It was the chief who spoke first. 'Any theories?'
Horton shrugged. 'From the nature of the crime, we're operating on the assumption that it was a cult of some sort, involved in animal and human sacrifice, although as you can see the scene seems more chaotic and unstructured than a ritual would indicate. I'll be checking the computer for the names and practices of our local wier dies when I get back to the station. Hammond'll be interviewing winery workers.'
The chief nodded. 'I want you to keep this as quiet as possible,' he said. 'If the media gets a hold of this, they'll blow it all out of proportion--'
'Blow what out of proportion?' Pauling asked, walking over. 'What will they blow out of proportion? The fact that satanists snuck into my winery and drank my wine and sacrificed animals in my fermenting room?
Or the fact that they killed and tore apart my security guard?'
'It's a story that could easily be sensationalized--' the chief began.
'Because it's a sensational story! Jesus, what do you want to do? Hush all this up, pretend it didn't happen? It did happen!
It happened at my winery! My goddamn shoes are stuck to the goddamn floor with goddamn blood!' He pointed a finger in the chief's face. 'I
don't give a fuck whether the media knows about this or not. I just want you to catch the bastards.'
'You don't care?' the chief said. 'What do you think it's going to do to sales of your wine when consumers find out that satanic rituals were performed on your premises?'
'Gentlemen,' Horton said, sensing the tension building and stepping between the two men. 'There's no reason for us to argue. We're on the same side. We both want to catch whoever did this, and I think we'll have a better chance of that if we cooperate.'
The chief looked at him coldly. 'I don't need your advice, Lieutenant. I
know how to conduct myself in an investigation,' Horton backed off, nodding in acquiescence, swallowing the retort which rose naturally in his throat and which concerned the species of the chief's mother. He was blinded for a second as he accidentally looked into the flash of the photographer, and he quickly glanced down. When the glare cleared, he saw again the security guard's gruesome remains, a shred of tattered shirt glued with blood to bone, fluttering in the fan wind. He turned away.
He was getting too old for this shit.
'Ariadne,' Mr. Holbrook said professorially, pacing in front of the class, 'was the princess of Thebes and--'
'Crete,' Dion said.
The teacher stopped talking, stopped walking, looked at him. The eyes of the other students followed those of their instructor. 'What?' Mr.
Holbrook asked.
'Crete,' Dion repeated timidly. 'Ariadne was the princess of Crete. You said Thebes.' He looked down at his desk, at his hands, embarrassed that he had spoken up, not sure why he had mentioned the misstatement, not sure how he had known that it was incorrect.
The teacher nodded. 'You're quite right, Dion. Thank you.'
The lecture continued.
Twenty minutes later the bell rang, and though the teacher was writing on the board, still speaking, in the middle of a sentence, books were immediately slammed shut, pencils pocketed, as students stood and rushed toward the door. Mr. Holbrook turned around, wiping the chalk dust from his fingers. 'Dion,' he said. 'I'd like to speak to you a moment.'
There was a chorus of onimous 'oohs' from the departing students. 'I'll wait outside,' Kevin said, passing by. Dion caught Penelope's eye and was gratified to see that she was looking at him.
The teacher walked to his desk as the class emptied and sat down in the swivel chair behind it. He leaned back in the chair and looked up at Dion, fingers steepled together. 'It's obvious,' he said, 'that you have an extensive knowledge of classical mythology.'
Dion shifted uneasily from one foot to another. 'Not really,' he said.
'Yes, you do. And I just wanted you to know that I can arrange for you to take independent study. Clearly you're just spinning your wheels in this class. This is basically a mythology primer, an overview for beginners. I think you would benefit greatly from accelerated coursework.'
'No,' Dion said quickly.
'Don't be so hasty. Think about it. I don't know what your future academic plans are, but I can assure you that such a move would look very impressive on your transcripts.'
Outside the classroom, the hall was filled with talking, shouting, slamming lockers: the sounds of lunch. Dion glanced anxiously toward the open door, then turned his attention back to the teacher. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'll think about it.'
'Discuss it with your parents. I really feel that you'd just be wasting your time in this course.'
'I will,' Dion said, backing up. He picked up his book and notebook from the top of his desk.
Mr. Holbrook smiled. 'I know. It's lunch. Go. Get out of here. But promise me you'll consider this option, okay? We'll talk more about it later.'
'Okay,' Dion said. 'Uh, thanks. Bye.' He walked out of the room. In the hall, Kevin, Penelope, and her friend Vella were standing togedier next to one of the lockers. Dion knew that he was the subject of their conversation, and for some reason the knowledge made him absurdly, unreasonably happy. He walked purposefully toward them, but Penelope, seeing him, waved a quick good-bye to Kevin, and she and her friend disappeared into the stream of people rushing through the building toward the outside lunch area. 'What was that about?' he asked Kevin.
'Why? Jealous?'
He hadn't even thought of that.
'Don't worry.' Kevin laughed. 'She's all yours. I was just talking to her. I don't want to cornhusk her.'
Dion grinned. 'Oh, you want her friend, huh?'
'For what? I already have a dog.' Kevin snorted.
'Come on. We're late and it's getting crowded. Let's grab some grub.'
The two of them pushed their way through the crowd toward the cafeteria.
Dion was standing in line next to Kevin, trying to overhear the sexually explicit conversation of the two jocks in the next line over, when he felt a light feminine tap on his shoulder. A shiver of goosebumps surfed down his arm. He turned around. As he'd hoped, as he'd feared, he found himself face to face with Penelope. This close, he could see the clear smoothness of her skin, the natural redness of her lips. She nodded at him, smiled, but there was a trace of worry in her brow, a subtle hint of concern in her eyes. 'What happened with Mr. Holbrook?' she asked.
'Are you in trouble?'
Dion studied her face. Did she care? Was she interested? His palms were sweaty and he wiped them on his jeans, but his voice betrayed none of his anxious excitement. 'He said I should be in an advanced mythology class, but since there was none, he wanted me to take independent study.'
The worry turned to alarm. 'Are you going to?'
She was interested.
'No.' He smiled.
A flush of redness spread over her cheeks. 'It's just that ... I mean, I, uh--'
Kevin stuck his head between them. 'She likes you, okay? God, just come out and say it. I'm tired of this. I have to listen to you two beat around the bush for an hour and a half, and then I'll have to listen to him analyze it for the next week. She likes you. You like her. You both like each other. Does that about cover it?'
Now both of them were red, embarrassed. They stood awkwardly silent, not looking at each other, neither of them knowing what to say.
'Would you like to sit with us?' Kevin asked, usurping Dion's obvious next line. 'Yes, thank you,' he answered himself.
Penelope looked doubtfully at Dion, then shifted her gaze toward one of the tables. 'I'm supposed to eat with--'
'Bring her along,' Kevin said. He motioned for the two of them to move forward in line. 'And move up. You're blocking traffic. Jeez, do I have to do everything for you?'
