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back to get Braden, thinking we could go see what it was, and I found him like this. I didn’t have my cell and no one answered when I screamed for help and . . .” She dissolved into tears again.
    I moved to her and hugged her tightly. She was shivering. “You didgreat,” I said. “He’s going to be fine.” I hoped. I said a quick prayer.
    A siren racing up the long drive brought our heads around. Giving Rachel a quick squeeze, I jogged to the double doors and pulled them open. An ambulance, lights flashing, skidded to a stop beside an SUV that hadn’t been there earlier, and the EMTs hopped out. I beckoned them in and backed out of their way.
    “What in the world—” a disapproving voice said. Lucy Mortimer moved into the foyer from the hallway that led off to the administrative offices and storage areas. Her gaze took in the scene and then she gasped, “My parlor drapes!”
    Before she could rip them off Braden—which I feared she might do—the EMTs clattered into the hallway, lugging a gurney and their equipment. They had Braden hooked to an IV and secured in a cervical brace faster than I would have thought possible. They had lifted him on a backboard and were wheeling the gurney out the door as Glen Spaatz and a gaggle of students appeared on the scene, stopping abruptly where the hall met the foyer. Lucy hurried off toward her office, muttering about calling the board of directors.
    “Braden McCullers apparently fell down the stairs,” I told Spaatz briefly, watching as his face registered disbelief and worry.
    “Oh my God! Cyril’s ghost pushed Braden!” a girl’s voice said from behind Spaatz.
    A babble of voices rose up, only to be silenced as the front door thwacked open again and a man appeared on the threshold, eyes wide, gray hair mussed. I’d never seen him before.
    “Where’s Mark?” he asked urgently. “Is Mark okay?”
    We looked around. No Mark. No Lindsay. No Lonnie or Tyleror Coach Peet, but presumably they were waiting on the bus. I couldn’t tell if anyone else was missing.
    “Who are you?” Spaatz stepped forward and challenged the stranger. They were about the same height, but the newcomer was bulkier through the neck and shoulders.
    “Eric Crenshaw. Mark’s dad. I saw the ambulance while I was waiting. Is Mark—”
    “Take it easy, Dad.” Mark’s voice came from the hallway leading to the ballroom. Lindsay’s nervous face peeked over his shoulder.
    “Goddamnit,” Crenshaw said, taking a step toward Mark. “You were supposed to be outside at nine thirty, remember? So we could get on the road to your aunt’s? When I saw the ambu—”
    “Sorry. I forgot.” Mark’s voice was sullen; he clearly didn’t like being chewed out in front of his friends.
    “That’s not good enough,” Eric Crenshaw snapped, taking a step toward Mark. “You know your mother—”
    Rachel’s voice in my ear, begging me to take her to the hospital, drowned out the rest of their confrontation.
    “Please, Grace, I have to be there. What if he, like, dies?” She whispered the last word.
    “He’s not going to die,” I said firmly. Why did we make statements like that when we had no clue? Denial, I guessed, or hope. I pulled Spaatz away from the group. “When the police show up, tell them Rachel and I have gone to the hospital.”
    “The police?” He looked startled. “Oh, shit. Of course, the police.” He pushed a hand through his hair.
    “I’m surprised they’re not here already.” I said. I dug in my purse for my keys before realizing I didn’t have my car. We’d all come in the bus. “Damn!”
    At Spaatz’s raised brows, I explained my dilemma. “Take the bus,” hesaid immediately. “Tell the driver. He can come back for the rest of us after he drops you at the hospital. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”
    “Thanks.” I gave him a tight smile, grabbed Rachel by the hand, and sprinted toward the bus.
    Three hours later, coming up on