Living Witness(130)

“And has the amount of money that’s being spent on operating expenses gone down as a result?” Gregor asked.

“It’s gone up, to tell you the truth,” Gary said. “Franklin really doesn’t understand the kind of money a school needs to be properly run. I agree we shouldn’t be profligate about it, but he seems to think we should be able to run the schools on the kind of budget that barely made sense in my grandfather’s day.”

“And some of it is just sexism,” Sarah said. “It bothers him no end that teachers make forty or fifty thousand dollars a year when they’re women. In Franklin’s mind, if it’s something a woman does, it should be paid for in pin money. It was one of the reasons why I wasn’t sure I wanted Gary to run for school board on the same slate. Franklin has no respect for schools. He has no respect for learning. He’s bone ignorant and he’s happy to be that way.”

“All right,” Gregor said, “but does he have control of the funds in the operating budget? Is that something the school board does, hand out that money?”

“We hand out the salaries,” Gary said. “In fact, I’ve been doing it myself since Annie-Vic was attacked. She’d taken on the job of doing it before then. But the other stuff, the supplies and the sports, it’s Catherine Marbledale who oversees all of that. It’s more efficient that way than if she has to come to us with everything. She hands out the money, one of her assistants keeps the books on it, and it all gets published once a month.”

“And Franklin still thinks we’re spending too much money,” Sarah said. “Last year, he wanted to end the school busses, if you can believe it. We’ve got kids coming in from miles away, and he wants their transportation left up to their parents, who can probably barely make it to work as it is. He thought it would save on gas money. Honestly, if it was up to Franklin Hale, we’d just abolish the schools altogether and send kids to work when they’re fourteen years old. We certainly wouldn’t educate them.”

“Franklin thinks there are enough pointy-headed intellectuals in the world,” Gary Albright said, deadpan.

It took Gregor a moment to realize it was supposed to be a joke.





3




They got in to town “late,” as Gary put it, meaning at almost seven thirty, and there was already enough going on to make Gregor sit up and take notice. The news vans were still there. They were such a constant presence Gregor was beginning to think the technicians slept in them. The diner looked as if it might be full to the gills. Gregor saw people in every single booth and all along the counter as they passed. Several of the stores and shops already had lights on in them as well, although Gregor was sure none of them opened before eight, and many of them probably did not open until nine. Down at the end of the street, Nick Frapp’s church compound was not only lit up but busy. Parents were dropping off children. Children were running around in between the buildings, heedless of snow and ice and sleet. There was sleet, too. It had been coming down most of the time Gregor and Gary were driving in, and it had only let up slightly. It was the kind of weather that made school districts declare a snow day, but Snow Hill had not. Maybe having “snow” in its name made its people more likely to put up with the weather.

“This is going to be nasty,” Gary said as he parked behind the police station. “I hate this time of year. It isn’t good for anything. It’s not good skiing weather. It’s too cold to do much else outside. And the roads are always screwed up.”

“Was it this time of year that you . . .” Gregor said. “Ah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“There’s nothing to pry into,” Gary said. “The story’s been, well, everywhere. They even wanted to interview me on CNN, but I turned them down. I didn’t want to make a fuss. And no, it wasn’t this time of year. It was dead of winter. If it hadn’t been, we’d never have gotten that much snow, and if we hadn’t gotten that much snow, I wouldn’t have ended up lost. I don’t usually end up lost.”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Gregor said. “What happened to the dog?”

“Humphrey?” I’ve still got him. We’ve just been keeping him out back in the dog house while you’re here. I didn’t know if you were allergic or something.”

“I’m not allergic. I hate to think of the dog suffering in the cold for my sake.”

“I wouldn’t let him suffer,” Gary said. “I love that dog.”