Festival of Deaths by Jane Haddam Page B

poor, you know, because they just were or because they’d just immigrated to this country, you know, if it was something like that, it wouldn’t matter how smart I was, I would never be able to go. You were smart. You didn’t go to Deerfield.”
    “That was a different era. If you don’t go to Deerfield, where do you go?”
    “Well, my parents keep saying there are lots of good private schools in Philadelphia if I want to commute, you know, but they’re missing the point. I want to go to public school, you know, like a regular person. But the public school I’d have to go to from here is—uh—you know—like it’s dangerous. There have been a couple of shootings. That kind of thing. And so—”
    “Joey,” Gregor said patiently. “Where are you going to school?”
    “I’m not,” Joey said.
    “You’re not,” Gregor repeated.
    “I’m taking a year off,” Joey said. “I can do that. I’m sixteen. Legally, I don’t have to be in school at all.”
    “Wait a minute,” Gregor told him. “Let’s work this out. Last year you were at Deerfield. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “This year you didn’t want to go back to Deerfield. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “You wanted to go to the local public school.”
    “Right.”
    “Which is the kind of place where students shoot each other.”
    “Yeah. Right.”
    “And when your parents wouldn’t let you go to this public school, you decided to take a year off.”
    “You got it.”
    “Fine,” Gregor said. “What’s her name?”
    Joey started, and then he began to blush. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Gee. How did you figure that out?”
    “Is she Armenian?” Gregor asked.
    “Armenian from Armenia,” Joey said. “Sofie Oumoudian. She came over with the first batch of refugees Father Tibor sponsored. She’s really very—”
    “Does she have parents?”
    “She lives with her aunt. Her father died when she was six and her mother died in the earthquake. In Armenia. A couple of years ago. You remember. Anyway, uh, she really is a very unusual person. Very beautiful, but not in an American way. Small and round instead of tall and thin, but it fits her. I don’t know. And very gentle. And very courageous. She had to be very courageous because she’s very religious, and back in Armenia when she was growing up, being religious—”
    “Stop,” Gregor said.
    “Sorry,” Joey said. “Look. I know that public school is dangerous. Sofie had her wallet stolen at knife point three times last year. I can’t just let her—”
    “Let me tell you something else you can’t do,” Gregor said, “you can’t defend her from the kind of person who would stick her up at knife point in a school hallway because that person almost certainly belongs to a gang and almost certainly is taking cocaine and almost certainly doesn’t give a damn whether he gets hurt or not, but you do and that will get you killed.”
    “So what am I supposed to do,” Joey asked, “let her get killed?”
    “No,” Gregor said, rubbing his temples. “Let me think. Is Sofie the only student we have from the neighborhood at that school?”
    “There are seven of them,” Joey said. “They’re getting slaughtered.”
    “I can imagine. All right. Let me talk to Father Tibor. We’ll think of something.”
    “I keep trying to get Sofie to drop out, but she won’t,” Joey said. “She says education is important.”
    “She’s right. What are you doing now that you’re not getting any? Just hanging around the store?”
    “Oh, no. I’m working at the Holy Trinity Armenian Christian School. As a teacher’s aide. For free, you know. As a volunteer. I do the alphabet and teach basketball to the kindergarten and first- and second-grade boys.”
    “Wonderful,” Gregor said.
    “It is,” Joey said brightly. “And Sofie—”
    “Let me go find Father Tibor,” Gregor said again. “Package me up and I’ll get moving.”
    “Sure. But you know, Mr. Demarkian, if you want to find Father Tibor,