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come sniffing around.” She paused briefly, “And before you go, I want some money.”
    “I don’t have any money,” he said.
    “You lying sack of shit. If you don’t have any, ask your keepers. I’m sure you can get some.”
    “How much you need?”
    “Two grand for openers. That’s what the lawyer wants as a retainer. I’ll need more later.”
    “The kid that was shot…?”
    “He was just nicked. The little bastard probably deserved it. Now I want you gone. Get your stuff, anything I find is going out in the trash.” She directed him toward the bedroom they had been sharing.
    Gavin tossed the few clothes and other possessions that he had been keeping at Donna’s in a couple of garbage bags. As he was leaving, she stopped him at the door, moving into his space, her body almost touching his. “Bring me a check. At the Last Chance. I don’t want you here again. Ever. Understand?”
    Gavin pushed past her without answering. He tossed the bags in the back of the Bronco and climbed behind the wheel. He looked back toward the house; Donna was standing outside, holding a cigarette and glaring at him.
    “I’ll get even with you, bitch,” he mouthed in her direction before backing out of the drive.

8
Ray was not surprised to find Maggie Engle, the superintendent of the Cedar Bay Schools, waiting for him at his office when he finally arrived a few minutes after 1:00 p.m. Over the last few years, since he had moved back to the area and been elected sheriff, he and Maggie had been in constant contact. She initiated most of their meetings. Not that Maggie ever wasted his time, but she was on the phone or making a personal visit to his office any occasion when the safety or welfare of one of the district’s students was in question.
    Maggie had arrived in Cedar Bay twenty years earlier, coming to the area with her husband, many years her senior, who had just retired from Columbia University. His roots were in the region, and he was delighted to be returning to the family farm to tinker with raising grapes and apples. Maggie, however, while not completely immune to the bucolic pleasures of rural life, was bored and restless. She was a fish out of water: Jewish, a devoted city dweller, a regular at the opera, symphony, and museums. She liked strong black coffee; short, thin cigars; and reading the New York Times the morning it was published, something that was not possible in Northern Michigan in the mid 1980s.
    So when the chemistry teacher at Cedar Bay High fell ill and retired unexpectedly, Maggie was delighted to be back in the classroom, even if students weren’t as intellectually aggressive, urbane, and diverse as the kids she had taught during her tenure at Horace Mann.
    That first semester she thought she’d only teach until the district found a replacement. They didn’t. In fact, the board and subsequent boards—farmers, owners of small businesses, housewives, and an occasional professional—quickly understood what a treasure Maggie was. Not that she didn’t ruffle feathers and challenge local values, which was something she did almost daily. But her skill as a teacher, and then a principal, and then the superintendent—the administrative positions thrust upon her by the board and community—reflected their appreciation for the transformation she brought to the schools.
    Maggie believed with few exceptions every kid could go to college and that opportunity and mobility came through education. And as principal of the high school, and later as the superintendent, she recruited the best teachers she could find to replace an aging faculty.
    She all but eliminated the district’s dropout problem; more than a few parents were surprised to find her at their door demanding to know why their sons and daughters were not at school. She was brave, direct, and unflappable. And she didn’t hesitate to use law enforcement if she thought any of “her kids” needed protection or, her phrase, “enforced