Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play (12 page)

CHAPTER 19

Certainly I hadn’t heard him correctly. “What was that?”

“That’s right. Paulette. She’s the one I’d investigate.” He forcefully pointed toward the ground as if to drive home his point.

“Again, this goes back to ruining her. You’re just blowing off steam.”

He straightened as a player went past. As soon as the other man was out of sight, he leaned toward me. “I’m not blowing off steam. I’m telling you—Paulette is losing it. I think she’s going crazy.”

“I’ve seen people sink low, but really?”

Even as I said the words, guilt began to rush through me. I’d wondered about her innocence myself, so I really had no room to talk.

“I’m not joking. Pay attention. There’s something not right with her.
She was behaving bizarrely in the weeks before she kicked me out, and I’m not just saying that to be mean. I’m really worried about her. We both started drinking too much. I got help; she didn’t. That was part of the reason we had so many problems.”

What? I wasn’t sure what to do with that new tidbit.
I knew she’d been drinking, but this confirmed that she was drinking too much.

Still,
Roberto had too many reasons to lie. I couldn’t believe him too easily.

“I think she should give up on that whole Cultural Arts Center and stop trying to impress her dad so much.”

I shook my head, trying not to soften as I listened to his rolling Brazilian accent. “I think you’ve got this all turned around. You’re the one who’s acting crazy. You slashed my van tires.”

His
eyebrows shot up. “I talked to the police about that. I didn’t do nothing. I’m telling you—it was Paulette.”

“I was talking to
Paulette the whole time.”

“The whole time?”

I ran through our conversation again. Paulette did leave the room for about ten minutes to get some Tylenol for her headache. But that wouldn’t have been enough time to go outside and slash my tires herself. Would it?

The evidence seemed to be building—against the person who’d hired me.

One thing I knew: I didn’t like where any of this was going. Not one bit.

***

I left the sports complex in time to make it to afternoon practice.

I had to get my thoughts under control, though, because there were too many people I could visual
ize as being guilty. That fact was making my emotions yo-yo everywhere—between trust and distrust, suspicion and wanting to see the best in people. In between those thoughts were snippets from the articles Clarice had found on Rose, images of the man I’d found dead last night, and remembrances of how cold it had felt in that interrogation room.

We went through practice and, shockingly
enough, nothing happened. I kept waiting, anticipating. But there was nothing.

Maybe it had something to do with the
fact that we were in the choir room again today. The police hadn’t opened up the auditorium again, not until they were sure there were no more clues.

Paulette
looked tenser than a klutz walking a tight rope.

Certainly
she realized that there was a good chance this play wouldn’t come together. Everyone involved with the production had to know that. We were less than a week away from opening night and unable to use the stage. Everyone’s nerves were frazzled, especially considering there was a killer out there who seemed a little hung up on this play.

A
t the end, after everyone cleared out, I turned to Mrs. Baker and lowered my voice. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Even I wasn’t sure if I was referring to the play or my life.

She squeezed my arm. “You’re doing fine.”

I decided
I’d been referring to the play. It seemed like safer, less vulnerable territory. “I forgot more lines today. And I got the verses on one of the songs mixed up. I’m pretty sure I’m more frustrated with myself than anyone.”

“It’s just nerves. Remember shakes on eight?”

I smiled. It was one of the warm ups she used to have us do in drama club. “I sure do.”

“Just do exercises like that. I promise you, this will all come together.”
She straightened up the chairs, just like she used to do as a teacher. I guess some habits never died.

“You’re not nervous at all?”

She paused.
“About you?”

“About the play.”

She glanced around. Paulette was in the hallway now talking to Jerome and Arie. “I really wanted to help out Paulette by doing this. We were up against a lot with this script. But add to that everything that’s been going on? I’m not really sure if this is the way she wants to introduce the Cultural Arts Center to the area.”

I nodded in agreement. “Speaking of which, h
ave you heard anything else about the man we found yesterday?”

She shook her head. “No, but the police wouldn’t tell me anything. I stayed last night until everyone had been questioned, though. I
feared some of the cast members would be shaken up.”

“And your motherly side emerged.”

She smiled. “I suppose it did. But when I was leaving, I heard a clanking sound in the building.”

A chill raced through my blood.
“You believe in ghosts also?”

She laughed. “No, not quite. But I couldn’t figure
out what the noise was. I keep having this feeling that someone is watching us, you know? It’s quite eerie. I’m not sure if the play has put ideas in my head or what. Something just doesn’t feel right, and I’m afraid these incidents are going to continue until the person behind them is arrested.”

“I’ve thought about that myself.
”

“Be careful, Gabby.”
She cast me a motherly glance.

I nodded. “I will.”

I slipped out the door and ran to catch up with Paulette, who was walking toward her office. She offered a small smile as I fell into step beside her. “Hey Gabby.”

“Have you heard anything new?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I guess the autopsy will take a couple of days. Until then, we wait.”

“I have a question, Paulette.
Do you have the keys to Corridor D and E?”

“Of course I do. Why?”

