Dying to Teach Page 28

  “No. He didn’t hurt me, except when he shoved me against wall.” She explained how he’d grabbed her shirt when she tried to get away. Evan shrugged out of his jacket then fitted it around her shoulders.

  On the sidewalk, the two officers talked to the janitor. They were joined by the officers from the second cruiser. Underwood did most of the talking, now and then jutting his chin toward Kiana and Evan.

  After a minute they broke up. Both front doors of the cruiser opened. One cop got in the driver’s side. The other poked his head over the seat. “Are you all right, Miss? Mr. Underwood said you had an injured shoulder.”

  Mr. Underwood, said as though he were some sort of royalty or something, instead of a possible murderer. Thoughts of her dead mentor brought tears to Kiana’s eyes. She shook her head. “I’m not hurt.”

  The officer climbed in and the cruiser shot away from the curb.

  Moments later, she and Evan were ushered into a small room in the police station. The only window was picture-window size and had to be that two-way glass she always saw on TV. How many officers stood on the other side watching them?

  Weren’t prisoners supposed to get one phone call? Who should she call—her mother? No, that would be worse than death. Mrs. Deacon? Yes, she could, and probably would, say I told you so, but at least she’d come.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” Kiana asked.

  “We’ll probably be booked for breaking and entering,” Evan whispered.

  “What is the penalty for that?”

  “Dunno. Probably jail.”

  She gulped down a lump the size of a golf ball. “Are we officially arrested?”

  “They didn’t say the words.”

  Man, had they messed things up. Just as Mrs. Deacon predicted. This would ruin her chances for entry into college. It would ruin any chance of those investors giving money to keep Carlson’s drama program running. But right now, the worst thing of all—it would ruin her in Mrs. Deacon’s eyes. The substitute teacher had been nothing but nice to them. She’d treated them as people, not children. Just like Gwen.

  An hour passed.

  Perhaps her one phone call should be to a lawyer. Trouble was, she didn’t know any. Maybe they could loan her a phone book.

  The door opened. An officer entered. Before the door swung shut, Kiana saw Lincoln Underwood in the hallway. He was nodding and shaking hands with the cop involved in the murder investigation. What was his name? Rodriguez, maybe.

  “Yes, yes, job well done, Mr. Underwood,” she imagined him saying. “You’re responsible for the arrest of two intrusive but well-intentioned kids.”

  They were well-intentioned right? All they’d wanted to do was unearth a murderer.

  The officer waited till the door clicked shut—Kiana just now noticed it had no doorknob. She couldn’t stop the shiver that shook her so hard it jolted her shoulder.

  “Are you in pain?” the officer asked. “Did he hurt you?”

  She started to nod, then shook her head. Evan explained about the shoulder injury from the day before.

  The door opened again and Detective Rodriguez came in. He approached the table where they were seated. He took a minute to build the suspense, glancing back and forth between them. “You two know why you’re here? You understand the charges?”

  “Nobody said anything about charges,” Evan said.

  Suddenly, Rodriguez’s gaze landed on Kiana’s throat. He frowned. He bent and gestured at the sapphire pendant.

  “May I see that?”

  What was going on? Did he think she’d taken it from the janitor’s apartment?

  “Would you please remove it?”

  She started to reach for the clasp but the pain in her shoulder made her wince and drop her arm to the table.

  “May I?” the detective asked. Kiana nodded. He undid the clasp and took the chain from around her neck. He held it up to the light—a single bulb recessed in the ceiling. “Where did you get this?”

  “I didn’t—” she squeezed out before Evan broke in.

  “Don’t say anything, Kee.” To the detective, he said, “We’re not saying a word without our one phone call.”

  The first officer shot them an indulgent smile then shrugged at Rodriguez. “Okay, if that’s how you want it. Which of you wants to go first?”

  “She can,” Evan said.

