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Trudi Helseth, a raw-boned, striking woman in her fifties, stood in her doorway. She was almost as tall as Broker and clearly in charge of her turf. She did not offer to shake his hand; instead she indicated her office with a practiced tilt of her head. “In here, please, Mr. Broker.”

Broker went in and saw Kit sanding behind a chair, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her face blazed with stubborn fire that was an miniature cameo of her mother. It had been months since he’d seen Nina’s eyes as on fire as Kit’s at this moment.

Helseth stood back a moment, observing. Broker moved forward and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “What happened, Kit?”

She shook his hand off and stared straight ahead. “He stole my gloves, and then he pushed me.”

“And?”

“And he’s a bully. All the kids are afraid of him. He gets away with stuff.” Eyes narrowing, lips bunched.

“Stick with what happened,” Broker said.

Kit clamped her arms tighter, then released them. She held out her right hand, peeled back a Band-Aid and showed two raw skinned knuckles. “He took my gloves and threw them up on this roof, then he started pushing me hard. I backed away and warned him three times, like I’m supposed to…and then when he kept it up, I hit him. Once. In the nose.” Her voice was level but her tone and her hot eyes were unrepentant.

Like I’m supposed to.

Broker showed no expression, but his eyes settled on Trudi Helseth. Clearly she didn’t like the sound of that.

“Please sit,” Helseth said, standing behind her desk.

As Broker and Kit settled into two chairs in front of the desk, Helseth pushed a sheet of paper across her blotter. Broker scanned it fast.

Notice of suspension…

“This is to advise you that the above-named student has been suspended from school…”

Farther down the form, under “Grounds,” he saw a check next to:

“Willful conduct that endangers the pupil or other pupils, or surrounding persons, or property of the school.”

Under the heading, “The facts have been determined as follows,” Broker scanned the handwritten notation:

During morning recess Karson P. Broker and Teddy Klumpe got into an argument over Karson’s gloves. Teddy said Karson had thrown her gloves at him and that they flew over his head and landed on the toolshed roof. Karson said Teddy had taken her gloves and tossed them on top of the shed. No one witnessed this event. Jackie Etherby, playground monitor, did observe Karson and Teddy when they came around the back of the shed having an argument. Etherby then saw Karson punch Teddy in the face causing a bloody nose.”

Helseth motioned toward the doorway. A ruddy woman in jeans and a pile jacket entered. “This is Jackie Etherby. She was the playground monitor who witnessed the incident,” Helseth said.

Broker sat resolutely still, willing himself to look humble and respectful. Inside he felt his defensive hackles start to raise. Moving toward pissed.

Helseth continued, “We expect a certain amount of roughhouse from time to time during recess. But this incident was extreme. Jackie?”

Etherby shifted from foot to foot and peered sincerely at Broker. “Well, like it says on the form there, I saw Teddy Klumpe and your daughter come running around the toolshed out by the monkey bars. They were yelling at each other, but I was too far away to hear. But I started toward them, and then she…”

Etherby licked her lips, shifted from foot to foot again.

Broker started to open his mouth, paused, looked to Helseth, who nodded. He continued, addressing Etherby. “What about the other kids? What did they see?”

Etherby shrugged. “None of them were behind the shed, where it started.”

Kit lurched forward in her chair. “They all saw him take my gloves and run behind the shed. He’s got ’em all scared.”

“Kit,” Broker said quietly, firmly. She settled back in the chair and clamped her arms over her chest again.

Etherby waited a few seconds, then she said, “The thing was the way she did it. Like she really knew what she was doing. She really hit him a hard one.”

As Etherby’s words sank in, Kit squirmed on her chair and stared straight ahead. Helseth thanked Mrs. Etherby, who left the room and closed the door behind her. Broker waited a moment and then asked, “So where does this go next?”

Helseth pointed to a second sheet of paper on her desk and said, “A readmission conference is scheduled for tomorrow at ten A.M. Here in my office. We’ll go into it all then, when we’ve had some time to settle down.”

Broker stood up, collected the forms, and motioned for Kit to get up. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be here.”

Helseth raised her hand, “Kit, could you wait in the office, just outside the door, please?”

Kit looked to her dad, who nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” Kit said, then exited the door and closed it behind her.

Helseth then opened a manila folder on her desk. Looked up at Broker. “I just have a few questions, if you can take a moment.”

“Sure.”

“This is Kit’s prior school record. She’s a very bright student. The only thing we’ve noticed is really minor, how she really keeps to herself. Not that unusual for a transfer into a new school. But the record jumps around a lot. She started third grade in Stillwater, here in Minnesota, before she transferred to us. Before that it mentions tutors in Lucca, Italy, and she attended a military school at the Aviano Air Force Base in Italy, for first grade. But she attended preschool in Devils’s Rock, Minnesota, and kindergarten in Grand Marais.” Helseth closed the folder and studied Broker. “Were you in the Air Force?”

“No.”

Helseth cocked her head, waiting.

“Her mother was in the Army,” Broker said finally.

“I don’t believe I’ve met Mrs. Broker,” Helseth said.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Will she be coming to the meeting tomorrow?”

“Does it require both parents?” Broker asked.

Helseth shrugged but continued to study him. “No, not at all.”

“Then I’ll be here. Is there anything else?”

“No, we’re through for now. And thank you for coming in so promptly on short notice.”

Susan Hatch was waiting in the office with Kit’s coat and book bag, which she handed over with a curt smile, no words. Broker walked Kit outside, and he asked her where her gloves were. Kit pointed to the toolshed on the playground. He noted that the brown Ford was still parked at the curb, its black-tinted windows and opaque mirrors full of reflections of the gray churching clouds. Another reason to hate tinted windows. He could feel the mom and dad and the kid in there, watching.

A little more aggravating was the presence of the county cop car, still parked idling in back of the Ford. The cop stared over his steering wheel, his creased face composed in an unreadable professional mask. He did not make eye contact as Broker and Kit walked past.

Then Broker heard the trouble start behind him.

Chapter Three