Dying to Teach Page 23

  “José it is then. Come on José, I want to check things out before Kiana sends the kids in there.”

  The locker room still smelled like a locker room, but it looked like the backstage of a theater. She needn’t have worried. Evan had taken charge of the whole operation. Everything they would need for two night’s performances was piled neatly on some long tables. The show must go on.

  Angie and José separated. She dug through the boxes, costumes, cases and every bit of paraphernalia in the place. José moved off to check the shower area and whatever lockers weren’t padlocked. Neither of them found anything related to the murder—though José did find two bags of marijuana and a carton of cigarettes.

  At 4:07 p.m. he said from atop a ladder at the end of the long row of lockers, “I’m about done here. Looks clear. You can let the kids in.”

  Angie opened the door to the cast and crew who flooded the place chatting loudly. An air of excitement overshadowed the scent of locker room. That’s when Detective Rodriguez found the gun.

  THIRTY

  Jarvis hung the tux carefully in the back seat of the Jeep. He placed his duffle bag, containing shaving gear, clean underwear, and dress shoes, on the floor. He Mapquested the gym Gwen frequented in Nashua and headed in that direction, first stopping to eat along the way.

  The gym wasn’t too busy, being that it was lunchtime. A few people bored themselves on the treadmill near the front windows where the only thing to look at was the Friday traffic. As he stepped in through the heavy glass door, a woman wearing a body-fitting leotard—or whatever they called the things these days—approached. She couldn’t have stood five feet tall but in perfect proportion, right down to her perky little nose. He felt like he was talking to a child and hoped he wasn’t staring.

  Jarvis showed his badge. “Could I see the manager please?”

  “I am the manager.” She put out a hand. “My name is Vickie. How may I be of help?”

  Jarvis asked about Gwen and the woman’s face turned sad. “I—”

  “Of course, you’re looking for her killer. You don’t think we’re harboring a—” She waved her hand. “Sorry, I was kidding. But this isn’t a joking subject, is it? Come. Sit.”

  He followed her swaying round buttocks to a juice bar. She hefted herself onto a stool and gestured for him to do likewise. Vickie seemed friendly and wanted to help, but Jarvis left fifteen minutes later, having learned nothing he considered pertinent to the case. Gwen came to the gym three to four mornings a week, before work. She always came alone. She didn’t talk to anyone there—just went about her business. She didn’t mention a man in her life, nor did she talk about having problems with anybody.

  “May I look in her locker?”

  Vickie thought a moment then shrugged. “I guess there’s no reason not to, is there?” She slid off the stool and led him to a blue door at the far end of the room. “Wait a moment while I make sure the coast is clear.”

  She returned in a few seconds and waved him inside, propping the door open with a large rubber doorstopper. The lockers were inset into the far wall. She led him to one at the end. There was no padlock on it.

  Jarvis opened the door. Inside he found a set of gym clothes, sneakers, three pairs of fresh socks, each rolled into a ball, and a brown zip-up case. Using just his fingertips, he lifted it by the handle and set it on the floor of the locker. He used the tip of his jackknife to undo the zipper. One by one, being just as careful, he took things out of the bag: shampoo, deodorant, conditioner, hairbrush, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick—pale pink, and toothpaste. He laid the tube beside the other items. “Woo hoo, what’s this?” he said. He picked up the tub again and read the label. “Sherman Cream Makeup.” The same makeup found taped in Gwen’s mouth.

  “May I take these?” he asked while putting things back inside.

  “Sure. Take anything you need. Are they clues?”

  “Maybe.”

  Back in his car, Jarvis phoned Rodriguez who finally answered. There was a lot of noise in the background. “Hold on,” Rodriguez shouted, “while I find a quiet place to talk.” A moment later, things grew silent and Rodriguez said, “There, that’s better.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not sure I should say.”

  His adrenaline gushed into overdrive. “What’s happened to Angelina?”

  “I’ll tell you about that later. Things are okay now.”

  Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. “Is she all right?”

