The End of Never Read Online Free Page B

the steering wheel of his champagne-colored Jaguar, Dr. Humphrey Sullivan wiped at the beads of sweat pooling above his top lip. “Cursed heat,” he muttered, jabbing a finger at a vent on his dashboard. He remembered that the cocky young mechanic at the Jaguar dealership had quoted him two thousand dollars to fix the car’s broken air-conditioning system.
    â€œFor what I paid for this heap,” he vehemently exclaimed, “there should be ladies waving palm leaves at me from the back seat!” The round, balding headmaster complained violently as he eased his car onto Tangle Wood Lane, a steaming cup of dark roast coffee tucked into the cup holder by his thigh.
    Twisting the Jaguar past a mangled stop sign toppled sideways in the street, Dr. Sullivan gasped. Along the length of the road, fallen magnolia trees lay scattered, uprooted by a severe thunderstorm. So this is what the storm looked like that had kept the headmaster up all night, praying his leaking roof did not collapse on his newly refurbished granite and stainless steel kitchen.
    The Jaguar purred slowly, winding carefully past the fallen trees toward the iron-gated entrance of Collinsworth Academy. “The lady has fallen,” he whispered to himself as he approached the end of the lane. The gate, bent and crushed, swung creakily on its hinges while it held up a fallen magnolia tree nicknamed Miss Daisy. For generations, graduating students ritually heralded the finale of their years at Collinsworh by draping the grand and ancient tree with toilet paper.
    â€œNow how am I supposed to get in there?” the headmaster blasted at the tree blocking the driveway into the school.
    The wet rubber soles of his leather Gucci loafers slipped on the brake pedal as he stared in disbelief at the mountain of bark and leaves, making the Jaguar lunge forward. In his ears, a loud pop broke the silence of the sleepy lane.
    â€œThis morning gets better and better,” the headmaster shouted as he climbed out of the car to inspect his punctured front tire. The spiked end of a tree limb torn from the trunk of the fallen magnolia had stuck deep inside the rubber, and the driver’s side of the car already sagged as hot air oozed from the brand-new Pirelli wheel.
    As the sun climbed higher into the morning sky, the headmaster ducked his head back inside the Jaguar and stretched his arm over the driver’s seat to the center console for his coffee cup, the dark brew simmering at the same temperature as his patience. A movement in the corner of his eye jerked his balding head toward the windshield. Behind the entrance gate, a figure darted across the grassy quad that was cushioned between the paved driveway and the main administration building.
    â€œHello!” the headmaster cried at the top of his lungs, but the elusive figure did not stop and did not look back. Man? Woman? He could not decipher a single detail.
    Behind the headmaster, a siren blared as his trembling hands spilled his liquid breakfast down his chest.
    â€œNow what?” he growled, his thick belly burning under his coffee-soaked shirt.
    A police cruiser eased to a stop behind his Jaguar. Blue lights flashed over Dr. Sullivan’s angry face. “Just in time,” he muttered under his breath as the figure disappeared.
    Officer Marion Scott had a headache—a throbbing, skull- splitting headache. He had absolutely no memory of how he had let himself fall asleep, in his patrol car, behind a gas station overnight. He shook cobwebs from his skull and felt stupid. Furthermore, he noticed, his uniform smelled like wet dog. He wisely approached Dr. Sullivan slowly, because the blood of the headmaster was boiling inside his skin as he paced helplessly back and forth in front of the crippled Jaguar.
    With a radio call for back-up and the assistance of a fire truck, Officer Scott took control of the scene. The fire department came and removed Miss Daisy, clearing the driveway