“I’d like to go down there.”

“Why?”

“Just a hunch. It could be nothing. I’d like to see inside some of the classrooms.”

“Let me grab the keys then.” She went into her office and emerged a minute later. She jangled
metal against metal as we walked down the hallway.

She paused at
Corridor D. This was the hallway I’d gone down that night after I’d found it unlocked. After she released the padlock, she shoved the metal gate back.

It made a screeching sound.

Was this what Mrs. Baker had heard? She’d said she heard a clanking noise. That’s definitely how I’d describe this sound. I’d have to ask her.

We slipped inside.
As soon I stepped foot in the hallway, I noticed it smelled like a garage. Was this a clue? I also remembered that the shop classroom was farther down this way. Maybe the scent of woodwork and tools hadn’t left this area in all these years. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Paulette opened the first room. I stepped in
side. At once, I remembered being in here for my FACS class—Family and Consumer Science. It was funny how places could so quickly take you back in time.

I wasn’t 13 any more, I realized.
Back then, I’d thought I had forever. I’d seen too much since then, lived too much with death to hold on to that notion. With age, the years only seemed to fly by even more quickly.

I only had once chance at this life and, if I wasn’t careful, my time was going to slip away.
Maybe God had connected me with Paulette and this old school just to remind me of that.

“Gabby?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and turned toward Paulette. “Sorry about that. I went back in time.”

She smiled. “I know. It’s easy to do. I have so many great memories
of hanging out with the gang here at Oceanside. It’s one reason I really wanted to preserve this building.”

How could I ever consider that someone who sounded that sincere could be behind the incidents here at the school?

“I wonder whatever happened with the old gang,” I said.

“I heard Pete was w
orking for some tech company out in California. It sounded right up his alley.”

I smiled. Pete was my first real boyfriend. I hadn’t talked to him in years. “How about Brandon? Ever hear anything about him?”

Brandon was only the most talented actor and dancer I’d ever met. I’d had a major crush on him during middle school.

“He’s d
oing his first show on Broadway.”

“What?”

Paulette nodded. “I tried to get him to come here and do this play, but he’d already signed a contract. He doesn’t have the lead role, but he will one day.”

“I always knew he’d make it. You’re right.”

“Do you ever talk to Becca?” Paulette asked, closing the door as we moved down the hallway to the next classroom.

I shook my head. “I’m ashamed to say it, but no. I haven’t talked to her since my freshm
an year in college. She went to the University of Florida to study marine biology. She loved it so much down there that she stayed. Her parents were even moving there, last I heard. They both retired and wanted to be closer to her.”

We wandered to the next classroom. The moment felt so normal. How could I have ever suspected Paulette? She was my old friend. Besides, why would she hire me if she was guilty? Unless she thought I was total
ly incompetent.

I pushed that thought out of my mind.

We checked the next three classrooms. I kept halfway expecting someone to jump out, but there was nothing except stale air and lots of memories. The cabinet that had nearly toppled on me remained on the ground in the old shop classroom.

What if that wasn’t an accident, just set up to look like one?

What if all the things that had happened were the work of someone devious and purposeful, someone who was setting everything up to look like accidents?

Who would be smart enough to do that, though?

I paused outside of the newspaper classroom. Paulette unlocked the door, and I stepped inside.

My gaz
e perused my surroundings and came to stop on a massive machine. “What’s that?”

“That’s the offset press they used for the old school newspaper.”

“What? They had a press?” I didn’t remember that

She nodded. “That was after
we attended. My father bought it. He thought it could offer some good practical experience for the students.”

Newspaper. The man at the bar had said he’d smelled gasoline and newsp
rint on the man who’d died. Did it have anything to do with this machine?

Even if it did, why would someone break in here to print their own
daily? What kind of criminal enterprise would that be? Unless it was some subversive, underground paper done by whackos.

“Why’s this still here? I’m surprised they didn’t sell it off.”
I leaned down to examine it more closely. I ran my finger down the side of it, expecting to find my skin covered with dust. It was clean.

“I don’t know for sure why it’s still here. I never thought to ask.”

“It looks incredibly big and awkward,” I mused aloud. “It would probably have to be taken a part just to get it out the door. Plus, so many things are digital now. I’m not sure how much use there is for it in today’s society.”

“True.”
Paulette nodded.

This school had stayed in the past and it had been abandoned for years. Was that
what happened when you refused to change? You became stagnant and not useful? Was that what was happening with me?

I
glanced around the room again. To the left there was an old dark room, leftover from the days when people actually developed their own photos. As I tiptoed toward the room, I bent over and scooped something up.

“What’s that?”

I examined the crinkly orange paper. “It’s a candy wrapper.”

“That’s strange. It’s
probably so old it belongs in a museum.”

I pulled out my cell phone and sh
one the light on the paper. Then I shook my head. “The expiration date is next month.”

Paulette
leaned over my shoulder. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Positive.”

I stored that information away and peered in the dark room. Everything appeared to be in place, even the old wire line where photos were hung out to dry.