Dying to Teach Page 24

  Though the crowd didn’t seem to think so. The cheering went on. Kiana’s alert-mode faded, Mrs. Deacon visibly relaxed.

  Somebody shouted for an encore.

  Mrs. Deacon nudged Kiana in the side. “Go take your bows.” But before Kiana could move, Evan ran to center stage and put up his hands for quiet.

  Little by little the applause died. “Folks,” he said, “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  He waited till more applause faded to quiet. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the obstacles we’ve faced this week in the death of our drama teacher. But only a few of you are aware of the strength of our leader. She’s been our rock in the face of adversity. She’s provided support when she surely felt weak herself.”

  Kiana stood taller as Evan embellished his accolades to Mrs. Deacon. She had made incredible sacrifices to come here and help a group of kids she’d never met. She didn’t have kids of her own, had no vested interest in this school. Yet, here she was.

  “And so I’d like to present to you—at the risk of sounding like a dork—our fearless leader.” Evan’s right arm raised and pointed toward the wings. “Kiana Smith!”

  The crowd burst into raucous applause. A hand bumped her back, propelling her forward. On wooden legs she moved to center stage. Mr. Reynolds approached from the other side of the stage, and stopped beside her. He presented a huge bouquet of roses to Kiana, and a smaller one to Evan. He gestured for Mrs. Deacon, who came forward.

  “I’d like to introduce the person who brought this whole team together,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Angie Deacon, as I’m sure you all know by now, owns the Prince and Pauper Theater in Alton. When I called, she unselfishly dropped what she was doing—and folks, she was in the midst of preparing her next show—and generously came to help us out.”

  “Go Angie!” someone, who sounded suspiciously like Jarvis, shouted from the back of the crowd.

  Kiana suddenly realized she was crying. Somebody pressed a tissue into her hand. “Are you all right?” Mrs. Deacon asked.

  “My mother is here.”

  Kiana moved forward on the stage, alone now, the focus of attention, and raised her arms skyward. She waved the bundle of roses in her right hand and peered up in a gesture everyone seemed to know referred to their esteemed drama teacher. Behind her, every cast member raised their hands also. Unbelievably the cheering grew louder. The audience rose to their feet. And sang Amazing Grace.

  THIRTY-TWO

  An hour later, the standing room only crowd had gone home. The sky was black, the only light came from streetlights around front of the building. Or maybe the light came from the glow of success oozing from each cast member. The entire group—nobody had wanted to leave yet—lounged on the bleachers in air cold enough to make goosebumps, but the lingering euphoria kept all chills away. Security’s presence was an occasional shadow patrolling the fringes of the football field. It wouldn’t be hard to forget they were there. For this wonderful October evening, this single moment in time, it was almost as though the events of the past week never happened. Kiana’s pain had faded, whether from medication or pure exhilaration, she didn’t care. For this very moment, all was right with the world.

  A few moments ago, Mrs. Deacon presented a congratulatory speech that lifted every little hair on Kiana’s body. It had her feeling talented and invincible, and ready to perform again—right now. Mrs. Deacon finished to a standing ovation that she focused back on them. “All I did was stay out of your way.” Which brought more applause. Kiana hoped that someday she could inspire people like that. She couldn’t wait to start working at Prince & Pauper.

  The group lapsed into contemplative silence broken only by an occasional huff of breath or shuffle of feet on the cold bleachers. Kiana knew with absolute certainty that Gwen had been there, had seen the performance. And had been pleased. Kiana also knew it was the last she’d see of her beloved mentor. Tears fuzzed up her vision and her thoughts wandered to places she’d sworn to avoid because sometimes your fate is set and nothing can change it. No, she would not think about that right now.

  “You all right?” Mrs. Deacon asked, touching her arm.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” If she explained about Gwen being there, Mrs. Deacon would think she was off her rocker and renege on her offer of a job.

  Mrs. Deacon stood up and came around to where Kiana sat. She pressed a wad of tissues in her hand, then stepped back and called, “Anybody hungry?”

  A rousing shout came from the group—mostly the boys. “I’d like to treat you all to Chinese food.”

  “We can’t let you do that,” Evan said. Others voiced agreement but not very vehemently.

  “It’s all been arranged, so go inside, gather your things and meet me at the Lilac Blossom. If anyone needs a ride, either buddy up or meet me at my car.”

  Kiana hurried inside to collect her purse. No need to change from the costume since in the last scene she’d worn regular street clothes. Though she could have, and normally would have ridden with Evan, tonight she wanted to go with Mrs. Deacon. Since learning about Mr. Reynolds being gay, Evan had been all weirded out, like he was looking at everyone, even her, in a different light.

  Cars zipped out of the parking lot as if on the way to a fire. Two boys stood beside Mrs. Deacon’s car. Kiana waited for them to get in the back. Suddenly her pain came back with the intensity of a freight train. She gripped the hood of the car and waited for the wave to pass.

  She felt a hand on her arm and opened her eyes. Mrs. Deacon eased her around the door and into the passenger seat and shut the door. Her hazy figure crossed in front of the car, and she got in the driver’s seat.

  “What is your address?” Mrs. Deacon asked.

