A Murder of Crows by Jan Dunlap Page A

dad.”
    “Thanks, Bob.”
    He gave me a little salute.
    The gesture reminded me of my conversation with Red at Millie’s Deli on Sunday. She’d saluted me, too.
    Poor Red. I hoped she was doing better after her fall down the stairs and that her memory had returned, because I wanted to ask her about Sonny. In particular, I was curious as to why she thought he was opposing the planned wind farm while Alan claimed the opposite was true. What had Sonny said to her the last time he was eating at Millie’s? And what exactly was her relationship with his wife, Prudence?
    Once again, I found myself wondering about Red and what she might be able to tell me about the Delites. If Red was going to be working on Thursday morning, Rick and I could swing by the deli for an early breakfast on our way north. Then, while Chef Tom scrambled some eggs and fried bacon for me, I could grill Red.
    “Hey, Bob?”
    Boo had stopped outside my doorway.
    “You guys be careful driving to Morris on Thursday. This time of year can be iffy with weather. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten caught in sleet storms out there and almost ended up in the ditch … or worse,” he warned me.
    I tried to remember when I’d mentioned the Morris trip to Boo, but I came up blank. I’d gradually become accustomed to the fact that my wife had an uncanny ability to read my mind, but I didn’t especially like the notion that someone I barely knew could pull off the same trick. It made me feel vaguely uneasy.
    Threatened, even.
    Weird.
    I had to ask. “How did you know I’m going to Morris?”
    Boo laughed once more.
    “A little bird told me.” He held up his hand in farewell and walked away.
    It didn’t take any imagination at all to guess that Rick, Officer Big Mouth, had broadcast our plans to Boo. The two men must have become real buddies since Rick had learned the truth about Boo’s past—maybe that shared secret had provided them with a bonding experience, in the same way that the hypnosis-gone-awry incident had apparently made Boo feel more comfortable with me. I’d learned as much about Boo during our brief student round-up as I had in the last two months of working with him.
    Heck, if I’d known that talking to chickens was the key to opening up the channels of communication between me and our celebrity faculty member, I would have gladly demonstrated my famous turkey call for him weeks ago.
    In fact, the more I thought about it—Boo’s reticence, not the turkey call—I realized that the man’s reluctance to get close to people was probably no surprise, given his former identity as a wrestling celebrity. During our back-to-school workshops, and even since classes had started in the fall, I’d noticed that Boo avoided casual conversations with the other faculty members. At times, I’d thought his silence had bordered on being spooky, the way he’d watch his colleagues during lunch breaks without saying a word. But now it made perfect sense. The man had lived in the glare of publicity as the masked Bonecrusher, and while he might have enjoyed his ride of fame and his reputation in the ring, he was in a different world now. I expected the last thing he wanted was his showbiz past to follow him into the halls of a high school and his future as a respected faculty member.
    Notoriety wasn’t always a good thing.
    Just ask Sonny Delite.
    Actually, I guess you’d have to ask his widow now.
    Unless Red had her memory back.
    I wondered again if Rick and I would see Red on Thursday morning before we took off for Morris.
    I grabbed my jacket off the coatrack and locked my office door behind me. From down the hall, I could hear some kids loitering, slamming lockers and yelling at each other. I shook my head. My day wasn’t done yet. Time to be the voice of authority at Savage High School.
    But someone beat me to it.
    “You. Out,” Boo said, his voice carrying back down the hall to me.
    Whoosh . Those kids were