reporting a teacher missing. Most likely he'd have to notify the police.
He said, "Maybe someone should take a drive to her house, just to make sure she's not there."
Neither Miss Moffitt nor Mr. Neal seemed eager to volunteer. All the faculty members had heard the peculiar stories about Mrs. Starch-the deadly snake collection, the taxidermied critters, and so on.
"Would you happen to know if she has relatives living around here?" Dr. Dressier inquired. "Somebody we could contact, to see if they've heard from her?"
Neither Mr. Neal nor Miss Moffitt could recall Mrs. Starch mentioning any family connections.
"I heard that her husband moved to Brazil ten years ago," Miss Moffitt said.
"I heard he disappeared," Mr. Neal said, "without a trace."
Dr. Dressier struggled to contain his exasperation. "There's got to be somebody -a sister or brother or cousin twice removed." He made a mental note to look through Mrs. Starch's employment file and find out whom she'd listed as next of kin.
The meeting was interrupted by the telephone. It was a lieutenant from the county fire department, returning an earlier call from Dr. Dressier.
Mr. Neal and Miss Moffitt heard only the headmaster's side of the conversation, which was mostly "I see" and "I understand" and "Really?" His face was gray when he hung up the phone.
"The firefighters didn't find Mrs. Starch," he said, "but her car was still parked on the dirt road near the boardwalk, where she'd left it."
"A blue Prius?" Mr. Neal asked.
Dr. Dressier nodded tightly.
Miss Moffitt slumped. "Oh my, no."
"The fire was already out when the crews got there," the headmaster said, "which is good news."
Mr. Neal said, "They're still out there looking for her, right?"
Dr. Dressier explained that the Black Vine Swamp was so dense and jungly that the floodlights from the fire trucks were useless. "The searchers will return at sunrise," he said.
Miss Moffitt stared glumly out the window. "This is terrible. We should've never let her go back there alone."
"You had no choice. It was more important to move the students out safely," Dr. Dressier said. "Both of you go home and get some rest. I'll be in touch if I hear any news."
Once Mr. Neal and Miss Moffitt had left, the headmaster phoned the county sheriff's office and said he wanted to report a missing teacher. The dispatcher said a deputy would come to the school and take all the information.
While he was waiting, Dr. Dressier opened a legal pad and uncapped a silver fountain pen, which had been a gift from the Class of 2003. He knew he had to write something about the wildfire and Mrs. Starch to read at the morning assembly.
He couldn't imagine what he could possibly say that would settle the questions everyone at the Truman School would be asking, or that would stop a dozen wild rumors from racing through the halls.
Miss Moffitt was right. This was a terrible thing.
Libby Marshall was so wired after the field trip that her parents didn't think they'd ever get her to sleep. She couldn't stop talking about Mrs. Starch, wondering why she hadn't shown up at school with the asthma inhaler.
"I hope she's okay," Libby told her father. "What if she got caught in the fire? What if she's hurt?"
Libby's mother said, "I'm sure she's all right, sweetie. I bet she'll have your medicine waiting for you in class tomorrow."
Her dad wasn't so certain. Jason Marshall was a detective for the Collier County sheriff's office. He got concerned when Libby told him about the wildfire, and about the teacher who went back alone to retrieve Libby's inhaler. It seemed strange that Mrs. Starch hadn't even phoned.
While Libby was brushing her teeth, Jason Marshall went to the kitchen and quietly called a friend who was a firefighter. The firefighter said that the blaze near the Big Cypress was no longer burning, but he confirmed that the crews had found an automobile registered to a woman named Bunny Starch, who was missing and believed lost in the
He said, "Maybe someone should take a drive to her house, just to make sure she's not there."
Neither Miss Moffitt nor Mr. Neal seemed eager to volunteer. All the faculty members had heard the peculiar stories about Mrs. Starch-the deadly snake collection, the taxidermied critters, and so on.
"Would you happen to know if she has relatives living around here?" Dr. Dressier inquired. "Somebody we could contact, to see if they've heard from her?"
Neither Mr. Neal nor Miss Moffitt could recall Mrs. Starch mentioning any family connections.
"I heard that her husband moved to Brazil ten years ago," Miss Moffitt said.
"I heard he disappeared," Mr. Neal said, "without a trace."
Dr. Dressier struggled to contain his exasperation. "There's got to be somebody -a sister or brother or cousin twice removed." He made a mental note to look through Mrs. Starch's employment file and find out whom she'd listed as next of kin.
The meeting was interrupted by the telephone. It was a lieutenant from the county fire department, returning an earlier call from Dr. Dressier.
Mr. Neal and Miss Moffitt heard only the headmaster's side of the conversation, which was mostly "I see" and "I understand" and "Really?" His face was gray when he hung up the phone.
"The firefighters didn't find Mrs. Starch," he said, "but her car was still parked on the dirt road near the boardwalk, where she'd left it."
"A blue Prius?" Mr. Neal asked.
Dr. Dressier nodded tightly.
Miss Moffitt slumped. "Oh my, no."
"The fire was already out when the crews got there," the headmaster said, "which is good news."
Mr. Neal said, "They're still out there looking for her, right?"
Dr. Dressier explained that the Black Vine Swamp was so dense and jungly that the floodlights from the fire trucks were useless. "The searchers will return at sunrise," he said.
Miss Moffitt stared glumly out the window. "This is terrible. We should've never let her go back there alone."
"You had no choice. It was more important to move the students out safely," Dr. Dressier said. "Both of you go home and get some rest. I'll be in touch if I hear any news."
Once Mr. Neal and Miss Moffitt had left, the headmaster phoned the county sheriff's office and said he wanted to report a missing teacher. The dispatcher said a deputy would come to the school and take all the information.
While he was waiting, Dr. Dressier opened a legal pad and uncapped a silver fountain pen, which had been a gift from the Class of 2003. He knew he had to write something about the wildfire and Mrs. Starch to read at the morning assembly.
He couldn't imagine what he could possibly say that would settle the questions everyone at the Truman School would be asking, or that would stop a dozen wild rumors from racing through the halls.
Miss Moffitt was right. This was a terrible thing.
Libby Marshall was so wired after the field trip that her parents didn't think they'd ever get her to sleep. She couldn't stop talking about Mrs. Starch, wondering why she hadn't shown up at school with the asthma inhaler.
"I hope she's okay," Libby told her father. "What if she got caught in the fire? What if she's hurt?"
Libby's mother said, "I'm sure she's all right, sweetie. I bet she'll have your medicine waiting for you in class tomorrow."
Her dad wasn't so certain. Jason Marshall was a detective for the Collier County sheriff's office. He got concerned when Libby told him about the wildfire, and about the teacher who went back alone to retrieve Libby's inhaler. It seemed strange that Mrs. Starch hadn't even phoned.
While Libby was brushing her teeth, Jason Marshall went to the kitchen and quietly called a friend who was a firefighter. The firefighter said that the blaze near the Big Cypress was no longer burning, but he confirmed that the crews had found an automobile registered to a woman named Bunny Starch, who was missing and believed lost in the
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