  Kiana was escorted from the room and to a pay phone. Somebody handed her two quarters. Kiana wracked her memory for the phone number then punched in the numbers with her left hand. The familiar voice answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, it’s K-kiana.” Stop wimping around. Talk like an adult. Kiana sucked in a stabilizing breath. “Mrs. Deacon, can you c-come?” Sobs erupted from her even though she tried to swallow them down. “At the p-police station. Evan and I have been arrested.”

  Mrs. Deacon said they’d be there as soon as they could.

  Kiana hung up the phone. She started back toward the interrogation room, the cop following tight behind. But as she stopped at the door to the room she’d left moments ago, he touched her arm and urged her past, and into a room all by herself. She’d seen this on TV too. The suspects being questioned separately—so they could compare stories. Gosh, could things get any worse?

  FORTY

  Angie and Jarvis bustled into the Carlson police station. Her heart kept trying to escape between her ribs. What on earth had the kids been up to this time?

  They were shown into a room. Neither took the seats that were offered. Neither accepted the offer of coffee. Within minutes, two uniformed officers entered, followed by Detective Rodriguez, who stepped forward and shook hands with Jarvis, then nodded hello to Angie. “Sorry to see you both again under these circumstances.”

  Jarvis asked what was going on.

  “The kids are being detained. They were caught breaking into an apartment.”

  Damn. She knew she shouldn’t have left them alone today.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” one of the cops said to Angie.

  “They were dissatisfied with the speed of Gwen Forest’s murder investigation and became determined to look into things on their own. Who’s place did they break into?”

  “Lincoln Underwood. He works as a janitor at the school.”

  “I know who he is.”

  “Any idea why they would go there?”

  She aimed the reply toward José. “I assume it’s because he showed extraordinary interest in that photo the kids found in Gwen’s office. You know the one I mean, right?”

  José said he did. He explained it to the other officers.

  “The other night, the janitor was in the process of threatening them when I walked in and took the photo away.”

  Rodriguez reached into one of his breast pockets. He came out with something he juggled in his palm a second and then he was dangling Angie’s sapphire pendant in the space between them. “Have you seen this before?”

  “My necklace.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. I loaned it to Kiana yesterday. Did you think they’d stolen it from Underwood’s apartment? José, I can assure you—”

  He didn’t respond. He asked instead, “Where did you get it?”

  Angie explained about acquiring the stone at Cilla Philmore’s shop. He pulled out a chair and sat, motioning for Angie to sit too. “We need to talk about this.”

  “No. First we talk about the kids. Where are they? What can I do to get them released?”

  Just then the door opened and Lincoln Underwood himself entered. He had on the same work clothes as at school earlier, but he’d lost that gruff and abrasive look he wore at the school.

  Jarvis barely spared him a glance. “What are the charges against the kids?”

  “There won’t be any,” Underwood said. “They have no prior record. And there are extenuating circumstances.” He jammed his hands in his pants pockets. The action pushed back the lapels of his poplin jacket.

  “How magnanimous of you,
” Jarvis said.

  Angie smiled. “Did they plant only one of you at the school?”

  “Pl—” Jarvis said.

  “Yes. Unless I miss my guess, Lincoln Underwood is an undercover cop.”

  “He is,” José said, shooting a look of amazement at Jarvis. “On a city-wide drug search, though right now we’re more concerned about that necklace. It was stolen from a local jewelry store three months ago.”

  A beautiful bone china cup and saucer, and a flowing silk evening gown flashed into Angie’s head. “Cilla,” was all she said.

  “You figured it out. Why aren’t I surprised?” José asked.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Jarvis asked.

  “Cilla Philmore is a kleptomaniac,” Angie explained.

  “How did you know? And why didn’t you report it?”

  “I was so busy with the play and all the problems related to it that it didn’t sink in till just this minute. There are a number of quite expensive items in her thrift shop.”

  “I—” Jose placed his palms flat on the table and gazed across it at her. “We need your help.”