  “Pretty much. She can tell you about it later. Right now, we have a minor emergency going on. I’m pretty sure it’s not related to the case though. I found a gun in the boys’ locker room. It was stowed on top of some lockers deep in a box. From the looks of things, it’s been here a while. The team is going over it now. So, buddy, what did you call about?”

  “I just got back from the gym.” He told Rodriguez what he found.

  “Shee-it. That raises a buncha new questions, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll drop the stuff off at headquarters and be there soon.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  Jarvis put the phone away and drove to Nashua police headquarters where he made sure they catalogued the bag as evidence in the Gwen Forest case. Then he drove to Carlson South High School thinking about his discussion with Kiana that morning. She had been upset seeing the people in the park. It blew her mind to think a student could be involved with an adult. Unfortunately the news carried things like that all the time.

  The high school parking lot was full. Jarvis squeezed the Jeep between an end car and some bushes at the far end. He picked up the tux, jammed the bag under one arm and locked the vehicle.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Kiana finished her pep talk to the crew hoping she sounded more upbeat than she felt. And hoping she sounded more together than she felt. The whole time she spoke she examined each member of the cast and crew, looking for the girl from the park. Of the twenty-four people involved in the play, ten were girls. None wore knitted hats. Three were tall and thin. Of the three, one had long hair. None had particularly thick hair. Kiana knew the tall, long-haired girl. Nina. She played one of the minor characters with two small appearances.

  Kiana finished her talk with a shouted, “break a leg!” and received a rousing cheer from the group. As they filtered away, Kiana called to Nina who turned and ran back.

  “I just wanted to say what a good job you’re doing.”

  Nina flipped her dark hair over one shoulder and smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate you saying so. If we save the program, I’m hoping for a larger part in your next show.”

  “My next show?”

  “Oh, I forgot. You’re a senior, you won’t be here next year. That’s too bad, I looked forward to working with you.”

  “So, what do you do in your spare time?” Kiana asked.

  The girl didn’t seem to think it an odd question. “I play the trombone. I volunteer at the senior center. And two afternoons a week, I assist a music teacher with her fourth grade musical group.”

  “When do you find time for all that?”

  “Probably the same way you do it. You squeeze it in every available minute.”

  “I get up at five every morning,” Kiana said.

  “I get up at four thirty,” Nina said with a grin. “I take my father to work so Mom can have the car. I have a new baby brother—this way Mom can stay in bed a little longer.”

  Yes, and while Mom sleeps you go meet your adult lover. Out loud, she said, “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Evan is so fly,” she noted as he bustled about backstage.

  “He is.”

  “He your baby?”

  “N-no. Not really.”

  “So he’s…”

  Was she asking what Kiana thought? Did she want to move in on Evan? Wasn’t any of her business. She had no claim on Evan. Still, the thought didn’t make her feel good.

  “Yes. He is.”

  With a lighter step than
she’d arrived, Nina danced off.

  Suddenly, this night couldn’t get over fast enough to suit her. She shoved pictures of Evan and Nina to the back of her mind and shuffled toward the school.

  Till this morning she’d convinced herself that Gwen’s murder was unrelated to school business. Till this morning. The attack on both she and Mrs. Deacon made further avoidance impossible. Either of them could’ve been hurt badly. Or killed, though she didn’t think that was the person’s intention. She and Mrs. Deacon had both been unconscious. The intruder had plenty of time to finish them off. Which sent a shiver straight to her pink painted toenails.

  Was what Evan overheard the catalyst for the murder? Couldn’t be. That would mean Mr. Chalmers was involved. No. He’d been in love with Gwen. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  She couldn’t stop the next thought, that sometimes love died, or got overshadowed by life’s events. Ms. Forest’s life was a perfect example. When things got too hot, she’d dropped out of college in Massachusetts and moved all the way to the west coast. What had made life too hot, Gwen never said, but last summer, she admitted to Kiana that she was sorry she ran away. Sorry for most everything that happened during that time of her life.

