Dead Even (11 page)

Audra opened her purse and removed a handful of newspaper clippings. “I have the experience, Mr. Benson. Track was my sport. I still hold the Kansas record in two running events. I'll brush up on any new techniques that have come along since I've been away from it, and I absolutely guarantee we'll have a top-notch team.”

Benson quickly read through the clippings. “My God, Audra, I remember now. I didn't recall your name, but I watched you run. I was in Wichita at that meet eleven years ago. You blew the competition away. I can even remember thinking we were watching a potential Olympic champion.” He shook his head in amazement. “I can't believe it. Why haven't you ever mentioned this before? And what happened to your running career after high school?”

Audra hesitated a split second. “I had an—accident—my freshman year of college. I was unable to compete after that. But there is nothing wrong with me now. And I would really like to work with the girls.”

Benson stood and extended his hand. “You're hired, Audra. I don't even need to check with the board. I'm certain they will be delighted. I'll check to see how much that will increase your salary, and get back to you.”

She took his hand, laughing. “Right now I'm so anxious to get back to doing something I once loved, that the salary isn't even important.” She started to leave, then turned back to Benson with an uncharacteristic wink. “Forget I said that last part. I'll take all they'll give me.”

Neil Benson sat down slowly at his desk, watching, puzzled, as Audra exited the school office. He had never witnessed such an amazing metamorphosis—not only in looks, but in personality as well. He looked down at the clippings she had left behind. To think that his quiet, retiring kindergarten teacher was the exuberant girl in the photos! It blew his mind. She had so dominated the field at that meet that after winning her fourth event officials encouraged her to take a victory lap. She had trotted around, waving and laughing—playing to a crowd that numbered in the thousands. All along the way, other contestants would come out and shake her hand or pat her on the back. She had fairly brimmed with life and charisma. Audra Delaney.
His
Audra Delaney. One and the same. It didn't seem possible.

*   *   *

The radio show had ended, and the man walked into the den where he was taping the program on his stereo system. He pushed rewind and waited, rubbing his damp hands over his corduroy slacks absentmindedly. The woman had called in early. He wouldn't have long to wait before hearing her message again. The machine whirred to a stop, and he pushed play, fast-forwarded a few seconds, then sat back to listen. He heard her voice again, timid at first, then confident.
I have
just exactly
what that man needs. If he will call 555-1805, I'm
certain
it will be
perfect
for him.

He looked at the number he had written down. It was the same. There had been no mistake. And there was something about the woman's voice—the way she had emphasized certain words. It was almost as though she
knew
she had given him the number of the morgue.
I'm
certain
it will be
perfect
for him!

He removed a pack of Winston's from the pocket of his plaid shirt and fumbled in his pants pocket for matches. He watched, mesmerized, as the match burned down. At the last second he lit the cigarette, then dropped the match into an ashtray and watched as it flickered and died. He inhaled deeply, coughing as the noxious fumes assailed his damaged throat.

She's out there—waiting for me. I can feel it.

*   *   *

Her heels clicked on the tile as she wound her way around to the east, toward the kindergarten room. She passed Gerald, who glanced at her, looked away, then turned back, his jaw dropping.

“Audra? My God! I can't believe it!”

She smiled at him. “The wonders of modern-day cosmetology, Gerald.”

“I—you look beautiful, dear,” he stammered, then added quickly. “Not that you haven't always looked beautiful to me.” He couldn't take his eyes from her. She was stunning. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not called her in two days. “Dear,” he began conciliatorily, “we need to talk. I've been thinking about Bess, and perhaps you're right. Maybe if you helped her pick out a dress, perhaps cleaned her up a bit, it wouldn't be so bad.”

Audra cocked her head, smiled sweetly, and removed his engagement ring from her finger. “I have a better idea, Gerald. Take this ring and shove it where the sun don't shine!” She tossed the ring to him and continued down the hall, smiling at the horrified look on his face.

