The Internship: Hoffman and Sullivan, #1

By Sarah Reilley

The sleepy town of Layton, Minnesota has been relatively crime free since its serial killer four decades ago When Shelli Hoffman takes an internship as a counselor at the high school, she quickly finds herself drawn into a mystery. Soon after her arrival, a student disappears. As Shelli gets too close to finding the answer, she becomes the next victim.

 

Police Chief Melissa Sullivan has had it easy. Simple crimes have been the norm of her tenure, so when her friend's daughter disappears, and then a school staff member, she must fight the clock to solve the crime before its too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Reilley
• Release date: Dec 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393978794

Sarah Reilley

Sarah Reilley has a BSEd in English Education from Black Hills State University She taught middle and high school English/Language Arts. She has published one previous novel and many articles online. She lives in Wyoming with her husband, two kids, and dogs.  Author Image by Mindy Clancy Photography

Book preview

Prologue

James could feel her breathing behind him, despite the pillowcase covering her head. This one was special, he knew. She was small, blonde, and stunning. She hadn't fought much when he grabbed her. She’d come along easily. He'd followed her after school for a week and knew that her family wouldn't notice her missing for at least a few more hours. Apparently, 12-years-old was plenty old enough to stay home alone. The girl was perfectly still, her breath calculated and calm. As they turned the corner to the large house on Cahill, he smiled. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the future clearly. This girl would be the first of many who would grace the halls of this home. And if she didn't like it here, she could leave. Just not alive.

Chapter One

Shelli Hoffman knew that this year was going to be different. She wasn’t exactly sure why, her gut just told her. There was a deep ache in her stomach when she thought about what her last semester of college would bring. She often thought she was going to vomit when she thought of the future. Only five months to go and then she’d be a professional. An adult. Fully responsible for her own life. No more Mom and Dad to fall back on.

While her parents had always provided security, they’d moved away the summer after she graduated from high school. She had relied on them far too much, even renting their house from them when they couldn’t sell it. She was good with guided independence, someone to hold her hand along the way. The real difficulty had been in choosing a major. When reality called, she eventually settled on psychology, with an emphasis as a school counselor. Helping kids was her calling, but she didn’t want to be a teacher. The responsibilities were too great, and she only liked kids one at a time. Twenty kids at once was far too many for her taste. Sometimes she wondered if that made her a bad person.

But now, halfway through her senior year, she was afraid she hadn’t made the right choice. Her internship was starting soon, and while she had the grades to show herself capable, her confidence beyond the classroom was sorely lacking. She told herself it was this lack of confidence that created the unpleasant feeling in her stomach, but she wasn’t fully convinced. She had a nagging feeling that this internship wasn’t going to be entirely fun. She couldn’t explain the fear, but it was there. Intuition, maybe. She worried that if she couldn’t calm her own fears, how in the hell could she manage a student’s crisis? As she pulled into campus to meet with her advisor, she took a deep breath, a long gulp of her lukewarm, stale coffee from yesterday and smacked both hands on the steering wheel. Parking in the farthest corner of the lot, she figured the brisk walk in the January cold would give her a chance to collect her thoughts before entering the psychology building. Today, she’d find out where her internship would be, and if her credits from last semester kept her on track to graduate. With a 4.0 average, she knew the courses weren’t going to be the deciding factor for graduation. It was this internship.

She pulled her long wavy brown hair into a loose ponytail, the fanciest hair style she’d ever cared to wear, and glanced down at her worn-out clothes. She looked and felt comfortable this morning, and that was all that mattered. Her boots crunched on the snow and ice as she scurried across the lot. It was early. Figuring that professors hadn’t had time yet to become irritated with students, she’d always preferred to take the first appointment of the day. Professor Harris had always been her favorite, which is why she had chosen her as her advisor for the past few years. Professor Harris was young, maybe forty, and had a funny little streak of gray hair that stood out in stark contrast to her naturally black locks. She wore her hair in a loose bun, like an old lady. Her expression was always a bit whimsical, her smile slightly crooked, and her blue eyes were bright and wide. Shelli hoped she had as much poise when she was her age.

