Dying To Teach Part 7

"Yes," said Evan, "the one to save the drama program."

The termination of the program was obviously news to the man so Kiana used it to bolster their case. She launched into a long-winded monologue about the death of the program because of waning funds. "Now that Ms. Forest is...gone," she said with true sadness, "I-we don't know what'll happen regardless of how things turn out this weekend."

"Happening all over the place," the man said.

"That's right," Evan said. "My dad's hours got cut at work. You're probably worried about your job too. I have an idea, why don't I tell all the kids to mess things up before we go home every day. Give you some job security."

"You kids couldn't leave it worse than you do. Between graffiti on the bathroom walls and trash in the cla.s.srooms, my job is secure."

Kiana bit her tongue to keep from mentioning the dirt under the office couch and the microwave table in the teachers' lounge.

"Well," Evan said, clearly not ready to give up the topic, "you hear all the time about job cuts and people forced to do the work of two people."

The janitor nodded solemnly.

"What do you think Kiana," said Evan, "do the costumes seem okay to you?"

"All except Dan's. We've got to get his slacks mended."

Not missing a beat, Evan added, "Yeah. And don't forget your-did you know Kiana was the leading lady?" to which the janitor shook his head. "Don't forget that necklace you were going to borrow from your aunt."

"Gosh, I should write that down." She found a pad of paper on the table and scribbled NECKLACE in large letters. "Okay, I guess we're through here. Ready Evan?"

He nodded. Kiana stepped around the janitor keeping one eye on that mop.

"Before you go," said the janitor, "tell me about that photograph you stole."

NINE.

Angie had been surprised to see Kiana and Evan in the coffee shop. Kiana had said they weren't dating, yet there they were. Should she go say h.e.l.lo? Was there an out-of-school protocol regarding teacher/student interaction? She didn't know, but one thing was clear, they were engrossed in something. Angie hoped, but didn't believe, it had nothing to do with schoolwork, even though there was a notebook on the table between them.

Back in her car, she'd set the coffee in the holder and the bag holding tomorrow morning's m.u.f.fin on the pa.s.senger seat. As she waited for a break in traffic Evan and Kiana had come out of the shop, climbed on a copper colored motorcycle and motored away-toward the school. Possible that either or both of them lived that way but instinct told Angie they were doing what they were explicitly told not to do-investigate.

Her plan had been to pick up Chinese take-out and spend the evening reading Prince & Pauper ma.n.u.scripts. And talking to Jarvis on the phone. Last month, except for four days he was gone to a conference, they'd spent every second together. That was another reason she was glad for this side job; she'd thought she needed some s.p.a.ce. But two days away had her missing his infectious smile and comradic elbow nudges. She even missed that silly deerstalker hat.

Angie wound the steering wheel to the right and followed Evan's motorcycle. Two blocks later, she lost it in traffic. For a few blocks she searched up and down, then wondered if they'd gone back to school.

No bike in the main parking lot, which brought a bit of relief...until the insistent little voice-a veritable nuisance during investigations-chimed in, they wouldn't park out in the open. Angie drove around the school. The teen's vehicle wasn't in the east lot.

But it was tucked in a corner near the gymnasium. n.o.body in sight.

Angie parked too and went to the closest heavy metal door. Locked.

By the time she found an unlocked entry, more than a half hour had pa.s.sed since she'd seen them in the coffee shop. She tiptoed along the corridors toward the auditorium. As soon as she stepped inside she heard voices. Strange because she'd expect the kids to be as quiet as possible. Well, they were novices, weren't they? Exactly the reason she'd warned them to let authorities handle things.

She eased down the aisle, up onto the ap.r.o.n, then along the small hallway leading to the backstage rooms. Ahead, the hallway widened into the green room. Three shadows showed on the left hand wall.

Three?

Perhaps Kiana and Evan had met somebody-Kiana had mentioned forming a group of teens to investigate.

The third shadow, a male, loomed taller. Probably he stood closer to the doorway. He held something long and narrow in his right hand. He wasn't brandis.h.i.+ng it like a weapon, but the clench of his hand on it left no doubt he considered using it as such.

An unfamiliar male voice said, "Before you go, tell me about that photograph you stole."

Two voices-those of Evan and Kiana-claimed to know nothing about a picture.

Angie had no idea what photograph they referred to but it was clear the man wanted to take it. She tiptoed back to the stage ap.r.o.n, then retraced the route with deliberate hope they hear me footsteps along the hallway and into the green room.

"Sorry I'm late. Got caught in traffic." She pretended to notice the man dressed like a janitor. He was of average height with short-cropped dark hair and a pencil thin mustache. She papered on a smile. "h.e.l.lo. Sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your name, I'm Gwen Forest's replacement." Angie stretched a hand toward him.

He transferred what she now saw was a mop, to his left hand, and shook hers. "Linc. Lincoln Underwood."

"Nice to meet you, Linc. Don't tell me," she acted surprised, "are you here to try out for a part in our play?"