  Kiana had said she understood, that she knew people often did things they later regretted. But she’d lied. Sometimes in life, you had to go back, to try and undo things you did wrong. You had to swallow your pride for the good of others. That was one place Gwen had been weak. She hadn’t been able to do that.

  Was her murder related to that weakness? Probably not. But Kiana would find out. She would try and put right what Gwen had been unable to do.

  So, what were the facts in the case? Somebody wanted something. They thought it was in Gwen’s possession, or at least somewhere in the auditorium area. And it was well hidden because they were obviously still looking for it. They were willing to hurt people, which wasn’t good. It meant things were escalating for this person.

  It might be a good idea for her and Evan to tear the place apart. If they could find whatever this item was… How to get in? With all the extra guards on duty… No matter right now, she’d worry about it on Sunday. Tonight and tomorrow the shows were more important. The future of the drama program depended on their success.

  Kiana stepped into the narrow passageway between the rows of bleachers. This was the area through which the football team erupted before a game. This alley would be lined with cheerleaders and fans, everyone cheering and whooping for the team to play hard and win. The team only played day games. No lighting had been erected in this area and it was almost dark, which made her mind switch gears—to worrisome thoughts. Here would be a perfect place for somebody to lurk…

  Was there danger onstage tonight? Could she be shot while standing on that makeshift platform? Chances of that were slim, Kiana supposed, since more than a dozen people would be standing guard. But she didn’t kid herself, the Secret Service themselves couldn’t guarantee her safety. Look what happened to President Kennedy. There were too many ways to kill somebody these days. Poison darts, poison in her water bottle—no, no, no. If authorities thought there was real danger, they’d insist on canceling the performance.

  Her foot kicked a clump of grass and she tripped. She caught herself before falling, righted herself and hurried toward the yellow rectangles of light in the double doors. As her fingers touched the right handle, the other door burst open. She staggered back. She couldn’t stop the squeal from exploding out of her throat. This time she did stumble. And fall. Rocket-bursts of pain from her shoulder landed in every molecule of every extremity.

  “Are you all right?” asked a male voice.

  “Yes,” Kiana managed to choke out and tasted blood; she must’ve bitten her tongue. She lay there waiting—hoping—whoever knocked her down would help her up. She wasn’t sure she could do it on her own. When help didn’t come, she rolled up onto her backside, tucked her legs and struggled to her feet, somehow keeping her arm close and the pain bottled inside. Kiana planted her shoes solidly, straightened knees and spine. Took in a breath. Okay, she’d survived. She looked around.

  And realized she was alone. What just happened? Kiana clearly remembered the door knocking her down. Recalled the acute pain. Remembered a voice. A familiar voice. Well, it sounded familiar. It was muffled by the noise going on in the field behind her, but it was a voice she’d heard before. Whose?

  And why had he left?

  Okay, think about it later. Right now, get pain pills.

  All the way from the hospital her mother kept urging her to cancel tonight’s show. “Your father will be furious at me for letting you go through with this. Kiana. Please postpone, at least for tonight.”

  Kiana had kissed her mother’s cheek. “When Dad gets here, give him one of these from me. I will see you both after the show.”

  She couldn’t cancel. Kiana Smith was not a quitter. Not like Gwen.

  She peeked through the small window, made sure no more battering rams were coming, and opened the door. The hallway stood empty. But the locker room wasn’t. Somebody moved around in the bowels of the metal jungle. Somebody spoke. It sounded like Mrs. Deacon. Then a man’s voice boomed off the lockers. Feeling safe now, Kiana turned left and pushed through a newly hung curtain into the area sectioned off as the female actors’ dressing room. She chugged two painkillers and a quarter of a bottle of water. As she twisted on the cap and set the bottle on the bench overflowing with clothing and props, Kiana remembered one of her recent thoughts about poison in her water. She held the clear plastic up to the light. Looked all right. But it would, wouldn’t it? Okay, never mind, she had to trust the security did its job. Couldn’t jump at every shadow.