Instead, Shelli was awkward. Tall, thin, athletic, pretty but not stunning, and clumsy. She slipped on the ice, one boot scooting to the left, the other sliding in the opposite direction. She caught herself with one hand and the bottom of the coffee mug with the other. She breathed a sigh of relief that she was at least coordinated enough to stop herself from completely biffing it. Her deep brown eyes sparkled as she laughed at herself. This was why she’d been a swimmer, not a basketball player. She and dexterity did not get along well. When she hadn’t been swimming, she’d spent her free time reading. She was a sponge for information and had a photographic memory. If she read something once, she knew it. It was why her grades were so good and why she didn’t always relate to people as well as she’d like. She’d spent so long inside her own mind.

This morning, as she climbed the stairs in the psychology building, Shelli wondered what would make a person choose to be a college professor instead of doing the job they’d trained for. Maybe she’d ask Professor Harris one of these days. Shelli chugged the last of her coffee and rounded the corner to her professor’s office, straightening her wrinkled clothes a bit as she knocked on the door.

Good morning, Shelli. Professor Harris gestured toward the empty chair across from her desk. I cleared it off today just for you. Professor Harris’s office was an organized chaos. Books were stacked all throughout the office, some neatly on shelves with others wedged in on top of them. Her filing cabinet was full, and she’d taken to storing non-confidential documents in similar piles stacked throughout the small office. A sticky note sat on top of each pile with a label as to the contents below, research, students, school structure, new ideas. She seemed to have a clear understanding of where all her information was, and Shelli had learned years ago that if she were to show up unannounced, there would likely not be a place for her to sit. It was the opposite of what Shelli’s office would look like. Despite her disheveled and unprofessional appearance, Shelli preferred her workspace to be meticulously organized. It was one thing she felt she could always control.

Good morning, Professor. How was your weekend? She smiled as she thought of all the hours she’d spent sitting in this office. By this point in Shelli’s academic career, she also considered her advisor to be a friend.

It was decent. I spent most of the weekend curled up in my large chair with a giant cup of Irish coffee and a book. I think my cat may have wanted fed at some point, but he’s learned that the food dish is extra full each morning for a reason, she laughed. It only took him ten years to figure out.

Shelli chuckled. She’d met Professor Harris’s cat once before. To say his personality was unique would be an understatement. He was like a crotchety old man who had his own set of expectations for what the Professor’s responsibilities were, and often found creative ways to get what he wanted. What did he destroy this time?

Eh, just the corner of the next book I’m going to read. He chewed it up quite nicely! She shuffled some papers on her desk and sat up a bit straighter. Now, about this internship. Are you ready?

Do I have a choice? Shelli started wondering what other career options she might have available at this point in the game.

Well, technically yes, but I think you’ll be good for this one. Why are you so nervous?

I’m not sure. Shelli hesitated, well, that’s not true. I’m nervous that I’m not going to be as good at this in real life as I am in the classroom. People are a lot different than textbooks.

Professor Harris laughed, don’t worry about it, Shelli. You’ve done quite well in the classroom, and your discussions show that you’re able to think on your feet. I know it can seem daunting to be in charge of a bunch of kids, but you’ll only deal with them in small groups, usually.

I know, I just remember when I was a counselor at summer camp. I made a kid cry. Shelli cringed at the memory. She’d told a kid that if he didn’t get out of the road and get in the bus, he’d become roadkill. He cried for the next twenty minutes, no matter how desperately Shelli had tried to calm him. It was the last time she applied to be a camp counselor.

That was a long time ago. You’ve matured since then. I think. Professor Harris winked at her.

I suppose I have, Shelli chuckled.

It’s going to be a small commute for you each day, but when I did my internship, I really craved that decompression time at the end of each day.

This wasn’t sounding like a great start, Shelli thought. Okay, are you going to tell me where I’m going?

