Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(9)

“All the same,” Julia De Cantis was saying, “we are dealing with precedent here, more than appearances.”

“So what you’re saying is that a boy and a girl can’t room together for obvious reasons.”

“Of course.”

“And my son can’t room with his best friend for what you’d label equally obvious reasons.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant,” Cort Wesley said, leaning forward closer to her desk. “And it implies, from your way of thinking, that Luke can’t room with any other male student. So tell me, ma’am, what if he wanted to room with a girl?”

De Cantis drummed her fingers against the uncovered wood of her desk and then tightened her fingers so stiffly her knuckles cracked. “Mr. Masters—”

“I’ve got a confession to make, Julia,” Cort Wesley said, instead of letting her continue. “I didn’t take this news so well myself, and it took me some time to come around. So I’ve been looking for an opportunity to prove myself to my son, to show him my support isn’t just window dressing. So the fact that rooming with Zach is very important to him makes it even more important to me. You hearing me on this?”

“I believe a single room would be in his, and the school’s, best interests.”

“I guess you’re not hearing me, then. You know about Luke’s mother, I suppose.”

De Cantis nodded slowly, the compassion returning to her expression. “Yes, and I’m sorry.”

“But not so sorry that you have a mind to do right by a boy who deserves at least that much. He loves your school. It’s the best in the state, and you should be proud of your work.”

“So should your son. He’s been a stellar student, a credit to the Village School in all ways. He’s unquestionably earned all the boarding privileges we can afford him.”

De Cantis stopped, collecting her thoughts. Outside the window, Cort Wesley could see a trio of riding mowers working at trimming the grass, which was moistened by the morning dew and by underground sprinklers that he now recalled had been on when he’d driven on campus.

“Zachary Russo’s academic record, on the other hand,” De Cantis continued, “requires no such privilege be extended.”

“That’s the way you want to play this?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Masters?”

“Drawing this line in the sand. Fine strategy. But in my experience people aren’t prepared to deal with what happens when somebody crosses it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just a statement. And I could just as soon ask you the same question when you brought up Zach’s—what’d you call it, ‘academic record’?”

The engines of the three riding mowers grew louder as they drew closer to the window. De Cantis paused so she wouldn’t have to talk over the roar. The blades churned up stray acorns and discarded twigs, grinding them with a crunching sound that made Cort Wesley think of trying to chew ground glass.

“You have quite a reputation yourself, Mr. Masters,” the head of the Village School said, after the sound had abated.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“That’s the way I took it, all the same.”

De Cantis leaned forward over her desk, hands clasped before her and elbows resting on the desk wood. “You worked for the biggest crime family in the South. You did time in prison. Before that, you were a decorated war hero. Now you work unofficially for the Texas Rangers.”

“Just one Texas Ranger, ma’am,” Cort Wesley corrected.

De Cantis started to nod, then stopped. “That would be Caitlin Strong. Maybe we can find a solution to this, after all.”

“I’m listening, Julia,” Cort Wesley said, over the sound of the riding mowers retracing their path over the grounds.

“This situation with your son is a difficult sell to the board, but one I believe I could make, if the circumstances were right.”

“And how do we make them right?”

“I’m glad you asked, Mr. Masters,” she said, stopping again to let the engine sounds pass. “Since you’re well acquainted with Caitlin Strong—”

Cort Wesley felt his phone vibrate with an incoming call and eased the phone from his pocket. “You mind excusing me while I check this?”

De Cantis looked a bit perturbed, but she nodded anyway.

Cort Wesley recognized the number as a Brown University exchange. “It’s my oldest son’s college calling, Julia. Would you mind if I…”

“Please, Mr. Masters.”

The caller identified himself as being from the registrar’s office, said he just needed to confirm some details on the paperwork recently filed by Dylan.

“Wait a minute,” Cort Wesley said, interrupting him a moment later, “say that again.”





6

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

“You made one hell of a mess for yourself this time, Ranger,” Captain D. W. Tepper told Caitlin, after the San Antonio police were finally done with her that morning.

“Seems to me the mess was already made, and the way the powers that be intended to clean it up would’ve only made things worse.”