Part 2
Claire twisted a loose thread at the edge of the towel.
“You can’t just miss work.”
“I can change a morning.”
She wanted to know exactly what he would say. She also wanted to eat her supper without telling the story again. She reached for her fork, and he stayed with her until both their plates were empty.
In bed, she could hear rain tapping the metal cover over the outside vent. She kept remembering how Mrs. Haskett had looked after dropping the book. There hadn’t been any uncertainty in her face. She’d gone straight back to the next piece of classroom work.
Claire pulled the blanket up and turned toward the wall.
Daniel checked Kestrel’s lead at the garage door the next morning. The dog had been cleared by the veterinary staff, with the same instructions for managing his occasional hip stiffness. He stood patiently while Daniel ran his fingers over the clasp.
Before breakfast, Daniel had called the school. He’d asked to speak with the principal and explained that his working dog would accompany him. The receptionist had promised to get an answer about the dog before they arrived.
Now Claire sat in the passenger seat, looking at the entrance.
“There’s still time for you to just let me out.”
Daniel switched off the engine.
“We made a plan.”
“Plans can change. You say that constantly.”
He almost laughed. “Convenient time to start listening.”
She opened her door.
He unfolded the chair beside the vehicle and held the frame during her transfer. She didn’t need him to keep his hand there. Usually she would have pointed that out. This morning she settled into the seat and arranged her coat without comment.
Kestrel came out on the other side. Near the curb, a small boy forgot whatever he’d been telling his mother. She guided him toward the entrance while the dog investigated the air, nose working above the wet pavement.
Daniel kept him close past a lost glove and the smell of bus exhaust. Kestrel followed him through the doors without looking toward the children gathering around the office.
The receptionist had a telephone against her shoulder and attendance slips spread in front of her. Her badge read Marcia. She finished the call, checked Daniel’s identification, and pointed toward the waiting area.
“Mr. Reed approved the dog. He’ll need to stay with you.”
“He will.”
“The staff meeting’s running over. Allow about twenty minutes.”
Daniel took a chair against the wall. Claire positioned herself beside him, clear of the office doorway. Kestrel folded down over Daniel’s feet.
Student pictures covered the wall behind the reception desk. One child had painted a bicycle with two very different-sized wheels. The signature took up almost as much room as the bicycle.
Daniel looked at it longer than he meant to. Claire followed his glance and turned away.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“You could stop checking.”
He nodded and left his hands on his knees.
After a minute, she asked, “How many times do we have to do this?”
“I can’t tell you yet.”
“But there’s a last time?”
“Yes.”
She smoothed the sleeve of her coat and sat still.
Curtis Reed appeared at the inner door, adjusting a jacket collar that had folded beneath his tie. He shook Daniel’s hand, greeted Claire, and led them into his office.
Daniel moved a visitor chair aside before sitting. Claire rolled into the space beside him, close enough to use the desk. Kestrel settled between them at a quiet signal.
Reed began by saying he had already spoken briefly with Mrs. Haskett.
“She understands that the delivery could have been gentler. She was trying to address questionable information.”
Daniel looked at Claire’s hands, then back at the principal.
“What did she tell you she did with the book?”
“She said the presentation materials were removed.”
“Did she mention writing on them?”
Reed hesitated.
“She threw it in the bin,” Claire said.
The principal leaned toward her. “A classroom moves quickly. Sometimes a decision can seem different from a student’s position—”
“Please ask her to join us,” Daniel said.
“Her students are leaving for their specialist period shortly.”
“Then we can wait.”
Reed reached for the telephone.
Mrs. Haskett arrived carrying a planner and an insulated cup. She set them together on the desk. Her eyes paused on Kestrel before she sat down.
“I’m surprised you didn’t start by getting in touch with me.”
“Claire tried talking to you yesterday.”
“I meant you, Mr. Donovan.”
Daniel let the distinction sit between them.
“What information did you believe was invented?”
“The search capabilities were extraordinary. She had no supporting material.”
“She brought what the assignment required: a picture and information about someone she admires.”
“I have to teach children that claims require evidence.”
“Then you could have asked me for it.”
“She couldn’t answer the questions in the moment.”
Daniel felt Claire’s chair move slightly beside his. Her fingers had closed around the rim.
“You put red lettering on her book and discarded it,” he said. “That isn’t a request for evidence.”
“It went into recycling. It wasn’t destroyed.”
“Did she know she was free to retrieve it?”
Mrs. Haskett drew her planner toward her.
Reed moved a pen from one side of his desk to the other. “We need to get past the misunderstanding.”
Daniel took a thin folder from inside his jacket.
“We can settle the factual part now.”
He set it on the desk. “These are cleared records. They verify my work, Kestrel’s current qualifications, and the capabilities Claire described. The contact information is there if you need independent confirmation.”
Reed looked down, but Mrs. Haskett spoke before he opened it.
“This was also a lesson in managing emotion. Strong feelings about a parent don’t replace a source.”
Daniel pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek until he trusted his voice.
“She held herself together here all day. At home she cried because telling the truth hadn’t been enough.”
“Children do get past setbacks.”
“She didn’t lose a contest. You accused her of lying and wouldn’t let her answer.”
Outside the door, someone dropped something hard. Kestrel raised one ear. Daniel touched the lead with two fingers, and the dog lowered his chin again.
“I can’t conduct a class according to every family’s view of an incident,” Mrs. Haskett said.
Daniel turned to Reed. “Please open it.”
The principal pulled the folder closer.
Daniel had put the plainest page first: his role with the regional joint-service canine unit. The documents behind it covered Kestrel’s tracking and search certifications. Daniel’s other assignments included drug detection, support for explosives searches, and locating human remains.
Nothing in the copies required special access. Verification numbers and issuing offices were visible. Daniel had checked that twice before leaving home.
Reed slowed at a federal commendation. Mrs. Haskett leaned toward the desk.
The operational summary near the back had more blanked-out information than readable text. The result remained clear. Fourteen months earlier, three children had been recovered alive after seventy-eight hours missing. They had been brought out safely and reunited with their families. Daniel and Kestrel had completed their part without a critical error.
Reed went back to the beginning of that page.
When he looked up, he spoke to Claire.
“I owe you an apology.”
Daniel waited. Claire didn’t answer, and he didn’t supply anything for her.
The principal turned to Mrs. Haskett.
She kept her gaze on the papers. “Had I received this background sooner, I would have sought confirmation through a different route.”
Claire lifted her head.
“You never gave me a route.”
Mrs. Haskett started to speak. Daniel raised one hand, palm down.
“She’s answering.”
Claire addressed Reed instead of the teacher.
“My dad’s number is on the school forms. I could’ve brought it, too. You could send a note home. There were ways to check.”
She took a breath through her nose.
“I started the drawing on Thursday. I had to start again. I worked on it until Sunday, and I practiced saying Malinois so I wouldn’t get stuck.”
Reed caught his pen as it rolled toward the edge of the desk.
“You have those certificates outside for children who do good work,” she said. “I followed the directions. I wanted my turn.”
The principal put the pen down.
“I intend to put this right.”
Claire looked straight at him.
“How?”
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