Little D had someplace to be. I decided to see Tina’s guidance counselor before I left the building. I wanted to know if he’d heard anything more through the grapevine. Frank Powell’s office was locked. One of the staff said he’d taken the day off. I made a mental note to call Powell the next day and asked to see the principal about the janitor’s “after-school program.”
The principal was tied up, but the vice principal agreed to see me. Reginald Thompson was bony and long-limbed, with a face as brown as a raisin and almost as wrinkled. His handshake and manner were firm and no-nonsense.
As I explained the situation, I watched his eyes display a kaleidoscope of emotions. His expression ran from disgust and anger over what Beaufort had done to dismay and anxiety over the fallout it would c