He shook his head. "I'm no actor. I'm the janitor. B-but I-"

Angie reached into her handbag and came out with the sapphire necklace Cilla had given her. She handed it to Kiana. "I got that jewelry we needed. Check it out. I think it'll go perfectly with that costume. Evan, your mother called my cell a few minutes ago. I told her you were on the way home." Now Angie turned to the janitor. "Sorry if we disturbed your cleaning. We'll get out of the way."

Angie spun on a heel and started along the hallway, hearing the rushed footsteps of the kids following. She ignored the janitor's, "But wait. Those kids-"

n.o.body spoke till they were in the parking lot beside Angie's car.

"Phew! That was close," Evan said.

Angie s.n.a.t.c.hed the bag from Kiana's fingers. "I will not lecture you about what just happened." She pressed the b.u.t.ton to unlock the driver's door. "Go home. I'll see you two in the morning."

"But Mrs. Deacon, we found a clue."

"I know. I a.s.sume it's something to do with a photo."

Kiana removed it from her back pocket and checked the school door. When no mop-wielding janitor peered out, she handed it to Angie, who gazed at the young couple in the picture. She couldn't keep her eyes from widening in recognition.

"What is it?" asked Evan. "Who is it?"

"We know the girl is Ms. Forest," said Kiana. "We were trying to figure out the guy's ident.i.ty when the janitor walked in on us."

"I almost jumped out of my shoes," Evan said. "Thank goodness you showed up."

Angie shot him a this-wouldn't-have-happened-if-you-listened-to-me look.

"You know the man in the picture," Kiana accused.

Angie waggled the photo in the air. "Where did you find this?"

"Under the blotter on Ms. Forest's desk. What should we do with it?"

Against every logical molecule in her body, Angie said, "I'll handle it."

"What are you gonna do with it?"

"Take it to the police."

Kiana broke into a wide grin.

"That doesn't mean I'm investigating. It only means I don't want you kids involved any more than you are. I will tell the police where I found it. Now scoot, both of you."

"But who-"

Evan cut her off with a jerk on the elbow.

Angie remained standing beside the car. No, not standing, leaning because suddenly all muscular control deserted her body. Regardless of her repeated denials, those teens, and seemingly everyone else in the school, thought Angie was hot on the case. She sighed and waited till the copper colored motorcycle disappeared around the corner.

In the car she laid the picture upside down on the pa.s.senger seat beside the m.u.f.fin and necklace bags. The coffee had grown cold but she drank two large swallows anyway. Thus fortified, Angie drove to the Chinese restaurant two blocks from the hotel and ordered dinner.

At the hotel she bypa.s.sed the elevator and took the stairs to her room, set the bags and folders on the table near the window, toed off her shoes, hung her jacket in the closet and flopped on the bed. Where was Jarvis now? The bedside clock said he was probably kicked back on his beat-up sofa, Red's head in his lap, watching the Six O'clock News and eating dinner from a can. As soon as the news was over he would phone.

Part of Angie dreaded the call because by the time she said h.e.l.lo, he'd know something was up. He'd laugh and taunt her for getting involved in the murder case. What was wrong with her? Yes, that would be his first question. How could she say that, despite her best resolve, despite her finest effort, she'd found herself buried in Gwen Forest's murder? Why couldn't she stay out of trouble? That would be his second question.

A query to herself would be, why did these things keep finding her? It seemed like Trouble-with a capital T-deliberately sought her out.

Jarvis would berate her and, no matter how hard she protested, he would never believe the finding of a clue was a total and complete accident. A mere attempt to keep the kids out of their own Trouble with a capital T.

Right now, she had a bigger problem-Kiana and Evan. How could she convince them to leave the investigating to the professionals? Especially once they realized the man standing beside their beloved teacher was none other than their princ.i.p.al Randy Reynolds.

TEN.

"You've done it again, haven't you? Couldn't keep from leaping headfirst into someone else's problems." Jarvis popped open another can of beer and went to stand in the back door. Dusk was falling but he could still see that two fence posts needed replacement. Perhaps this weekend-if he didn't have to bail Angelina out of jail. Or identify her body in the morgue. He sucked down a long swallow and listened as she defended her actions in taking the photograph from the kids.

"I agree you did the right thing. But why not just take it to the police? The problem would be out of your hands."

"I thought I should talk to Randy first. He admitted they'd been married for a short time back in college. I can't imagine that picture being anything more than a sentimental way for Gwen to stay attached to the man she once loved."

"Or still loved. What was your feeling about their relations.h.i.+p?"

"That the marriage was mutually dissolved and, at least on his part, there was no animosity."

"You think he told the truth?"

"He seemed genuine. And he was genuinely terrified about attention being focused on the school. If I take the picture to the cops, it will bring them down hard. Maybe it would be unjustified."

He heard her sigh and wished he were there to hold her and ease the frown lines that etched across her forehead during times like this. He moved away from the door and dropped into a kitchen chair, wincing at the sharp pain in what he referred to as his a.s.s crater-a wound acquired a month ago when a suspect tried to murder both he and Angelina. Because of the a.s.s crater, and incidents like it, he knew well that decisions came hard when you tried to protect people. In his line of work he saw it all the time, 99% of the time it created more trouble than it solved. Angelina knew this too.