  “Wha—”

  “Where do you live—I’m taking you home.”

  That sounded like the best idea she’d heard all day. Moments later two boys were escorting her into the house where her mother took over and put her to bed.

  * * * *

  The next morning, she still felt washed out but got up at five and left without breakfast, telling her mother she planned to meet Evan at the coffee shop—a lie. They needed some time apart. He needed to come to terms with Mr. Reynolds’ homosexuality and she needed… Right now, Kiana only wanted to find Gwen’s killer.

  She and Evan had planned to go to the janitor’s house early this morning. The man’s extraordinary interest in that picture needed looking into. His home address, gleaned from the job application she’d stolen from Mr. Reynolds office, was tucked in her jacket pocket. She headed for Farina’s but a last minute change of thought that she might meet up with Evan there had her heading for a fast food place nearby.

  Kiana bought a hot chocolate and two orders of hash browns and took a seat near the window, rubbing her frozen fingers together. Why hadn’t she brought gloves? For a while she alternated between watching cars slog past and making notes on her finding the murderer list. She didn’t take much notice of the person who slid into the seat two booths away. Until the woman reached up to take off her hat. She laid it on the table near a beat-up cloth handbag.

  It was the girl from the park!

  And in the bright light of the fast food place, Kiana realized with immense disappointment, it was not Nina. This person looked nothing like Nina.

  Last night, the hat appeared thick like she had bunched long hair up inside it. Today Kiana could see the reddish locks pulled back in a short, fluffy ponytail, which accounted for the thick look of the hat. The woman was about thirty, not pretty, but the addition of makeup smoothed out the features and made her pleasant to look at.

  Kiana felt a glimmer of recognition. She’d seen her somewhere before.

  Gosh, if she knew this woman, then the woman might know her too.

  Kiana scarfed down the rest of the potato, popped the lid back on the hot chocolate, and moved to a table far across the room. Kiana took out her phone intending to call Evan. He liv
ed miles away and chances of him getting here in time to follow the woman were slim so she dialed Mrs. Deacon instead. It rang once then someone snatched the phone from her fingers, flipped the lid shut and slid the thing across toward her.

  Evan sat and pushed her across the bench seat with his rear end.

  “What are you doing here?” they said at the same time.

  “I came for breakfast,” Kiana said as he said, “I was following her.”

  Evan continued with, “I was on my way to pick you up. I stopped for gas and saw her coming out of the Quik Stop. And followed her here.”

  “You think she’s meeting him?”

  “I’d bet money on it. Too cold to meet in the park.”

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “No. You?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of. I’ve seen her before but can’t place her. It could be some place as simple as the checkout line at K-Mart. You know what I mean?”

  “Think hard.”

  Kiana did think. She ran a slide-show of memories through her head. Nothing came to mind.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Nobody showed up to meet the woman. She crumpled her sandwich wrapper, stood and put on her hat. Kiana nudged Evan to get up. He did and started for the door. But Kiana went the other way—toward the woman. They crashed into each other. Purses flew.

  Kiana staggered back against one of the booths. The hard back of the chair dug into her hip. The woman stumbled into a chair that grated on the floor, smashed into one of the tables and upended a chair on the other side. After a few moments, everything had been put back in place and Kiana stood staring sheepishly at the woman, who pointed at her. “I know you.”

  Kiana slid into a seat. “I was thinking the same thing. But I couldn’t remember where.”

  The woman sat also. “I work in the high school. In the cafeteria lunch line. I see you and him,” she pointed at Evan, who now came to join them. “You sit together every day. You always look so busy.”

  “Lately we’re rehearsing,” Evan said. “Kiana wrote the play the school is putting on.”

  The woman nodded. “I heard it’s quite good.” She looked at Evan. “I heard you wrote the music.”

  “Someday she’s going to be a big star,” Evan added.

  What was he up to? He’d never said anything like that to her. Was he trying to get information from the woman? If so, he should be leading the conversation toward the man they’d seen her with.

  “She’s going to attend Greensboro College to major in acting and voice,” Evan continued. “And next week, she’s starting work at Prince and Pauper Theater.”

  “In Alton.”

  “Right. One of the owners, Mrs. Deacon, is here taking Ms. Forest’s place.”

  “That was nice of her to come.”

  “It was,” Kiana said. “It was nice of her to give me a job too.”

  The woman picked up her gloves from the table and stood. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in school. I have to get going.” Then she walked away.

  Evan got up too. “Come on, I have a plan.”

  Kiana was on the verge of telling him he could participate in his plans by himself, but couldn’t say the words. They quite possibly had to do with finding Gwen’s murderer. For that, Kiana was all in.

  Evan outlined his thoughts. Then he gave her a job—phone Mrs. Deacon and invite her to breakfast. And don’t take no for an answer.

  THIRTY-THREE

  At 6:03 a.m. Angie stepped out of her damp running clothes just inside the hotel room door. A new hotel room. With bigger windows and a lot loftier view than she had yesterday. The higher-up vista came from the Penthouse suite, a gesture hotels always made when their tenants woke to find snakes in their dresser drawers. She was now registered under the name of Charlene Reading, a name hotel staff had chosen. Angie wouldn’t let herself think of the reason she’d needed a new room. Snakes tended to make her brain numb. She left the window and went to pick up the clothes. She stowed them in the hotel’s laundry bag then poured another cup of coffee.

