Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  She paused. She didn’t know what hiding places there might be around the other side of the building. Around the corner, an indentation in shrubbery caught her eye. Cautiously she approached it and was surprised to find an overgrown courtyard guarded by four winged lions. The lions were mostly hidden by vines and weeds, and the ground itself was littered with empty soda cans and beer bottles. This garden must have been lovely back in the early days—like a cozy little terrace.

  Claire headed back to the main entrance and dug the key ring out of her handbag. After several attempts with different keys, she opened the door and entered. The door swung rapidly closed behind her with a deafening crash, making her jump. Well, I guess the closing mechanism needs some work. Must be more careful in future until I have it fixed.

  All was hushed in the dark entrance hall, when suddenly a radiator began to hiss and rattle, making her jump again. Moments later, it quieted to a murmur as it began pumping warmth into the hallway. Searching the entry area in the dark, she lucked out and found a light panel, opened it, and flipped the switches. As the fluorescents illuminated her way, she appraised the dingy scene around her. The walls, originally painted off-white, had deteriorated over the years to a dirty yellowish gray. The dark brown industrial vinyl tiles on the floor were dull and filmy. Old and plain. No color. Nothing inviting. But then she turned around and there was a large colorful mural covering the front wall on either side and above the entry doors. Peeling paint, cracking and faded colors in a few places gave evidence that it was probably painted years ago, perhaps when the school was first built.

  She walked up to the second story and arrived at a long hallway lined with lockers in graffiti-covered gray metal. Some of them looked as if someone had beaten them with baseball bats.

  The corridor was ghostly quiet, except for the clicking of her own high-heels on the linoleum. Trying several classroom doors and finding them locked, she peeked through the narrow windows in a couple rooms. More of the same dilapidated dinginess. She came across a wide set of concrete stairs leading to the third story and as she climbed, she noted at least one place where the railing was loose, requiring immediate attention.

  Continuing on to the fourth floor, she was unable to shake that feeling someone was following her. Chills trickled down her spine, and she spun around to look, but could find no one.

  Get a grip, Juliet! You aren’t a little girl frightened of the dark, checking for monsters under the bed.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling and ended up dashing down the three flights of stairs bound for the safety, if you could call it that, of her office. Once inside, she looked around and picked up a file folder marked budget reports. Far off she heard the front door bang again. A glance at her watch told her it was still too early for teachers and students. Probably nothing. Forget about it. But when she tried to resume her work, her ears were prepped and then she heard another sound. Was it the door to the admin office?

  She felt her heart pounding. Should she sit here and wait, or investigate? She closed her eyes momentarily, then stood and walked over to peer into the corridor. No one in sight. Thinking Ron might have come in early, she stepped into his office. Empty. As she turned round she collided with something—with someone. She gasped as large hands grabbed her by the shoulder. Her mind told her to pull away and run, but instead, she turned her head and looked up at a man, unsure what she expected to see. Claire gasped again. “Who—who are you?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Frank Lawrence, one of the district’s assistant superintendents. I’m your supervisor. Thought I should stop by and meet you.”

  “Oh lord, you gave me a start.” Claire exhaled and bit her lip, studying him momentarily. He wore a brown suit with a beige dress-shirt and had hair the color of a sandy beach with a hint of gray, pale blue eyes, slim build and around mid-forties—not a threatening sort of guy at all. She knew looks could be deceiving, though, and with people hunting for her, she couldn’t take any chances.

  “I—I’m sorry to ask, but I need to see your district I.D. badge.” She resisted the urge to look away so he wouldn’t see her embarrassment over asking her boss to prove his identity.

  He chuckled and unbuttoned his suit jacket, then grabbed hold of the lanyard holding his I.D. badge and displayed it for her.

  Claire read his name and verified the photo. Relaxing a bit more, she said, “Thanks. I guess I don’t need to introduce myself. Obviously you already know who I am.”

  He nodded and gave a lopsided smile.

  “I’m glad you aren’t a vandal. After reading and hearing about the problems here, one can’t be too cautious.”

  “Ah, you must’ve heard what happened here the morning Carl Robinson quit. It can be scary working in this place alone. Guess I should’ve called first, let you know I was coming. I’m glad to see you haven’t abandoned ship quite yet.”

  “I’ll be here until someone throws me overboard.” She smiled with false bravado.

  He laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s on your agenda for today?”

  “I’ve assigned myself the task of getting familiar with this place.”

  “Can I help? Answer any questions? I’d be happy to share with you the school’s history, if you’re interested.”

  “I would love that. You’re the first person around here to volunteer information and sound friendly. We should go to my office. It’ll be more comfortable there.”

  He followed her and sat down in a chair facing her desk. “I’m probably the easiest guy in the district to get along with. Funny, laid-back, goofy. People call me a big ham.”

  She smiled. “That’s cute, and much better than being called a turkey. I’ve worked with a few of those.”

  Frank chuckled again. “We’re gonna get along well together, I can already tell.”

  She joined in his laughter.

  “So, where do you want to start?” Frank asked.

