She paused by the open door to room 8. “In here,” she said and led them inside a cluttered room filled with tiny desks, science projects, and artwork. “Ms. Korpi?”
A woman of about thirty was standing between a cluttered desk and the whiteboard stretching across the front wall. Bible verses were scripted on all the walls, jingle bells were hanging in strips from the ceiling and artwork was everywhere. In gray slacks and a pink sweater, she was holding a cell phone to one ear and looked up quickly as they entered, holding up a finger. “Oh, geez,” she said into the phone. “What is it with him? . . . But he’s okay? . . . When will he get there?” She glanced up at the clock as Rivers surveyed the room. Windows ran along one side, each decorated with a cut-out angel and fake snow. A terrarium was positioned on the back wall near a sink, and a small Christmas tree decorated with paper ornaments listed near a row of hooks near the door.
Jennifer was ending her call. “Sure. I’ve got a few things to take care of and then, yeah, I’ll be there . . . okay. Sure . . . I’ll call . . . Thanks, Tabby, I’ll talk to you later.” Then she disconnected and stuffed the phone into the pocket of her slacks. “I’m sorry.”
Sister Rosemarie said, “Everything okay?”
“I think so. Or maybe not. No one knows.” She was obviously upset. “My sister . . . That was Tabitha on the phone, and she was calling about our brother, Gus. According to Tabby, he was in an accident at work. A bad one, got his hand caught in a saw.” She visibly cringed at the words. “I guess his hand is pretty messed up, possible nerve damage, and he could lose a finger or two. The local hospital is sending him to a specialist in Seattle. A hand guy.” She glanced at the clock mounted over the door again. “I said I’d go over and be with him.”
“I’ll put him in my prayers,” the nun said, her fingertips flicking to the beads of the rosary draped from her pocket, then, as if remembering her mission, said, “This is Detective Rivers and Detective Mendoza. They said you were expecting them.”
“Yes.” Korpi glanced at the clock over the door. “I am.”
“Do you want me to stay?” the principal asked.
“Oh, no . . . no, it’s fine,” Korpi said, though she looked like a doe caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching semi.
“Then I’ll be in my office.”
“Thanks.”
With a final disparaging glance at the detectives, Sister Rosemarie swept out of the room, her boots clipping down the hallway, the rosary rattling.
“Sorry . . .” Korpi said to the detectives. “She doesn’t like any sort of trouble.”
“No trouble,” Mendoza assured her.
“Well, you are the police, and to Sister Rosemarie that means trouble. One of the parents might see. Oh, the scandal.” Then she heard herself and added, “Forget I said that,” as she walked to the door and pulled it shut. “Sorry, I’m a little . . .”
Nervous, Rivers thought, and remembered that one of the hairs found in James Cahill’s bedroom belonged to a dark-haired woman. Korpi’s own hair was a shade about the color of coffee, her eyes big and brown.
“. . . distracted, because of Gus. Would you like to sit down?” Then she looked at Rivers’s over-six-foot frame and glanced at the small desks. “We could go to the library if you’d like to sit down.”
“This is fine,” Rivers assured her. He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible and thought the classroom would provide more privacy.
“Okay, good. It’s weird, you know, that you’re here to talk about James, and Gus works for James and got hurt and . . . small world, I guess. Sometimes I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Or maybe God,” she added, as if realizing she was in a parochial school.
“How so?” Mendoza asked.
“Well, it’s kind of odd, y’know? You all coming here from Riggs Crossing to ask about James Cahill and Gus getting hurt at his shop right before you get here. His shop in Riggs Crossing. I mean, what a ko-ink-ee-dink!”
Maybe. Rivers considered it, but really didn’t put much faith in coincidence.
“So what is it you want to know?” Korpi asked as she made her way back to her desk and leaned a hip on the edge. “Oh, right. About my ‘relationship’ with James.” She made air quotes, her fingertips the same shade as her sweater. “Well, if you want to know the truth, it was the biggest mistake of my life.”
“How so?” Mendoza asked, and Rivers guessed that she was recording as her phone was in her hand.
Korpi arched an eyebrow at Mendoza. “You’ve met him. He’s what Gus calls a ‘chick magnet,’ which I think really means big trouble. We didn’t date that long, but it certainly wasn’t exclusive, at least not on his part. There were always women coming out of the woodwork.” Her lips twisted wryly. “Not only is he too handsome for his own good, but he’s got money, and that . . . oh, it’s stupid I know, but he has that bad boy attitude that some women find so attractive.”
“Is that what attracted you?” Rivers said.
“No.” Then, “Maybe.” With a sigh she shook her head. “I really don’t know. He was different from the other men I’d dated, and yeah, his don’t-give-a-sh—damn attitude was refreshing. He seemed more real, you know, but looking back, maybe I was being played. Anyway, it didn’t last all that long.”
“Because of Rebecca Travers?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe she was a symptom and not the cause, y’know. James doesn’t seem to be a one-woman kind of guy.”
Rivers asked, “How did you meet?”
“I already told this to the Marysville cops.”
“I know,” Mendoza said, “but humor us.”
She picked
