By Richard Howland When Mrs. Parmelee sat up there behind that gigantic desk, tapping the point of her red pencil and looking out over the tops of those gold-rimmed glasses like that, we knew somebody was going to die. And the way Bobby Livingstone was staring down at his hands, lying there on top of…

By Richard Howland When Mrs. Parmelee sat up there behind that gigantic desk, tapping the point of her red pencil, and looking out over the tops of those gold-rimmed glasses like that, we knew somebody was going to die.   And the way Bobby Livingstone was staring down at his hands, lying there on top…