  Somebody parted the curtain behind her. Kiana whirled around, realizing with dismay that yes, she was afraid of every shadow. A tall man came in. She recognized him as the detective who’d questioned her at the station. He really shouldn’t come in here without announcing himself. She opened her mouth to tell him so when he stepped close.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Wh—” The word was cut short as he gestured toward the doorway. She was being arrested? This couldn’t be happening.

  “You have to leave. Now.”

  “I—” was cut off also when he touched her shoulder. The word turned into a screech of pain, and he was instantly apologetic.

  “I’m sorry. Really. But you have to get out of here. Now.”

  Get out? Those weren’t words used in an arrest. Kiana clutched her right elbow with her left hand, eased through the curtain and out into the corridor.

  “Anyone else in there?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Is anyone else in there?”

  “I d-don’t know. I just got there.”

  He shouted “Angie!” and Kiana winced.

  She wished for the medicine to work so that every little sound didn’t hurt. Like magic, Mrs. Deacon appeared. Kiana briefly wondered why Mrs. Deacon hadn’t been the one to come get her rather than the male cop. Then she wondered about him calling the teacher by her first name but the thoughts were stifled when Mrs. Deacon bent over her with soft words that worked almost as well as the painkillers. As soon as the words were spoken Kiana couldn’t recall them but the important thing was their resulting calm.

  “What’s going on?” Kiana asked.

  “The detective found a gun,” Mrs. Deacon said to everyone. “He’s got to clear the place and double check there aren’t any others.”

  Kiana didn’t mention that they were all proverbial sitting ducks out here in the wide echoing hallway. She hoped this was a mere formality, that there was no killer on premises, and the gun belonged to—who? One of the kids in gym class? Yes, that thought was much more comforting.

  Kiana leaned against the cinder block wall while the security team searched and re-searched. The rest of the cast arrived at some point. Mrs. Deacon bounced around keeping everyone calm, which Kiana thought was a harder job than the detect
ive’s.

  Finally, a few minutes past five they were all allowed back inside. The excited atmosphere had been squashed. An air of trepidation had settled over everyone. Time for another pep talk. Kiana stepped forward.

  Mrs. Deacon appeared beside her looking strong and pain free. How did she do it? She had to be nearly paralyzed from that concussion. Kiana stood taller. If the teacher could do it so could she. Which was a testament to the power of positive thinking because, as she straightened up and encouraged her classmates, Kiana actually did feel better. By the time they dismissed everyone to get into costume, Kiana felt pumped and ready for the show.

  Evan appeared from the makeshift wings and introduced the play, the performers and the band. Kiana stepped on stage for her introduction amidst loud appreciation from the large crowd. She couldn’t keep from checking the cross bar holding up the curtains. Had the builders mended it well enough? Or would it topple down on someone as they spoke their lines? Trust. She had to trust. She had to believe things would go smoothly. Too much was riding on it.

  The play did go smoothly. There were no forgotten lines, no misplaced props, no wardrobe malfunctions. And no disruption from the audience. No guards shouting “Stop Killer!” No poisoned water, no snipers.

  For most of the show, rather than relax backstage in a chair Evan had left for her, she stood on the sidelines beside Mrs. Deacon. Was she really as at ease as she appeared? Kiana didn’t think so. She flashed the substitute teacher a confident smile.

  From this perspective Kiana could see both the stage and backstage. Everyone went about their business with preprogrammed accuracy. Ten feet away Nina talked to two stagehands. Nina was personable and pretty. Not Evan’s type though. He needed someone who was…

  Was what? Like her?

  All at once the crowd erupted in applause. The band launched into the final chords of the closing song. But it couldn’t be heard over the enthusiastic audience.

  They had made it through the show. The enormity of the accomplishment hit. She felt like…well, like a mother who’d just birthed her firstborn. In a way, she guessed she had. Was this a beginning? Was she on the way to her future? Gosh, what was she thinking—the show could very well be a flop of the most gargantuan proportions.