old, and they have leather jackets and motorcycles, and they date freshmen?”
“Is that from The Outsiders?”
“No, it’s not— You know what? Never mind.”
“Babe, as far as today goes, it’s a good thing. Right?”
“It’s a terrible thing. Someone should be escorting us out of the building right now.”
“Great,” Jem said. A man appeared at the corner—he was dressed in a Uintah High polo, and he gave them a curious look. Jem flagged him down. “This guy is trying to steal all the pizza. You need to call security.”
The man grinned. “Better you than the wrestling team.”
And that was it. He walked on. He didn’t glance back.
“That is so unfair,” Tean said. “Why does that work for you?
Jem shrugged again.
“If I had tried that, he would have shot me.”
“That’s okay, babe. You’re good at lots of things. You’re good at animals.”
“No one is ‘good at animals.’ ‘Animals’ isn’t a skill.”
“Sure, it is. And you’re good at imagining all the bad stuff that can happen. Like when you told those Girl Scouts about how bad it is to use palm oil, and non-recyclable plastics, and the evils of child labor.”
“That was a bad thing. You should have stopped me. You should have shut the door.”
“And you’re definitely good at sex stuff.”
Tean glanced around, face heating. “No,” he whispered. “I’m not. I’m bad at sex stuff.”
Jem was grinning.
“What is happening?” Tean moaned—but quietly, because he wasn’t sure he wanted Jem to answer.
All Jem did, though, was pull open a door with a plaque marked MS. WINFIELD and wave Tean through.
Soft music—a harp, possibly Celtic—met them as they entered.
Fairy lights were strung overhead, and they left much of the room in shadow.
Sofas were pushed up against two of the walls to complement the tablet-arm chairs, and to judge by the faint mustiness, the additional furniture had come from a secondhand store.
Or from somebody who had owned cats. Double doors at the back of the room connected, Tean guessed, either to a storage closet or perhaps to the theater itself.
And at a desk in the corner, a woman raised her head.
She was large, dressed in a jumpsuit with a busy print, and she had a giant bow in her hair that made Tean think of newborns getting their first photo shoot. In the dim light, she could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Jem said. “Ms. Winfield?”
“That’s me.”
“Jem Berger. This is Teancum Leon. Do you have a minute?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have…thirteen minutes, I believe. Is this for ITS?”
“No.” Jem pulled out his phone as he crossed the room. “This is going to sound strange, but we’re investigators looking into someone we believe you know—”
“Kai Butler,” she said. “You’re talking about Kai.”
“How did you know that?” Tean asked.
“Because I just talked to someone about him,” she said with a smile. “I don’t get reporters and police detectives coming around to interview me all the time.”
“Just to be clear,” Jem said, “we’re not police. We’re private investigators.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Have the police talked to you?” Tean asked.
“Well, no. I thought you were—” She frowned. “You probably can’t tell me who you’re working for, can you?”
Jem shook his head.
“Who was the reporter who talked to you?” Tean asked.
“River,” Ms. Winfield said. “River Jordan. Why? What’s going on?”
Jem shook his head.
“You haven’t heard?” Tean said.
“Heard what?”
“She was killed,” Tean said. “A little less than two months ago.”
“But—” She closed her mouth. Finally, she said, “She was killed?”
“Yes,” Jem said.
“Oh my gosh.” Tears rushed into Ms. Winfield’s eyes. She fanned herself with one hand. “She was such a sweet woman.”
“Did you know her well?” Tean asked.
“No, I’d never—” She stopped again, found a packet of tissues in her purse, and dried her eyes. In a firmer voice, she continued, “No, I’d never met her before. I wasn’t familiar with her website or her podcast or any of it. But she was so pleasant. What happened?”
“The police are still looking into it,” Jem said. “We think it might be connected to the investigation she was conducting.”
She moved the tissue more slowly against her eyes, careful of her makeup now, studying them. “What does that mean?” She gave a wet laugh. “Did Kai kill her?”
“Yes,” Tean said.
At the same time, Jem said, “That’s one possibility.”
The music of the harp spilled into the silence.
Ms. Winfield didn’t look shocked. She didn’t cry out that this was impossible. Her fingers tightened around the tissue, and she said, “Why would he do that?”
“We’re not sure,” Jem said. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I was hoping you could tell us about your conversation with Ms. Jordan. Do you remember anything?”
“I remember she wanted to talk about Kai. I was going to tell her no—I don’t talk about my students—but she explained that the police believed he’d been involved in a murder, and they were still trying to find him, and he might be dangerous, and any information that might help them track him down could save more lives.
” She paused. “People talk. I saw that story on the news about that man, the one who got killed. I knew Kai had disappeared.”
Tean nodded.
“It’s tragic,” she said. “All of it.”
“Did you teach Zeb Welker and Rydel Owens too?” Jem asked.
“No. I think they went to school in Roosevelt,” she said. “I only know those names because of what happened. But like I said, people talk. I guess everybody knew there was something that wasn’t right with that family.”
Jem said, “When River came to see you—Ms. Jordan, I mean—what did you talk about?”