Free Die Job by Lila Dare Page A

bloodstain. I let my breath out, not aware I’d been holding it. The old oak planks were so darkened, scarred, and stained with who knew what across the centuries that Braden’s blood had already blended with the mansion’s history. I tentatively put one foot on the lowest stair.
    “What are you doing here?”
    I jumped. The voice came from above me and I looked up to see Glen Spaatz peering over the railing, dark hair flopping across his forehead. “What are
you
doing here?” I countered.
    “Same as you probably.” A slight smile banished the sternness from his face. “Come on up.”
    I didn’t need his invitation. The rope that normally barred access to the stairs hung limply against the newel post, so I marched up the stairs until I was level with Spaatz on the landing. “Find anything?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “Not really. I cast around up here, but I didn’t find anything out of place. Not that I know what I was looking for. Something to explain what happened, I guess. My ass is on the line here. My principal is
not
happy with, and I quote, ‘an incident so full of negative energy’ happening on a school outing.”
    I felt a pang of sympathy for him. If I felt somehow responsible for Braden’s situation, how much worse must it be for him?
    “I was just about to check that bedroom where Lonnie went out the window.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
    “Has Lonnie turned up yet?”
    “I don’t know.” He pushed open the door to the room and it squeaked. “If he has, no one’s told me. I did hear that they’re moving Braden out of the ICU, though. That’s got to be good news.” With a sweeping gesture, he invited me to precede him over the threshold.
    “Yeah.” And it would be even better news if he woke up. I swiveled slowly two hundred seventy degrees to take in the room. It hadn’t made any impression on me when I was trying to catch Lonnie.
    A ten by ten square, the room had the same wood floors asthe rest of the house. A rag rug added a splotch of color by a single bed with a threadbare quilt on it, and wallpaper featuring overblown roses covered the walls. A stuffed doll with button eyes and yarn hair slumped against an embroidered pillow. A walnut armoire took up most of one wall, and the window filled most of another. It didn’t look like this room had been restored to its pre–Civil War origins. Rothmere descendants had lived in the house until old Phineas Rothmere willed it to the city upon his death in the 1950s, and some of the rooms were a confusing mix of Victorian, Art Deco, and other design sensibilities. Lucy Mortimer burned to restore it all to its original splendor, but that took money. Spaatz moved to the window and threw up the sash easily. The movement sparked a memory.
    “The window was already open when Lonnie came in here,” I said. “He jumped right through it.” I thought for a moment. “Is Lonnie a good student?”
    Spaatz looked over his shoulder at me. “He’s very bright, but he’s . . . shall we say ‘unmotivated’? I don’t think his home situation is good.”
    “Bright enough to come check this place out before last night? How long has the field trip been planned?”
    “You think he cased the joint?” Spaatz turned and half sat on the windowsill, stroking his chin. “Could be. It’s been on the calendar for over a month. Had to give enough time for the kids to get their permission slips filled out and ante up five bucks each so we could pay for the bus.” Sarcasm tinged the words.
    “You know, he went out that window like a shot. Never even looked to see if the roof sloped or if there was something to hang on to or anything. I think he and his cohort—”
    “Tyler Orey. Not as bright as Lonnie—more of a follower, I’d say.”
    “I think they had this all planned out, the fog machine, the sheet, the escape route—everything.”
    Spaatz straightened. “Could well be, but where does that get us relative to Braden’s fall?