She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. Without the protection of John’s star power, certain denizens of the school found new reserves of energy and turned their attention to her, especially Kate Pfister, a bleach blonde with a face that was a plain sort of pretty who had once dated John. “Hi Lucy. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. “You wouldn’t.
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