  “Uh, well, I’ve noticed teachers, and even principals, seem to come and go at an alarming rate around here.”

  Frank gave a sheepish smile. “Guess no one told you that being assigned to this school isn’t exactly a prize.”

  Claire struggled to keep her face blank.

  “Mostly, it’s gang activity, drugs, and general lack of enthusiasm among the students that chases away the good employees. It’s kind of a Catch-22. When faculty and administrators don’t care enough to motivate these kids, you know, make them believe they can make a difference in their own lives, the kids drop out of school, the good employees leave, and it goes round and round.”

  “None of that is particularly uncommon in inner-city schools. But doesn’t the school district do anything to help, such as provide training to teachers so they can better reach these kids?”

  Frank nodded. “We do, but it’s useless if the teachers don’t care.”

  “Are all your schools like this?”

  “No, not at all; most are good. Midland’s pretty much an outlier, in terms of violence and in test scores.”

  “Violence?”

  “Oh, nothing as bad as Columbine has occurred here,” he said, waving his arms and speaking faster. “Didn’t mean to alarm you. You’ll see fights, threats, and bullying in school. Get familiar with lockdown procedures. Most of the gang violence occurs off campus in the neighborhoods, on the streets. I wouldn’t suggest going for a long stroll around here.”

  “Why isn’t the school equipped with metal detectors and security cameras? Wouldn’t those deter trouble? Or does this school not need them?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a good answer for you. I’m not in charge of that area. I supervise the high school principals.”

  “Haven’t the administrators considered security measures? Steve Jensen made it sound like this school has many issues.” Good grief, don’t I have enough safety concerns of my own?

  “You’ll have to talk to Steve about that. I know he’s been trying to get more security here, h
owever, it’s a hot-button issue.”

  “Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t quote me, but the logical guess is money. The school board controls things around here. You might have sensed it if you’d interviewed with them.”

  An awkward silence filled the air. She thought about Brad Meyers and his boss. “I thought there was a hiring committee. Your HR Manager told me. The school board doesn’t interview candidates, do they?”

  “Well, no.” Frank folded his arms. “Not the whole board. The board president and another board member are on the hiring committee, as is Steve.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” she said, suddenly understanding the slight edge in Steve’s attitude toward her yesterday. She looked away, and fidgeted with the top button of her suit jacket. “I met the Superintendent briefly yesterday,” she said. “Would you advise I arrange a longer meeting with him?”

  “Not necessary. In a week and a half Steve will hold his bi-weekly round table luncheon. This one will be at Cameron High School. He’ll be there, along with a couple of the school board members, and the six high school principals. You’ll get an email from him.”

  Claire nodded.

  “Have you explored the building yet?”

  “Yes,” Claire said, “I started to, but haven’t seen all of it.” She wasn’t lying. She just wasn’t going to admit she’d let her imagination scare her half to death and had hidden back in her office.

  “Well, if you want, I can show you around.”

  “Or I can.”

  Claire and Frank spun around to see who had spoken. Frank looked surprised, then grinned. “Hey, what are you doing here, Steve? I thought you were meeting with your new committee.”

  Steve Jensen said, “I did. Now it’s your turn.”

  “What?”

  Steve laughed. “Change of plans. We decided you’d be the best administrator for that committee, so I came to switch places with you.”

  Claire bit her lip.

  Frank raised one eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Gee thanks, friend,” Frank said. “Sounds like someone didn’t wanna be on that committee.”

  Steve grinned. “RHIP, buddy.”

  “Okay, where’s the meeting?”

  After Frank left, Steve said, “I’m somewhat acquainted with Midland. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Claire took a deep calming breath. Keep your attention focused, she told herself.

  She was compelled to peek at him out of the corner of her eyes as they walked. He was more attractive than she remembered from the day before, and still as casual in corduroy black trousers and cream polo shirt, with a burgundy sweater over it. He was taller than she remembered, too, perhaps six feet tall, trim and well-groomed although something about him reminded her of a woolly teddy bear—perhaps his brown hair, beard, and mustache, combined with his semi-gruff voice.

  When they reached the main hall, Steve said, “At one time this hall was open to a South Courtyard similar to the courtyard on the side, the one with lions.”

  “Oh yes, I saw that one.”

  “Great hangout for drug deals,” he said. “Gotta keep an eye on that area.”

  She thought, ‘yes, and a great place for a hired assassin to hide out’. She said, “Should we close it off?”

  “Probably wouldn’t do much good unless you seal it up with concrete.”

  At the unexpected comment, she turned her head to look at him askance. He was watching her and grinning, which made her laugh.

  He said, “The auditorium originally had windows looking into the hall. They’ve been bricked and plastered over, and pieces of statuary adorning various rooms have been removed.”

  “I wish I’d seen it back then.”

  “I know what you mean. I wasn’t here, either, but I’ve seen photographs. Midland’s gone through many changes, such as reorganizing space, for one. Most of these changes occurred decades ago. The front of the second floor was originally planned as a teachers’ lunchroom. Insufficient funds made it necessary to use it as a study hall instead. Later, the study hall was lost too when it had to be divided into three much needed classrooms.”

