Principal Estelle Halcombe stood in the doorway — tailored blazer, aligned pearls, a smile that had been practiced in a mirror and warmed by nothing behind it.

“Estelle,” I said, sliding the drawing into my top drawer.

“You’re in early.” “I need to see you in my office before the students arrive,” she said.

“We have a situation.” I already knew what kind.

As I followed her down the corridor I noticed her hands were clenched.

At her door she turned to me with a look that chilled me.