"You're right," he said, "the picture is probably not related to the murder, but it isn't your decision to make." Something nudged his right foot and he reached down to pat Irish Red, the puppy Angelina had given him-a big step for a person who hated any kind of mess. The puppy, already fifteen pounds, sat on his foot and leaned her head against his knee. He fondled the silky fur.

"Look," he told Angelina, "use your camera and take a picture of the photo. Send it to me. Maybe I can figure out what college they're at."

"I can save you all that time and ask Randy in the morning."

"No need to alert him."

"I know but something keeps ringing in my head...that he might've already told me. I've been trying to recall our conversation from this morning. I didn't realize at the time that our dialogues were in two different time zones. I was taking in information to help work with the kids and-"

"And probably feeling very nervous."

"That's an understatement! While I sat there thinking he was making conversation to help ease my nerves, he was actually feeding me information to help solve Gwen's murder. I wish I could remember it all. I'll feel stupid asking when he already told me."

"Remember the interrogation tactics I taught you. Keep him talking. The information might come out without a direct question."

"Good idea."

Soon, the phone pinged letting him know the picture had arrived. The tiny screen reminded him he needed to see an eye doctor. In the photo, a young couple, probably in their late teens, wore medium quality jeans and identical Nike shoes. They stood on a dirt path in front of a brick building, smiling lovers' smiles. Jarvis recalled a photo alb.u.m he came across recently on the top shelf of his closet. One of the first pictures was he and Liz; they'd worn those same nothing-can-change-our-feelings expressions too.

Jarvis had to agree with Angelina, the backdrop was at a college, probably one in New England if the architecture and setting were any indication. The path wound between six fully leafed maple trees, which meant the season was probably late spring or summer. Considering school schedules, it probably wasn't summertime.

He sat at the computer and uploaded the photo from the phone. On the large, flat computer screen, the details were fuzzy but easier to see. Wait. What's that? He peered closer at the monitor. Were those wedding bands? Yes, narrow bands-he couldn't tell whether they were silver or gold-decorated each left ring finger. Okay, that much of Randy's story was true. Jarvis wished he were at the office where he could search for marriage records. Chances were good they had been married near the school.

First, he searched for colleges in the northeast. If that didn't pan out, he would spread the search down the eastern seaboard, and then west if need be. Two hours-man, there were a lot of schools in New England-and another can of beer later, he found it: Bridgewater State College in Ma.s.sachusetts. The path was now paved and the trees were many years older, but no doubt about the location. What did the information mean? In the long run, probably not one thing. Most police research-the long, long hours chasing clues-turned out a waste of time.

Even though it neared midnight and Angelina was probably still awake-she sometimes lay awake for hours-he went to bed. He'd phone from the office in the morning, hopefully he'd have a second piece of news, about the marriage license. With any luck he'd find a record of the marriage's dissolution too.

He considered phoning the detective on the case. Since Carlson was a small town, they had no functioning detective squad, so Jose Rodriguez, a full time detective in the neighboring town of Nashua, had been a.s.signed to the case. Rodriguez had been unusually forthcoming with information. PDs were usually willing to share but mostly when the departments were working the same case. Jarvis had no case, only fell into this one because of Angelina. He had no official right to anything. The first night they met, Rodriguez mentioned their department being short of detectives, so Jarvis figured he would welcome somebody to run things past, a senior advisor, so to speak. Even so, it was late. Since the information probably had no bearing on the case, he'd save it till morning.

Jarvis spent a half hour pressing the big barbells in his living room. Then he took the puppy outside. As always, they walked the perimeter of his in-town property to teach her limits. She did her business and they went inside.

Jarvis showered and climbed into bed, arms under his head. Irish Red's toenails clicked along the hallway, then silenced as they met the bedroom carpet. She came to the side of the bed. He reached down, as he did every night, to pat her. He watched her black shadow turn and go to her bed in the corner. Then he laid back staring at the ceiling.

Usually exercise and a hot shower brought on sleep. Not tonight. For a long time he stared at the recently painted ceiling-one of the benefits of his relations.h.i.+p with the very-particular Angelina Deacon was that, to impress her, he'd redecorated most of the house he'd shared with Liz for so many years. He squashed thoughts of Liz and her premature death. He'd wallowed in sadness for far too long. Life was too short, as Liz had frequently reminded. She would be angry knowing he'd waited ten years to begin dating again. She probably wouldn't approve of Angelina; the pretty blonde was kind of high maintenance. But Angelina was independent, a self-starter, and perfectly able to care for herself. Besides, she was hot as a summer BBQ grill.

Jarvis' colleagues continually reminded him that Angelina was way out of his league. What she saw in him, even he couldn't imagine. But he'd fallen like a boulder for her. Over the past year he'd proposed time and again. She kept turning him down saying she wasn't ready to jump into that fire again so soon after her divorce. Most men would be disheartened, but like a puppy who'd gobbled down one treat, he continued to putter along, hopeful for a bigger, tastier one.

ELEVEN.