Free Curse of the PTA by Laura Alden Page A

and
     I’ll shut up now because you probably don’t want to hear about how late I was up last
     night working on my pee chem lab.”
    Lois frowned. “I thought I told you to stop peeing on your chemistry project.”
    “I told you before.” Sara pulled her hair out of its rubber band, shook it loose,
     and ponytailed it back up again. “It’s a physical chemistry class. And there’s nothing
     funny about it.”
    Lois and I exchanged a glance. Sara had sounded downright snippy. Which was completely
     unlike the college senior.
    When Sara turned to the sink and flipped through the basket of tea bag selections,
     Lois pointed at me. I pointed at her. She shook her head vigorously. We both put our
     right hands into fists and slapped them against our palms three times. On the fourth
     slap, I laid down my two splayed fingers. Scissors. Lois kept her hand as a fist.
     Rock. Rock grinds scissors.
    Rats.
    Grinning, Lois pushed me toward the young woman. “Pretend it’s a training session,”
     she whispered, “for when Jenna gets older.”
    Social, athletic Jenna had about as much in common with the studious and scientifically
     minded Sara as I had with Marie Curie, but I knew what she meant. I stood beside Sara,
     watching her go through the tea bags over and over.
    “Sara,” I asked. “Is something bothering you?”
    “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just fine.”
    A possibility occurred to me. Sara wasn’t from Rynwood. She was from ten-mile-distant
     Madison, but maybe she had relatives here in town. “Did you know Dennis Halpern? The
     man who was killed last night?”
    She picked up a tea bag—lemon zinger—and said, “No. I’ve never heard of him before.”
     Her eyes went wide, and I noticed for the first time the red bloodshot streaks. “Mrs.
     Kennedy, were you related to him? Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. I never thought, and here
     everyone was wanting to know about last night and all the time you’re—”
    “No, I’m not related.” I shook my head. “Not as far as I know, anyway.”
    This earned me a small smile, but it disappeared much too quickly. I watched her long,
     slender fingers as she dunked her tea bag in the hot water. Pianist’s fingers, my
     grandmother would have said. Surgeon’s fingers, my grandfather would have said, and
     in Sara’s case, my grandfather would have been dead-on because Sara was aiming for
     medical school and orthopedic surgery.
    I watched Sara dunk the tea bag far beyond normal dunking requirements and wished
     I knew what was bothering her. If she didn’t want to tell, there was no reason she
     should. But I could make sure she had every opportunity to change her mind.
    •   •   •
    It wasn’t until late in the afternoon, not long before the store closed, that I had
     another chance to talk to Sara. The day had been full of curiosity seekers in search
     of details about the night before (with an occasional outburst from friends who felt
     the need to scold me for trying to be a hero), and I was starting to look at my watch
     a little too often. Tomorrow would be an easier day, and it couldn’t come too soon.
     Everyone I knew in town had either stopped by or called—even my former nearly significant
     other, Evan—so with any luck, the next day things would be back to normal.
    I was smiling at the thought while I sat at my computer in my tiny office at the back
     of the store. A normal day tomorrow. How very nice that would be. I could start thinking
     about the Halloween orders and—
    Suddenly, my mom senses went
twang!
    I’d heard something. I was sure of it. Something like . . . yes. There it was again.
    I pushed back my chair and stood. Went to the door and looked around the corner.
    There, standing next to the early chapter books, was Sara. But it was a Sara I’d never
     seen before. The normally chipper and perky young woman had laid her arms on the end
     of the shelving and put her head down. Her shoulders were shuddering with