  In her purse on the dresser, the cell phone chirped. Jarvis had left a while ago, planning to question hotel staff. “Has anyone been asking for Angie?” “Has anyone been lurking around, especially in the hallway near her room?” “Has housekeeping noticed anything odd?” He was probably calling with the results before heading home to pick up Irish Red from the Wilsons.

  Angie was halfway to the phone but it went silent after one ring. No time even for the caller ID to kick in. Probably Jarvis had lost the signal. She returned to her chair at the big new table—this one sporting a beautiful white tablecloth and a silver tea set delivered by room service earlier.

  So who had put the snake in the drawer? Had to be the person who ransacked the auditorium. Who else could be after her? The phone rang again. Angie waited through the second ring in case the call messed up again.

  But it wasn’t Jarvis, it was Kiana.

  “Everything all right?” Angie asked.

  “Yes. Great. I hope we didn’t call too early.”

  She didn’t have to ask who “we” was. “Not at all.”

  “We wanted see how you were feeling.”

  Sure you did. “I’m fine, thanks. How’s your shoulder?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Evan and I…well, we wanted to invite you out for breakfast.”

  Angie had planned to spend the day in bed, reading manuscripts. Perhaps later she’d take herself out to lunch, or avail herself of the hotel’s very generous—and suddenly free—room service menu.

  It wouldn’t be polite to turn them down. Besides, something must be brewing. Maybe she could get back quickly and still do some reading. She said, “That’s very nice of you,” even though she ate an English muffin a while ago.

  “So, you’ll come?” Kiana sounded a bit too desperate, which made Angie leery.

  These kids wanted something. Question was, what could they want that their parents couldn’t give? Angie met their parents last night. They seemed very supportive of their kids’ efforts—all four had seats in the front row. Word had it they’d be in the same seats tonight. Something nudged the back of Angie’s brain. Something Kiana said last night.

  Kiana was talking. “Can you meet us at Farina’s? Do you know where it is?”

  “I do.” She stood up and went to the closet to find something to wear. “What time?”

  “Is seven o’clock too soon?”

  * * * *

  Angie made small talk through the cheese omelets and wheat toast breakfasts. “Are you writing another play?” “Have you made out the application for college?” And they countered with “How do you get plays for your theater?” “What do you and Jarvis do for fun?”

  “That’s a beautiful pendant,” Kiana noted. “It looks very expensive.”

  “Kee,” Evan warned.

  “It’s all right. I got it in Cilla’s shop the other day.” Angie undid the clasp and handed the necklace to Evan, who examined it and held it up in front of Kiana.

  “It goes perfectly with her eyes, don’t you think?”

  “And with her sweater. Why don’t you borrow it for today?”

  “I couldn’t do that,” Kiana protested.

  “Of course you can. Evan, help her put it on.”

  Once the pendant was settled around Kiana’s neck, the pretty girl said, softly, “Thanks.”

  Angie couldn’t hold in the question any longer. “Okay, so what gives?”

  Kiana’s face screwed up in a question that didn’t fool Angie a bit. Evan got right to the point. “We are going to Ms. Forest’s apartment to look around. We thought you might like to go with us.”

  “Two questions.” To make her point, Angie shot up one finger. “Are you crazy? And two,” a second finger appeared beside the other, “are you insane?”

  A patron eating at a nearby table stopping chewing long enough to smile at them.

  “Okay,” Angie said in a lower tone, “you do realize it’s an offi
cial crime scene.” She posed the argument but knew the answer to whether she’d go with them was a no-brainer. They weren’t crazy or insane, just two desperate kids dissatisfied with the speed—or lack of it—from the police investigation. She knew the feeling. She also knew there would be no talking them out of it.

  “The crime scene is almost a week old,” Evan said. “They must’ve taken down the tape by now and everything. The landlord is probably making plans to rent the place to somebody else.”

  He had a point. Any clues they’d found would’ve been catalogued and removed to the station. “As I recall it’s on the second floor,” she argued. “You planning to climb the drain spout to get in?”

  “If we have to,” Evan said.

  “No need to do that.” Kiana held up a string with three keys dangling from it.

  Angie put a palm out toward her. “I don’t even want to know where you got it.”

  “It’s nothing nefarious. I took care of her plants while she was on vacation.”

  Angie didn’t bother voicing the obvious question. What adult would give a key to a teenager rather than a friend, neighbor, or co-worker? She pushed the empty plate and cup to the middle of the table. “You’re making me sorry I gave you guys the day off from rehearsal—you have too much spare time.”

  “You know we have to do this,” Kiana said.

  “I know nothing of the sort.” Maybe she should ask José to meet them there. Would he come? He might. He seemed to have taken a liking to her in all those hours they spent together at the hospital. But if he denied them access and later found out they’d gone anyway, not only would it mess up her relationship with the local cops, it might screw things up between him and Jarvis.

  “What do you expect to find there?” It was a dumb question. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”