--- Chapter Ten ---

Meanwhile, Mrs. Donson had been called back to the middle school to teach her band class. Of course, the school district, being led by all those terrific, caring people, who always kept the safety of the children first, would not let the other schools out for an attempted murder. It would have to be something more serious for THAT to happen.

As Mrs. Donson got out of her car, she spotted another car pull up into the middle school parking lot. Ah, Miss Molson! Mrs. Donson smiled. At least she wouldn't have to face that horde of little brats — ah, wait, no, her wonderful, precious, there-weren't-any-better band class, alone.

"Hello!" Mrs. Donson called out. "How are you doing today, Miss Molson?"

Molson looked up as she got out of her car. Weakly, she managed a faint smile. "Fine, considering."

"Oh, Mr. Donson and I were just at the hospital, visiting Veterson. He's going to be all right, so don't you worry!" Mrs. Donson said cheerfully.

Molson nodded slowly. "I see. Well, that's just great," she said. "So, ready for class?"

The two women walked through the halls of the middle school toward the band room. Mrs. Donson set her purse down on the table in the band office and turned on her computer. Just then, she noticed her coffee cup sitting on the table, empty. "Oh, dear," Mrs. Donson said, picking the coffee cup up and peering sadly into it. "Hey, you," she said to Molson, "go get me some water. Capisce?"

"Yes, ma'am," Molson said happily, taking the cup and heading out into the hallway to find a water fountain.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Donson sat back on one of the band office chairs. Rid of that meddling — ah, wait, no, invaluable helper, she finally had a moment to think to herself.

Something, or somebody, had been after Veterson. Mrs. Donson bit her lip as she turned on iTunes, trying to find some music to help her think. What was there about Veterson that would make somebody come after him? He was a brass player, told bad jokes, was 'maritally challenged,' not to mention many other juicy details.

But the fact remained — he was a band director.

Mrs. Donson had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

"Here's your water, ma'am."

"Oh… yes, thank you, Miss Molson," Mrs. Donson said as she took the full coffee cup from Molson's hands and set it carefully back on the table. After standing awkwardly next to Donson's desk for several minutes, Molson took a seat on a piano bench some feet away.

She watched as Mrs. Donson prepared selections for the eighth grade band. "Is there anything else you need me to do, ma'am?"

Donson thought carefully for a moment, weighing her options. "It would be of most help if you could set up the chairs for the band. The kids will start coming in at eight o'clock."

"Do you have a seating chart, or…?"

Mrs. Donson scattered papers across her desk, searching for the sheet that dictated the specific number of stands and chairs needed for the band, as well as their placement. She handed it to Miss Molson. "Here you are. I'll have another task for you when you're finished."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll try to finish quickly." Sighing, Molson walked out of the office and into the carefully soundproofed band room. Just as she was about to set up the second row of chairs, Mrs. Donson called her back.

Donson was leaning casually back in her chair, eating a Crunch bar with her coffee cup in hand while Mozart's Symphony No. 40 played on the computer. She took a long sip from her drink and then turned to face Miss Molson. Smiling, she said, "You may call me Mrs. Donson."

"Yes, ma'am."