returned to Lake Eden to accept teaching positions at the school.
As she turned on Third Street and drove past the city block that had been set aside for family recreation, Hannah realized that there were no preschoolers playing in Lake Eden Park. The chains on the swings were perfectly motionless, the merry-go-round was still laden with the colorful leaves that had fallen during the morning, and though the temperature had topped the predicted high of forty-eight degrees, there were no children on tricycles pedaling along the circular sidewalk around the playground.
For a moment this struck Hannah as odd. It was the type of weather that a mother of a preschooler prayed for. But then she remembered what had happened this morning and she understood why the park was empty. There was a killer loose in Lake Eden. Concerned parents were keeping their children inside, out of harm’s way.
There was a long line of cars idling at curbside on Gull Avenue. It stretched for three blocks leading to and from the school complex, blocking access to driveways and fire hydrants in blatant disregard for the city parking statutes. Hannah inched her way past worried-looking parents waiting for the dismissal bell to ring, and as she neared the school, she saw that Herb Beeseman, his patrol car freshly washed and waxed, was parked diagonally in front of the entrance. He wasn’t handing out any tickets for the infractions that were occurring right under his nose, and Hannah assumed that he’d placed the safety of Lake Eden’s children at a higher priority than filling the city’s coffers.
Hannah reached back between the seats and snagged a bag of Molasses Crackles. She always carried several bags of cookies with her for times like these. Then she pulled up beside Herb’s patrol car and rolled down her window. “Hi, Herb. I’m going in to cater the Boy Scout Awards Banquet. Is it okay if I pull into the lot?”
“Sure, Hannah,” Herb responded, his eyes on the bag of cookies in her hand. “Just make sure you park legally. Are those for me?”
Hannah handed him the bag. “You’re doing a great job protecting the kids. I’m sure the parents appreciate it.”
“Thanks.” Herb looked pleased at her compliment. “Does your mother still hate me for that ticket I gave her?”
“She doesn’t exactly hate you, Herb.” Hannah decided that this wasn’t the time to tell Herb precisely what her mother had called him. “But she’s still a little put out.”
“I’m sorry I had to do it, Hannah. I like your mother, but I can’t have people speeding through town.”
“I understand and I think Mother does, too. She’s just not quite willing to admit it yet.” Hannah began to grin. “At least one good thing came out of that ticket.”
“What’s that?”
“She stopped trying to fix me up with you.”
Hannah was chuckling as she drove off. Judging from the surprised expression on Herb’s face, he hadn’t guessed that her mother had previously considered him for the position of son-in-law.
The wide gate that separated the teachers’ parking lot from the school grounds was open and Hannah drove through. As she traveled down the lane between the rows of parked cars, she noticed a conspicuous absence of new or expensive vehicles. Teaching didn’t pay well enough for any luxuries, and Hannah thought that was a shame. There was something really wrong with the system when a teacher could make more money flipping burgers at a fast-food chain.
The strip of blacktop by the back door of the cafeteria was peppered with warning signs. Hannah pulled up by one that read: “NO PARKING AT ANY TIME BY ORDER OF THE LAKE EDEN PARKING AUTHORITY.” In smaller letters, it warned that violators would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, but Herb was the sole employee of the Lake Eden Parking Authority and he was out watching the front entrance. Hannah didn’t feel guilty about violating a city parking statute. She was running late and
Mohamedou Ould Slahi, Larry Siems