*   *   *

At ten o'clock, Audra left her classroom in the hands of a young college student who was completing her student teaching. She walked two doors down to the teachers' lounge, picked up the telephone, and dialed 555-2343. Finally, on the eighth ring, the phone was answered. She recognized the voice immediately, and it sent a cold chill through her body. She took a deep breath and forced her voice into a higher pitch than was normal.

“Is this the party who was looking for an accent table?”

The craggy voice answered. “Yes. That's right.”

Audra's voice became determined. “Well, sir, I was talking with some gentlemen the other day who wanted to get in touch with you about that. Would you like their number?”

“Certainly. Do they have a table?”

“Yes, sir, and I believe they have your number, also.”

“Well, they haven't called. Maybe you'd better give me theirs.”

Audra swallowed hard. Her mouth felt like cotton, and she wondered if she was going to be able to pull it off. “Sure. The number is 555-5925.”

The man repeated the number, then said, “Okay. I've got it. Thanks for your trouble.”

“No problem,” Audra said pleasantly. “I hope you can get together with them.” She hung up the telephone and went back to her class.

*   *   *

He dialed the number and waited. On the third ring the phone was answered. “Hays Police Department, Sergeant Nelson speaking.”

He slammed the receiver down.
Damned bitch!

*   *   *

At ten-thirty, Audra placed another call. This time she didn't bother to disguise her voice. When he answered the phone, she merely said, “In case you couldn't get together with those gentlemen, I'm certain you can do business at 555-7653.” She pushed the disconnect button down quickly, before he had a chance to respond.

*   *   *

He sat staring at the telephone. With one hand he wiped a thin band of sweat from his forehead. He noticed the hand was shaking.
Stupid bitch! I'm going to enjoy making mincemeat out of you.

He stood and began pacing back and forth in the large kitchen like a wild animal in a cage. He wouldn't make the call. It was just another of her stupid tricks. She was just trying to rattle him. But his curiosity was getting the better of him. Finally, he walked over to the cabinet, angrily grabbed the phone, and dialed the number.

The woman's voice was pleasant. “Watkin's Mortuary.”

Chapter NINE

An hour later he had worked his way through a litany of potential possibilities, rejecting them one by one for various reasons. He needed the bitch's name, but he had to get it without alerting the police. There was one thing that might work. It was a long shot, but if she was still unmarried, it might give him her name.

He went to the telephone and dialed information. “Yes, ma'am, I'd like the number of the registrar's office at the University of Kansas in Lawrence.”

“One moment, please.” The line clicked over and a recording came on. “Thank you for calling. The number is 555-2700. Repeat. The number is 555-2700. If you need further assistance—”

He replaced the phone in the cradle, cutting off the woman's melodious voice, and sat collecting his thoughts. He jotted down a few items underneath the phone number, then dialed and waited. When a woman answered, he started his spiel. “Yes, this is Ward Blackstone. I'm with
People,
and I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“I'll certainly try, Mr. Blackstone,” the woman answered cordially, wondering what was wrong with the poor man's voice. “What can I do for you?”

“We are planning a feature on girls who have dropped out of school during their freshman year. We want to find out what they are doing ten years later. You know, whether they finished college, what kinds of jobs they have, that sort of thing. Specifically, we want the names of girls who attended the first semester of college in 1985, but did not return for the 1986 semester.”

“I'm sorry, sir. That information is confidential. There is a Student's Privacy Act that forbids us from handing out any data on students without their written permission.”

“Well, how can I get the student's permission when I don't have the name?”

“I'm sorry, sir. You can check with Student Affairs if you wish. However, I know they are going to tell you the same thing.”

“Who would I speak with in Student Affairs?”

“That would be Stephen Carter.”

“What is your name? I may want to get back to you after visiting with Mr. Carter. Will you be in all day? We haven't had any trouble at other Kansas schools, so perhaps something can be worked out.”