  Steve stopped a moment and physically backtracked, then turned and led her down a different corridor. By now, the faculty was beginning to arrive for work and teachers were unlocking classroom doors. “Sorry. Even though I know the school fairly well, I still get a little lost now and then.”

  He stopped once more and looked at her face, his eyes locking on hers. Her first impulse was to look away. Feeling as though he was testing her, she held her head up and waited. He was better at it, though, and she finally gave in and looked away, down the hall, hoping he would start walking again.

  He did.

  They entered a large gym. Steve said, “The original gym, built back in the late fifties was larger and had a balcony allowing for spectator basketball games. In the early eighties, the boys’ and girls’ Locker rooms were enlarged, eating up a portion of the gym. Around that same time, the balcony was enclosed and turned into ROTC offices.”

  She absorbed the information without comment. They walked upstairs and peeked into a few classrooms, greeting teachers who were polite yet distant.

  On their way back to her office, Steve said, “Unfortunately, while general building maintenance has been performed, major repairs such as replacing inefficient heaters and classroom equipment have been on hold.” He looked at his watch. “Students will be arriving any minute. I wish I could stay and talk more. Unfortunately, you’ll be busy and I’m supposed to meet with another principal in half an hour. I’ll stop by again in a few days. If you need us, don’t hesitate to call me or Frank Lawrence. He’s the assistant superintendent who will supervise you.”

  “Thanks, Steve.” She tilted her head. “You’ve made me feel more welcome here. I wasn’t sure yesterday . . . .”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve had time to think about it. Maybe someone young and full of energy is what this school needs.” He turned to leave, glancing back, and smiled.

  Claire smiled back, then turned and started walking toward the administrative office. Halfway there, the first warning bell of the morning rang. Hmm, might be a good opportunity to see how this all works. She changed direction, walking over to a window, and stood watching the students clamor off the lined-up busses. Some students came straight into the building, but many milled around, visiting with friends. When the second bell rang, more students came in. By the third bell, it seemed like most students were inside the building, though judging from what she’d seen yesterday, she suspected some still lingered outside.

  She turned and watched the students inside. The entry hall and corridor were bustling with activity now: people pushing and shoving, locks on lockers clicking, locker doors opening and closing, voices buzzing loudly. Chaos. The halls quieted as students and teachers dispersed to their classrooms and the last bell rang.

  She turned back to the window. As she’d guessed, at least a dozen students stood around in clusters outside; well, a dozen that she could see from her position. Nearly all of them wore orange bandanas and sported tattoos. Unlike yesterday, she now knew these bandanas were worn by the toughest gang in the school. Somehow she would have to figure out what to do about them, though not today.

  The fourth and final bell rang, telling everyone that classes were in session. Instead of going back to her office straight away, she walked back upstairs and looked in the first open door. Students were sitting around chatting, some laughing. Others had ear buds sticking out of their ears and MP3 players in their laps or lying on their desks. Where was the teacher? Claire let her gaze move around the room until it landed on Bob Lewis, a teacher. He was sitting at his desk in the front left corner of the class, his legs stretched out and his feet resting on the edge of the desk. He was reading a magazine.

  Claire gritted her teeth and moved to the next room. This one was worse. Students were out of
control: throwing paper airplanes, tossing insults, flipping chairs around like balls. The teacher was shouting and waving her arms, but they ignored her.

  In the next classroom, the teacher was speaking about Shakespeare and two students were actually discussing Hamlet with him. Several other students appeared to be listening, while others doodled on paper or typed messages on their mobile phones.

  Oh dear. Clearly the students aren’t the only problem here.

  She turned and started walking back to the administration office. Inside the outer office, several students were sitting in chairs. “How may I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here for the nurse,” a girl said. She didn’t look like she was in dire need of assistance, so Claire went on to the next student.

  “We’re waiting for Mr. Baker,” a boy said, motioning toward his buddies.

  Claire nodded and started toward her office.

  “'You Ms. Constantine?”

  “Yes.” Claire looked around her to ascertain who had spoken. A middle-aged woman whom she didn’t recognize was staring at her.

  “You have the Keoghs in your office.”

  Claire frowned. “What are Key-os?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Keogh.” The woman sighed theatrically. “They're here about their son, he was thro— told to leave the class yesterday.

  “Right. Right. She looked at her office door, then back at the woman. “So, what would be the best thing with them . . . ?”

  She held out a file. “This is sweet little Donny's rap sheet. He's okay, but talks, you know?” She shrugged. “The parents are okay. They like to let off steam. Talk nice, promise them he'll be back, they'll promise he'll behave, you'll both agree he's a good kid at heart.”

  “All right.” Claire glanced at the file in her hands, then looked back up at the woman. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you before. I mean, obviously, you work here, but . . . .”

  “Oh, I took the day off yesterday. Name’s Kim Wallace. I’m your secretary.”

  Thank God, thought Claire. She wasn’t completely on her own. “Nice to meet you, Kim.”

  As soon as Claire finished with the Keoghs, a gym teacher whom Claire had met during the tour with Steve barged into her office.