Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

sheets,
we disagreed. My teachers are professionals. A sign-in is a slap
in the face.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “I thought it foolish, but
he was my boss. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what I did.”
    “You said sheets? More than one sign-in sheet?”
    Arching an eyebrow, he grinned sheepishly. “We sign in for
every meeting, and if a teacher wants to go to his classroom
after hours, he has to sign in also.”
    I whistled softly, relieved I had left the business when I did.
“What about now?”
    The principal grinned. “Guess.”
    I chuckled. “Smart man.” I rose and extended my hand.
“Thanks, Howard.”
    “You’re welcome.” He hesitated. “You said you taught English at Madison?”
    I nodded. “Years ago.”

    “Why’d you get out of the business?”
    With a crooked grin, I replied, “Politics and parents.”
    He chuckled. “I know the feeling. Come on. I’ll show you the
ARD room.”
    Following him from his office, I sensed he was probably one
of the few dedicated educators in the system today. I envied the
kids in his school, nose rings and all.
    The ARD room was a small cubicle where the counselors,
parents, and diagnosticians for the special needs students regularly met to monitor students’ progress. The only furniture in
the room was a round table and six chairs, a nice, cozy arrangement where everyone had to face everyone and no one could
duck a question.
    He introduced me to the counselors, the secretary, and the
registrar, after which he pointed out the unisex bathroom and
the nook housing the coffee. “Help yourself. Usually, it’s
fresh.”
    The phone rang. Birnam answered, cut his eyes to me, and
nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Thomas.”
    He replaced the receiver. “We have a few minutes before
Kim Nally gets here. Care for some coffee?”
    “Sure.”
    The coffee was fresh, steaming, and Cajun strong. Gingerly
I sipped at it. “Now, this is what I call good coffee.”
    Birnam blew across the surface. “This is my singular journey
into the Cajun culture, Mr. Boudreaux.” He nodded to the smiling secretary. “Rita Viator is our resident Cajun, straight from
Lafayette. She’s bound and determined to create a sense of
appreciation in our taste buds for Cajun cuisine.”
    She shot us a mischievous smile. “Oh mon no, Mr. Birnam.
The coffee, she is supposed to be strong.” Rita Viator appeared
to be in her fifties, reminding me of my good-natured grandmere who laughed constantly and related anecdotes with the
best of the yarn spinners.

    He laughed. “Well, you succeeded again, Rita.”
    I inhaled the rich fragrance of the coffee and grinned at her.
“Delicious. Like back home. I’m from Church Point, northwest
of Lafayette.” At the mention of Church Point, I couldn’t help
thinking about Stewart and wondering how his hangover was
treating him. I needed to call him at the first opportunity.
    “Oh mon no. My family, the old ones, they be from Lawtell.”
    For the next few minutes, we exchanged stories and recollections of back home, from the swamps of Atchafalaya to the
boudain of Eunice, to the cockfights of Cankton. It had been
several months since I had heard the lilting patois of Cajun
country. Made me homesick.
    I glanced around as the glass doors of the counselors’ office
opened and a slender, dark-complexioned woman in blue
sweats with Safford High School emblazoned across the front
entered. She paused, surveyed the room, focused on Birnam,
and strode toward us. She gave me a wary glance, then directed her words to Birnam. “You wanted to see me, Howard?”
    “Yeah, Kim. This is Tony Boudreaux. He’s here looking into
the George Holderman thing.”
    She rolled her eyes as if to say, not again.

     

Sensing her impatience, I spoke up. “Look, Mrs. Nally. I’m
just a private investigator working for Mrs. Holderman who
retained us to clear the case. The Safford police have given us
permission to talk to everyone. I don’t