The Edge

Chapter 11

Thursday morning finds me blearily shuffling my way through the corridors of Sycamore Academy, hissing at the artificial glare of school lighting and clutching tight a canister containing the sweet nectar of life known to mere mortals as coffee. Generally, I'd still be snuggling my cat in bed at this hour of the morning, but today I've messes to clean up and new ones to spawn. Never been much of a morning person, but as they say, the early bird gets the worm.

The worm himself is in the process of stapling papers when I rap on the door of his classroom. "Mr. Fairch - er, Tom? Can we talk for a minute?"

He turns cold eyes my way, posture growing rigid. "Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Sullivan?"

"I owe you an apology," I admit, slipping into the classroom and inching tentatively towards the desk. "Not for accusing you of sexual harassment, mind you, because you were completely guilty of that, but for the other stuff I said. I had no ground to stand on, condemning you like I did."

His lip curls at my words. "If you were truly concerned whether I had a hand in the dear child's death," he says at last. "You might have bothered to check whether I had an alibi."

I flush with embarrassment. "About that..."

"I know it's rather much to ask, but had you done so," he presses on. "You'd have spared us both your company. I could have told you I drank myself into a stupor the night before, quite publically, and I'm sure the Hathaway boy likely documented the event for posterity."

I'm an idiot, and he's called me on it. I'd pegged him as suspicious and focused too much on his *eccentricities (*creepiness), without ever doing the most basic research into his whereabouts the night of the murder. I'd behaved just as badly as those who'd done the same thing to Luke eight years ago.

"Don't worry, I've got your number now," Tom continues. "A little bird told me about your high jinks around town yesterday." I grimace, even though I'd expected him to bring it up.

"The Wilder boy?" he scorns, biting out the name like a curse. "I mean, really. Where are your standards?"

"You were right about me," I concede. "Maybe I want to live on the edge and I've gotten a little too interested in Hannah's case. Maybe I saw my chance to get involved in something important and latched on to Luke Wilder. Maybe I am titillated."

A shadow of his old expression returns. "Say that last part again," he requests. "Slower."

Ugh. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry for the name-calling, although you started that yourself. Also, you have to admit that your disrespectful comments and weird attitude about the murder would make anyone suspicious. Not to mention the forced make-out session."

"Ah, a dash of contempt and accusation thrown in with your apology. Charming."

He's got me there, but I've had enough groveling, thank you very much. "And hey, you knew Rebecca Temple!" I bust out. "Why didn't you tell me you were friends?"

He leans back in his chair, seemingly pleased by my annoyance. "Why would I tell you such a thing? Rebecca was my wife's friend, not mine."

"But you must have had some familiarity with her, even as a passing acquaintance."

He steeples his fingers and grins slyly. "Perhaps I did."

"I don't suppose you could you tell me what she was like?"

"Paige would be far more helpful than I concerning the matter. Besides, I'm not interested in involving myself with your ridiculous Scooby Doo antics. Certainly not after the blatant show of immaturity you put on yesterday."