Yeah, its two towns over. It’s the closest I could get you; the local schools weren’t open to interns this year. Your internship is in Layton.

Layton, Minnesota. It had its own unusual history, and Shelli decided being nervous about this semester made perfect sense.

Layton was a town Shelli had actively avoided since she was fifteen years old. Her parents sometimes went there for its shopping mall. Newton only had a Walmart. Despite being the college town, Newton was the sleepier of the two. While her parents often insisted that she go along for their major shopping trips, especially at the beginning of the school year, Layton had always scared Shelli. In the ‘80s there was a serial killer who had targeted young girls. Even though they caught the killer, and he’d been locked up for nearly forty years now, she never liked the atmosphere of the town. It was as though a heavy fog of emotion was left in the wake of the murders. Seven in all. Each one had been a teenage girl, young, blonde, white, thin, athletic, most of which had described Shelli. A champion swimmer, her strength was in the water, not on land, and she was certain that if someone tried to hurt her, she couldn’t run away fast enough. She’d likely outrun any predator, but her self-doubt was a much louder voice than she wanted it to be. Her only saving grace in these imaginary scenarios was her brown hair. At any rate, once her parents decided she was old enough to leave behind on their shopping trips, she stopped going along. They didn’t have to tell her twice to stay home, she was more than willing.

Now, though, she knew that staying home wasn’t an option.

Layton? She asked.

Yes, Layton. Professor Harris smiled. I know it has a scary reputation, but don’t worry, Shelli. The murders were a long time ago, and the poor town must move on sometime. You’ll be working at the high school. The current school counselor has been there fifty years now and is near retirement, so this internship could be a foot in the door for a job after graduation. Those don’t fall into too many laps, so count your blessings.

Shelli was less than thrilled at the prospect of working in Layton, let alone living there. But for this year, she could do the daily drive. That decompression time driving home probably would be a life saver for her. When do I start?

School starts for them next week, but I’d call the counselor today and set up a time to meet beforehand. Mrs. Fisher is the counselor, she’s a nice lady, but she doesn’t take a lot of flak from the students. They don’t get away with anything with her. It would be good for you to sit down with her first and discuss the school atmosphere, which students are a high priority, and how to handle any number of potential scenarios this year. I don’t anticipate it being an unusual school year, so Mrs. Fisher can walk you through the typical day she experiences. It will be good for you to go familiarize yourself with the school beforehand.

Professor Harris looked Shelli over from head to toe. You may want to do some shopping while you’re there.

Shelli shrugged at her well-loved jeans and activist t-shirt. Her jeans had been in her wardrobe for seven or eight years now, and the t-shirt, with its strong raised fist, was something she’d picked up in Chicago last summer when she’d gone to visit a friend and ended up spending two days at a protest. This outfit was characteristic of Shelli’s normal attire, but she knew it wasn’t work friendly.

Believe it or not, Professor, I do own a nice pair of slacks or two.

Good! You may want two or three more. She handed a packet of papers across the desk and winked.

Here’s everything the school gave me pertinent to your internship, staff handbook, student handbook, and your background check paperwork. Get that all managed today, and call Mrs. Fisher. Check in with me if you need any help, okay?

Got it. Thanks, Professor. Shelli nodded at her advisor as she left the office reeling. This was not going to be her favorite semester.

The next day, Shelli squirmed in the driver’s seat of her Ford Fusion as the work appropriate slacks worked their way into uncomfortable places. She dug through her closet this morning for an outfit that would be acceptable for meeting with Mrs. Fisher and found a brand-new pair of slacks in the back. Because she’d maintained her morning swimming routine throughout college, her figure hadn’t changed much since high school, and these old new pants fit well. They were polyester though, and she wondered why in God’s name anyone chose to wear these things on purpose. They were worse than a bra. It didn’t help that the wool sweater she chose was just a hair too small and scratchy. The nagging ache in her gut was stronger today, and she wished she could shake it off. Instead, she was busy fixing a massive wedgie while trying to drive