Mrs. Wachter did not flinch. She gave me a quick look as I opened my notebook to write, then she turned fully to Grandfather.
“A terrible day, a Sabbath day, right before Rosh Hashonah, a nightmare day from which we are still not free.”
“How so,” I asked forcefully and was immediately sorry seeing Grandfather give me a look that said “patience!”
“How so?” Mrs. Wachter’s eyes darted at me and returned to Grandfather. “One of our students, a sweet, wonderful young boy, the son of a major donor to our school, is brutally murdered just a floor above my head while I slept, and the murderer who must have crept in from outside never caught. The questions, innuendos, and accusations nonsensically raised and even appearing in the press! The poor boy’s room still a crime scene, yes, the three-yea
