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[Myrtle Crumb is volunteering in the middle school cafeteria in order to prove her granddaughter Crimson (Sunny, to Myrtle)
is not a thief. Crimson has just been called to the office.]
I dropped my jacket and pocketbook onto a nearby chair. "I’ll be back," I said, and then I took off like a shot for
the principal’s office.
That old sour-faced Mrs. Anderson sat there lookin’ like she hadn’t had a good bowel movement in at least two
weeks.
"Has Sunny —I mean, Crimson Dailey—come in here yet?" I asked.
"Yes, she’s with the principal."
I headed for the principal’s office.
"You can’t go in there!" Mrs. Anderson shouted.
"Watch me," I said, opening the door. "What’s goin’ on here?" I looked from Sunny’s big scared eyes to
the principal’s stern face before sitting down on the chair next to Sunny and puttin’ my arm around her.
I’d left the door open, so Mr. Jenkins —the principal—got up and closed it. He was a tall, well-built man—used to be a gym teacher or a coach of some sort, I believe—but he didn’t intimidate me. All right, maybe a little, but I wouldn’t
have let on if my life depended on it.
Mr. Jenkins sat back down at his desk. "I take it you’re Ms. Crumb, Crimson’s grandmother?"
"I am."
He nodded. "I’ve been kept apprised of your volunteer work here at the school, that relating to cafeteria help as
well as looking into our recent thefts."
"Thank you." I realize he hadn’t exactly paid me a compliment, but I felt obliged to say something at that point
and that’s all I could come up with.
"No, uh, thank you," he said, pushing a lock of wavy brown hair off his forehead. "We appreciate your concern and involvement.
However, you do not have the authority or permission to interfere with any disciplinary action."
"I didn’t realize I was," I said, taking my arm from around Sunny and squaring my shoulders. "I heard you call Sunny
down here, and I came to see what’s the matter. Is there anything wrong with that?"
Mr. Jenkins huffed out a breath. "No, but —"
"Then could somebody tell me what is the matter?"
Sunny, who’d been sitting there as silent and still as a rock, spoke up. "They think I stole Mrs. Anderson’s
bracelet."
"Why, that’s ridiculous," I said. "Why would a young girl like Sunny want anything that belonged to that dried-up
prune?"
"I haven’t the foggiest," said Mr. Jenkins, "and yet the bracelet in question was found in Crimson’s locker."
The bracelet in question…. Like we were on Law & Order or something. And, speaking of Law & Order, it like
to have broke my heart when Jerry Orbach died! Did you know he did the voice of the candlestick in Beauty and the Beast, too?
He could just play anybody…or anything. Anyhow, back to the "bracelet in question."
"What does that prove?" I asked. "Several of her friends use her locker; and, besides, with somethin’ as small as
a bracelet, somebody could’ve poked it through one of them vent holes in the top of the locker and that’s how
it got in there."
"As you may know, Ms. Crumb, possession is nine-tenths of the law." Mr. Jenkins sat back in his chair and looked smug.
"I’ve heard people say that before, but I ain’t so sure it’s on the books anywhere. Can you show it to
me?"
He rolled his eyes. "I find that irrelevant since this is not a legal matter."
"It might as well be! You’re accusin’ my baby granddaughter of stealin’!"
"Crimson is not a baby and I’m not accusing her of anything. I’m merely asking her —her—how that bracelet
came to be in her locker. Do you have an explanation, Crimson?"
I looked at Sunny who was staring down at her lap. "Well, do you?" I asked her. "Who all has your locker combination?"
I looked back at Jenkins. "Let’s get them in here and see if any of them knows anything about a bracelet."
"No," Sunny said, shaking her head. "I’m not gonna embarrass my friends by getting them called to the office."
"You mean Alicia Granger, don’t you?" I asked. "Ain’t she the one you’re protecting?"
Sunny didn’t answer, so I turned back to Mr. Jenkins. "Are you sure it’s the same bracelet? Maybe it’s
just a look-alike."
"We’re sure it’s the same one. Mrs. Anderson’s initials are engraved on the back."
I was as frustrated as a cat in a rubber mouse factory. "Sunny, please!" I took her by the arm so she’d look at me.
"Tell this man —"
"I don’t have anything more to say," she interrupted. "I didn’t steal that bracelet, but I can’t prove
it; and since it was in my locker, I’ll take the punishment for it."
"You’d take the punishment for something you didn’t do rather than —"
"Very well."
That Mr. Jenkins cut me off right in the middle of my sentence. I thought that was rude. Especially when I was just trying
to convince my grandbaby not to go down —no wait, not to take
the fall, that’s it—for a crime she didn’t commit.
"In the meantime," Mr. Jenkins continued, "I’ll have your locker combination changed. I strongly suggest you keep
the new combination to yourself."
"Wait," Sunny said, "I like my locker combination. I’ve got it memorized. I don’t want it changed."
"Still, it seems several of your friends have your locker combination —a situation your grandmother wisely disapproves of—and
I think we should remedy that."
Sunny glared at me. "Thanks, Mimi."
I sighed, running my left hand across my chin. "What’s her punishment?"
"Three days’ suspension."
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