  He didn’t have to explain that they wanted her to set up Cilla. “I don’t understand what you think I can do.”

  “Right now, the presence of the items in her store is circumstantial. She can claim people brought them to her. As a matter of fact, if she’s as good as we think, she’ll already have receipts made out. We need corroboration that she stole them.”

  “Seems to me you can compare surveillance tapes from the jewelry store. She had to have been in the place at the time of the theft.”

  José heaved a long sigh. “Through one problem or another, we have no evidence.”

  Obviously sensing her interest in the case, Jarvis reacted like a lover rather than an officer. “No way are you getting her involved. No freaking way is she putting herself in—”

  He stopped the protests when she laid a hand on his arm. His mouth slapped shut.

  “The timing for this is not good,” Angie said to José. “I am immersed in this play and—”

  “It’ll only take an hour of your time.”

  “Maybe tomorrow when all the other pressures are off.” When her head didn’t hurt so much.

  As if reading her mind, Jarvis dug a small vial from his pants pocket and palmed out two painkillers. She accepted and swallowed them dry.

  José’s grave expression glued to hers. What harm could it do? It was only an hour. Everything at the school was in place. She didn’t have to be there until seven.

  “Release the kids right now and I’ll do it.”

  “Deal.” José nodded to the officer, who left the room. “We’ll need time to develop a scenario for the meeting though.”

  “No need. I have a plan.” She explained the situation, dug out her phone and dialed Cilla’s number. “Cilla. Hi, it’s Angie.”

  “Oh, am I glad you called. I am so sorry I missed our coffee date. One of the boys had an emergency—cut his hand at work—and needed a ride to the hospital. I tried to reach you but got a message that you were out of the area.”

  “Not a problem. Are you busy right now?”

  “No. I close the shop at one on Saturdays; I can meet you in about three quarters of an hour. Same place?”

  “Sounds good. I’ve been saving up embarrassing stories all day long. I’ll see you there.” Angie clicked the phone shut. “Okay,” she said to José. “We’re meeting at Farina’s in forty-five minutes. I assume all you’re looking for is confirmation that she stole the stuff—or that someone else didn’t bring it to the shop.”

  “Right. If it’s all right with you, we’ll wire you.”

  “May I have the pendant please?”

  José gestured for her to turn around. She did so, then lifted her hair so he could clasp the gold chain around her neck.

  “Be right back.” He exited the room and returned less than a minute later.

  “You had this all planned, didn’t you?” she asked.

  He shrugged and held up a tiny microphone. “Since you’ll be in public, there’s no need to tape it on or anything as elaborate as you see on TV. Just drop it in your pocket.”

  He waited till she did so, then left, making sure the door was propped open so she and Jarvis could get out without calling for help. Angie considered following José so she didn’t have to be alone with Jarvis. Before he could protest again, she said, “We’ll be in a public restaurant. There is no danger. As a matter of fact, why don’t you head over there now? Find a good seat. Watch my performance.”

  “That might work, she doesn’t know who I am.”

  The realization appeared to make Jarvis feel better. They went into the hallway where Kiana was just leaving one of the interrogation rooms. The relief in her movements told Angie that José had indeed carried through on his promise. Kiana rushed to her. They hugged. Angie noticed that Kiana didn’t use her right arm. “Go home. Take painkillers and a nap. I’ll see you at seven.”

  “What’ll you be doing?”

  “The same thing,” she lied.

  “Do you know why the janitor dropped the charges? He seemed so angry before and now… I can’t figure it out.”

  “We’ll talk extensively later. Right now, I have to go. Do you need a ride home?”

  “They said they’d take us back to Evan’s bike.”

  Angie hugged Kiana again. “Go rest. I’ll see you later.”

  * * * *

  Angie stood in the entry at Farina’s. Cilla hadn’t arrived, which was good. It gave her a chance to select the best table for optimum safety. Across the room, she spotted Jarvis and another man, probably an officer. Jarvis gave a small nod at a booth near the door. She took it and sat facing the entrance. But Jarvis was gesturing for her to change seats. Angie didn’t think facing away from the door was the wisest thing but she moved anyway.