“It's Slimmer. Harriet Slimmer,” the woman answered, pleased that she had been the one to take this important call. “And I'll be here most of the day. I do have a dentist appointment at one o'clock, but that shouldn't take long. If you can get permission, I'll only be too glad to help, Mr. Blackstone.”

“You've been most helpful already,” he answered her. “I'll be in touch, Miss Slimmer.”

At exactly five minutes past one, he called the registrar's office once more. “This is Stephen Carter from Student Affairs. I'd like to speak to Harriet Slimmer.”

“I'm sorry,” a young voice answered. “But Miss Slimmer is out of the office. Could I help you?”

“Yes. Just give her a message. Tell her she is to give Ward Blackstone from
People
the information he is requesting. He needs the names immediately, and will call back at three o'clock. She should have them ready to give him over the phone. I'm going to be gone the rest of the day, so be certain you get this message right.”

“Yes, Mr. Carter. I have it all written down.”

“Oh, one more thing—if she has a current employer or address for the girls, he could use that, also.”

“Yes, sir. I'll see Miss Slimmer gets the message.”

He thanked her and hung up the telephone. It wasn't the best plan in the world. There were a dozen things that could go wrong. The most obvious, would be if the woman and the girl discussed the condition of the caller's voice. He had better make the three o'clock call from a pay phone to be on the safe side.

*   *   *

Shortly before lunchtime, Jason finally got up enough courage to confront his teacher. He looked up at her with big, woeful eyes. “Momma had to go to the hospital this morning—for three days. The older kids can stay at home, but she said I was too little. I told her you would let me stay at your house. Is that okay?”

“Oh, Jason,” Audra said, silently cussing a mother who would not at least confirm such an arrangement. “I don't know—so much is going on in my life right now.”

“
Please
Miss Delaney! I won't be any trouble. I even know how to cook—a little. And I can carry your books, and take out the trash,” he smiled up at her. “I know we'd get along great!”

“Well, that's not it at all, Jason. Of course I'd love to have you, but—”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Delaney!” Jason wrapped his arms around her legs. “I just knew you would say yes. I told Momma you were the nicest lady in the whole world!”

“Now wait a minute, young man. I didn't say y—”

Jason interrupted quickly. “Momma was worried half to death that you wouldn't want me, but I told her you would. She was so sick, and I said, ‘Don't you worry about a thing, Momma. Miss Delaney will look after me.'”

Audra knew when she was licked. “Well, I guess it will be all right, Jason. I'll call your mother and tell her not to be concerned, that you can stay with me.”

“We can't reach her today, she's having lots of tests, but I promised to call the number she gave me tonight.”

“Well, all right then. If you're certain that is the way she wants it.”

He beamed at her. “Oh, yes. I'm certain!”

*   *   *

By lunchtime, Gerald had made three trips to the kindergarten room trying, unsuccessfully, to bring Audra back into line. Now he waited in the hallway as the children filed out on their way to the cafeteria for their noon meal. William's was structured entirely different from public schools. Here, the kindergarten class was an all day affair, the same as the other grades. And to meet the nutritional needs of the students in all eight grades, three meals were served each day. Students were required to partake of the noon meal, and anyone wishing breakfast or an evening meal had only to show up. It helped the students, and it removed a large financial burden from their low-income parents.

Usually, the teachers at William's brown bagged it, or brought a tray from the kitchen back to their room or the large teachers' lounge. They were not required to supervise in the cafeteria. In fact, the founder of William's set the program up in this manner, not for the particular benefit of the teachers, but to give the students a break.

In Gerald's opinion, too much of school policy was geared towards the rights of the students. But the schools kept winning awards for excellence, and there was no disputing their track record. Of the six schools located in Kansas and Colorado, their alumni included three U. S. senators, ten lawyers, eight doctors, a physicist, numerous teachers, and a wide assortment of other prominent people. The poverty cycle for many families was broken unquestionably at William's.