“She wants an excuse to sit on the bench,” Daniel said, picking his tablet back up.

He got up from the breakfast table, put his tablet into his brown leather briefcase, and pulled the small metal zipper shut.

He carried the bag into the front hall, set it inside the coat closet, and locked the wooden door with his brass key.

“I have three corporate client calls before noon,” he said, turning back toward the kitchen door.

“Don’t let her talk you into writing an excuse note.”

He reached for his raincoat on the brass hook by the back door.

“Did you call the clinic last week about her physical forms?” I asked.

“I took care of the clinic,” Daniel said, adjusting his tie.

“Everything was fine.”

By one o’clock, the guidance office at Oak Ridge High School had gone quiet between lunch periods.

I found Grace’s red art folder on the counter by the main copy machine, where she had left it before first period.

I walked down the main hallway toward the fine arts wing with the red three-ring folder under my arm.

Grace wasn’t in room 104 with her class.

I walked past the water fountains toward the gym and spotted her sitting alone on a yellow laminate bench near the trophy case.