  The waitress approached and Angie said she was waiting for someone. Was José there too? She cast a covert glance at the tables in range but didn’t see him.

  He must’ve sat far away. Cilla probably already knew him.

  Priscilla Philmore arrived five minutes later. She dropped a burgundy leather handbag on the booth seat and slid across, bringing with her the scent of vanilla and spice. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Good to see you.”

  The waitress arrived and they ordered coffees. Angie’s stomach growled so she added a bowl of clam chowder too.

  Angie decided to get the conversation off with a bang. “So, how’re things going with Josh?”

  “Better, I guess. He’s agreed for us to go away next weekend. I made reservations at the Marriott in New Castle.”

  “Lots to do there.”

  Cilla shrugged and grinned. “I really don’t plan on leaving the room.”

  “That works too!”

  The waitress arrived with coffee. When she left, Angie asked, “What do you do with the shop while you’re gone?”

  “I’ll put a sign on the door.” Cilla doled a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee.

  “You don’t have any employees?”

  “No, I—”

  Cilla never finished the sentence. She what? Couldn’t afford help? Or was afraid an employee might figure out what she was up to? More than likely that was the case. An employee would see inventory sheets, and unpack bags of donations.

  “I see you’re wearing the pendant.”

  “I love it.” Seeing an opening, she added, “I don’t suppose you have another. I’d love to have a garnet…or even an amethyst. Of course, I’d expect—demand—to pay for it this time.” Then Angie realized that might not have been the best thing to say. She didn’t think Cilla was in this for the money. The shop was a way to cover her disease.

  Cilla sipped from her cup then set it down in the saucer. “I might have one.”

  Angie feigned great interest; she set down her cup and widened her eyes. “Can I see it?”

  Cilla’s surprise caused her to nearly tip ov
er her cup. “I-I… What if we do it in the morning? That way the show will be out from under you, and you can take time to look around. I saw you admiring those paintings. He’s a local artist.”

  Angie fingered the sapphire. “I really love this stone. I hope you have a similar setting. Where did you get this one?”

  “Er, ah, I can’t really remember.” Cilla picked up the cup, then set it down. “Yes, now that I think about it, I do recall. A neighbor died. Her family brought most all her things to me.”

  The waitress brought Angie’s soup. As she deposited the bowl on the table Angie didn’t miss Cilla’s slight nod at something over Angie’s shoulder. At the same time, she slid across the vinyl upholstery as though making room for someone to sit. Angie glanced up to see that Josh had arrived. As he eased in beside her, Cilla threw Angie an I’m sorry glance that didn’t fool her for a second.

  “Good afternoon, Angie,” Josh said.

  His voice sounded friendly but his eyes told her danger loomed. Thankfully Jarvis and company were near. Unfortunately, they couldn’t see Josh’s face, or hear his words.

  “Nice to see you, Josh.”

  “Sorry to intrude on your girl party. I was passing and thought I’d come say hello to my wife.”

  “You’re welcome to join us.”

  Josh waved off the waitress. Once she was out of hearing range, he said, “It’s no use making small talk. I know you’re on to Cilla.”

  What could she say?

  “We want to make a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “To buy your silence.” Josh raked a hand through his hair. Then he grasped Cilla’s hand, lying on the table beside her cup. “You realize she’s got a disease, don’t you?”

  “There are treatments.”

  “She’s been through all that. Psychiatrists…digging into her head, into our private lives. We’ve been trying, on our own, to lick this thing.”

  “What sort of deal would you offer?”

  Again, his fingers pushed through his hair. “We own a cottage—in the Berkshires. It’s yours. Or money. We don’t have a lot but I could scrounge some.”

  Angie pretended to consider the offer. “What if you bring me a couple more of these?”