Cutting Teeth(56)

“Can we help you, ma’am?” Detective Wanda Bright nudges her Oakley sunglasses over the bridge of her nose.

“Would you mind showing me your search warrant, please?” says Mary Beth.

Bright’s partner, Princep, mashes gum between his teeth. “It’s a crime scene. We don’t need a search warrant.”

There’s a small brown bag in Bright’s hand that Mary Beth can’t keep her eyes off of. “No crime occurred in that classroom,” she says hastily. “The kids have moved classes after … after what happened.”

Is she really doing this? Is she really going to stand in the way of two uniformed officers and their job?

She sees no other choice. So the question, really, is can she? Can she stop them? It might sound crazy to believe that she can, but then again, Mary Beth once talked her way into the Bahamas even after forgetting her passport.

“The school is a crime scene, ma’am,” Bright repeats.

“That doesn’t mean you can just take things.” Even though, for all she knows, it means that precisely. All she has to do is sound right enough that they question things first. Buy time. As much of it as she can afford. She thinks of Bodhi and Zeke and Bex and the others, and, of course, even Noelle, and she musters her nerve.

“A teacher gave us permission.” Bright pushes up her iridescently mirrored glasses with the hand not holding a bag of poop.

Mary Beth is going to have a few more choice words for Mrs. Tokem, but for now—“She doesn’t own the school. It’s a 501(c)(3) organization. It’s not for profit. It’s for us. We own the school. We pay her. That’s right. Hand it over.” She twitches her fingers at them.

“Ma’am.” Bright doesn’t move.

None of the other parents have come to join her, not even Asher’s father, Bill.

“The school can’t disclose medical information without parental consent.” She tries another angle. There’s got to be one that will do. “I xeroxed the forms. Hundreds of them. I should know.”

“Please step aside.” Princep holds out his hand like he works as an armed guard protecting the queen’s crown jewels instead of, well, what it is. “This is an active investigation. We’re working within our authority,” he rattles off.

Bright frowns and tries to pass her. Instinctively, Mary Beth reaches for the stool sample bag. “I’m acting within my authority to protect the students.” She makes no mention of the fact that she was not elected to her position, but instead was the sole volunteer on an empty sign-up sheet.

“Did you just reach for my gun?” Bright lurches back. “Did she just reach for my gun? Did you see that?”

Princep’s hand goes to his holster. “Ma’am. Ma’am. Back. Way. Up.”

“I didn’t—” Mary Beth looks around a little wildly for support.

“I can have you arrested for obstructing an open investigation and assaulting a police officer.” Princep has not taken his hand off of the gun. His thumb rests lightly on the hammer.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Mary Beth says. She slaps her hand over her mouth. She almost never curses.

“You need to keep a respectful tone, miss,” Bright warns. “I felt her reach for the gun.”

“I didn’t reach for your gun. Why would I reach for your gun? I’m a mom!”

“I’m going to need you to quiet your voice.” Princep stands between her and Detective Bright, physically separating her from that brown paper bag.

A searing pain lances her directly through the right side of her skull. She pulls an ugly face and falls a small step forward before catching herself.

“I’ve warned you.” Princep moves into her space. The pain is not yet all-consuming, but she knows what’s coming and she tries to think. Her daughter is probably not the Little Shitter. But Lola could be. And Darby is a dear friend. And … and … and … She wouldn’t even have to get away with the bag. She could just contaminate it, render it useless to the police. That’s a possibility, isn’t it?

Mary Beth considers the next couple minutes of her life before they happen, minutes in which she may become a person with an arrest record on a day in which she isn’t 100 percent sure she put on deodorant.

And then God intervenes.

Or at least his envoy. Pastor Ben is at Mary Beth’s elbow before she’s even heard him approach. “Are you okay?” He touches her so lightly a rash of goose bumps races up the back of her arm and underneath the sleeve of her T-shirt.

“I’m fine. Mostly,” she adds. “They’re not listening to me.” She grips her forehead in her palm. The sudden pain is dissipating, but behind it, she notices a smudge of blurry light cast in rainbow colors just over the spot where Officer Princep stood two minutes ago. She blinks, but that hardly makes it better. Somewhere behind her, Mary Beth feels her daughter’s eyes on her, waiting. Questioning. “We have to do whatever we can to protect the children. The children. Just like you said,” Mary Beth insists.

Pastor Ben straightens. “I see. Detective. Officer. I’m afraid you’re not welcome on this campus without a personal escort from me. Do you understand?”

“That’s a matter to take up with the police chief.” Detective Bright plants her feet.