Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“Maybe it is. It’s hard to tell. You might want to have Jenna see the school counselor when she returns.”

“But we’re normal people,” Kay said, scribbling the word normal on her little pad.

“Mr. MaLue,” Damien implored, “please reconsider suspending her. This is the first time she has ever been in trouble.”

“Which is why she is suspended for the day, not the week. We have a no-tolerance rule for violence. I’m sorry. And you might want to express to Jenna that next time she’ll be suspended for the entire semester.” He stood, causing Kay to shoot out of her seat for no particular reason except perhaps to not look like she was falling behind in etiquette. “Right this way.”

They followed Mr. MaLue down a hallway and then left to another hallway. Kay studied the walls as they passed. Bright, neon posters hung every few feet, announcing bake sales and contests and student leadership conferences. It all seemed so innocent-what school was supposed to be.

“In here.” Mr. MaLue opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

Kay rushed in, nearly knocking Damien over. Jenna sat at a desk in the back of the room, completely alone, staring out a window that faced the back side of another building. At the sound of the door opening, she turned her head. Her expression didn’t change. She picked up her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward them.

“Jenna,” Kay said, “first, you owe Mr. MaLue an apology. Then you have some explaining-”

“Sorry,” she said and walked right past them and into the hallway, disappearing around a corner.

Kay shook her head, giving Mr. MaLue an apologetic glance. “You will be getting that apology in written form.”

“Have a nice day,” the principal said and walked the other direction.

Kay hurried to catch up with Jenna, which wasn’t until she reached the front door of the high school, where Jenna was already hurrying down the steps.

“Young lady, wait! Right now!”

But Jenna didn’t wait. Instead she kept her pace and went straight to Damien’s car. But it was locked.

Kay, nearly out of breath, stopped short of plowing into her. “What is the matter with you?”

Jenna stared through the window of the car.

Kay grabbed her arm. “Jenna! Talk to me!”

“Talk to you? Really, Mom? Talk to you? Give me a break.” Jenna yanked her arm away. “Unlock the stupid car!”

“No!” Kay clutched her purse. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I got mad. I hit a girl. Clear enough?”

“No. I want to know why you would hit someone. That’s a very irrational, irresponsible thing to do. You’ve never been violent. We’re nonviolent people.”

Damien hurried around Kay, stepping between them. “Maybe we should finish this at home.”

“I can’t go home! I have to show a house in-” Kay looked at her watch. “I’m late!”

Damien put a hand on each of them. “Okay, let’s calm down. Kay, I can take Jenna. She can come to work with me.”

“To work with you?” Jenna moaned. “Just kill me right now, would you?”

Damien smiled at Kay. “You owe me one.”

Kay couldn’t smile or think anything else except that her world had suddenly fallen apart. Her baby girl, the sweetest she ever knew, had hit someone. On purpose. Kay took a tissue out of her purse and pressed it against her eyes. She watched Jenna get into Damien’s car. She could only stare at that stupid white string bracelet she kept wearing. Had someone called her a name? insinuated she was… loose?

Kay hurried to her SUV. She started it and peeled out, the frustration of the day coming to a head.

Then, like a slow-motion dream, someone stepped in front of her SUV. Two people. Kay slammed on the brakes, her tires squealing like a frightened pig. Her body lunged forward and then snapped back as her seat belt locked. Instinctively she held out her hand to the passenger’s empty seat.

“Watch out!” a woman yelled.

Kay had missed them by ten feet or more, but it was still a close call. She tried to catch her breath as she watched the woman and her teenage daughter cross. The woman had a protective arm around the girl. As Kay leaned forward for a better look, she realized the girl was holding… her nose. A bloodstained rag poked out from her hand. Kay slid down in her seat. Should she say something? apologize? do nothing?

The girl, a brunette with a glittery headband on, was crying and shaking her head. Her mother was rubbing her back as she assisted her along the pavement. That was the girl? Kay had pictured the other girl being Goth or something.

They finally made it across and Kay inched forward, daring to look one more time. They seemed so… normal.

A crowd had gathered on the front lawn of the home when Frank and Gavin arrived. Frank got out and immediately saw the cat, black as night, swaying from a limb in the slight breeze, a stark white rope around its neck.

He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t expected this. The dispatcher said nothing about the cat hanging from a tree.

“What do we do?” Gavin said, suddenly beside him.

Frank tore his eyes away from the cat. “Where are the home owners?” he said loudly, above the noise of the crowd.

“Over there!” someone shouted.

Frank saw a couple standing on the porch, holding each other.

They met Frank in the driveway. “I’m Reverend Ted Caldwell. This is my wife, Beth.”

“Is this your cat?” Frank asked, his back to the tree.

“Yes, it is,” Reverend Caldwell said, glancing at it. “His name is Riddle.”

“When did you discover the cat?” Frank asked.

“We know he wasn’t there this morning.”

Gavin took out his pad, started writing notes.

“Our daughter left for school, and we surely would’ve noticed him.”

“When did you notice him?” Frank asked.

“Maybe around nine thirty,” Mrs. Caldwell said. Tears dripped down her face. “I was leaving for the grocery store.”

“Jenkins, go ahead and cut the cat down.” Frank didn’t want the freaks to start showing up, though there were plenty of people gawking already, with their cell phone cameras out. “There are some tools in the trunk.” He grabbed Gavin’s arm and said quietly, “Don’t let it drop to the ground. Do it carefully, considerately. Do you understand me?”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “Yes.”

“And make sure it’s really dead.”

“Don’t you need to keep it there… for evidence?” the wife asked.

“No, ma’am. We don’t do crime scene investigations on animal cruelty cases, but we do take them very seriously.” Frank pulled out his own notepad. “You didn’t see anybody?”

“No, sir,” the reverend answered. “Nothing unusual.”

“You’re a pastor. Of what church?”

“Redeemer’s.”

Frank asked all the standard questions, his voice calm and collected, but inside an uneasiness started to set in. Marlo was not the kind of town where you found cats hung in trees. He was having a hard time focusing on the Caldwells. “Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to you?”

“Actually, yes.” Mrs. Caldwell glanced at her husband, then back at Frank.

Frank raised an eyebrow, his attention on the reverend, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Really? Someone has a grudge against you?”

“Grudge might be too hard of a word,” he said. “We just recently learned this.”

“Who is it?”

“His name is Tim Shaw. He’s a deacon at our church,” Beth Caldwell said.

“What is the nature of the disagreement?”

“Church, apparently,” Reverend Caldwell said.

“You’re not sure?”

“Not exactly.”

“Has Mr. Shaw confronted you?”