Dying to Teach (3 page)

How could Evan’s lens case get in the teacher’s lounge? Two ways only. One was that, for some reason he’d been there and dropped it. The only other way was for somebody to have planted it there. Kiana smiled. The decision to investigate was only hours old and yet she’d already become cynical and suspicious.

The hows and whys of Evan’s contact lenses would have to wait till later. Right now, talking to Mr. Reynolds was most important. Kiana stowed the case in her purse and started for Mr. Reynolds’ office—then realized she’d forgotten the most important item and went back to retrieve the yellow lined notepad. She’d spent the wee hours of the morning and the whole route to school jotting notes. It had been hard writing and walking, and crying, at the same time, but time had been of the essence.

As expected, Mr. Reynolds was in his “thinking room” a private outdoor area behind his regular office. She wished she had a place like this, somewhere to think and write plays, to be alone. Today seemed kind of cold to be sitting outside, but when the state instituted their no-smoking policy, he tried to quit. And failed. Several times. So, the school put in this really cool patio.

Kiana raced down the brick path gripping the yellow lined notepad. Mr. Reynolds had a cell phone on one ear, but he smiled and gestured for her to sit. She spent the time checking out the surroundings so not to look like she was listening in on his call. The air nipped at her fingers; she jammed them under her thighs. Through the school windows, she watched kids settling into classrooms and thought about the one thing that almost kept her home buried under a mountain of blankets—Gwen Forest.

The TV news said only that she was found dead in her apartment. Nothing about the way she died. In the long run Kiana  guessed it didn’t matter. Gwen was dead. Dead. Even the word sounded final.

The whole awful event couldn’t be real. Soon, she’d wake up and find it was all a vicious nightmare. All that mattered—everything Gwen lived for—was helping kids, making their lives better. Okay, okay, don’t think about it. Nothing could be done now, except find out who killed her. Make the killer pay. That thought had sent Kiana scurrying to the principal’s office with what she deemed the best idea she’d ever had.

“I know how much you cared for her.”

She startled back to reality. Mr. Reynolds’ cell phone lay atop a pile of mail near his left hand.

Kiana blinked back the sadness that wanted to gush out. She nodded and set the notebook on the table. No need to read from it—the contents remained indelibly etched in her mind.

“H-how did she die?”

Immediately his eyes left hers and focused on something at the other side of the table.

“Mr. Reynolds. Tell me.”

“Kiana, I…”

“I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Slowly, he nodded. Of course she’d find out. Tonight it would be all over the news. Reporters would be crowding the school doors as the kids left that afternoon. Surprising that the cops weren’t clomping throughout the building.

“You have to promise to keep this to yourself. Don’t let word come out in school. Especially don’t let it be known I told you.” He took in a long breath and let it out with the words, “A tube of makeup was shoved in her mouth. And taped there. She suffocated.”

Kiana gripped the arms of the chair. She would not pass out. She would not throw up. Even though the news warranted doing one, or both.

Mr. Reynolds touched her hand. “I know how close you two were. And I know it won’t do much to make you feel better under the circumstances but Gwen once told me you were like a daughter to her.”

Nice to hear. Very nice. Kiana had felt the same.

“Was that why you came—to find out how she died?”

“No.” How to start the conversation? She wasn’t known for tact. It was more her nature to blurt what crossed her mind. But she had a fabulous idea that needed to be broached with care. “I want to find out who killed Gw— Ms. Forest.”

“We all do, dear. We all do.”

“No. What I mean is, I want to put together a group of us kids—three or four—to find out who did it.” She tapped the notebook. “I made a list of people we should talk to, questions we should ask, clues we could look for. Things like that.”

His brows twitched. That meant he was confused.

“The group can talk to the other students. To teachers. Gather information to give the police. Sort of undercover. You know?”

Mr. Reynolds’ brow smoothed out, but now his forehead wrinkled. That meant he was about to say no. “On the surface it sounds like a good idea, and I applaud your ingenuity. But I’m sure you know I cannot condone it. You’re here to do schoolwork, to learn.”

She’d expected that reaction. Mr. Reynolds was the type who needed to let something simmer a while before he acted on it. A good quality, she guessed. No blurting out of things better left unsaid. No spontaneous actions he might regret later.

“Let the authorities do their jobs.”

“Their jobs?” Kiana kept herself from erupting out of the flower-cushioned seat. She did allow herself to lean forward. “Mr. Reynolds, if they were doing their jobs, they’d be tearing this place apart right now. Can’t you see, that t-tube of makeup had to come from here. Where else? This school—our drama department—was Ms. Forest’s life.” Kiana sat back in the chair and forced herself to calm down. She gripped the chair arms and flattened her feet on the brick walk. “That’s the benefit our investigatory group would have. Kids aren’t gonna talk to police and you know it. I think—no, I know, our group can get information the cops can’t.”

He shook his head. “I can’t give you permission. It’s too dangerous.”

Now she was confused. “Dangerous?”

“Has it dawned on you that, as unrealistic as it sounds, the killer just might be here among us?”

“Of course I’ve thought of it. It’s all I
can
think about.” She tapped the notebook on the table. “I was up all night making these notes.”

“Do you realize that, if he was willing to kill Gwen, for whatever reason, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you?”

Why would anybody consider kids a threat? Adults rarely deemed kids’ opinions worth listening to. That’s why her plan was perfect, foolproof. That’s what had been so special about Ms. Forest; she listened. She cared. And for that reason alone Kiana would—find out who killed her. Obviously there was no use arguing with him. Good idea to let him think about this and talk more later.

She picked up the notebook and stood, pushing the chair with the backs of her knees.

“Wait,” said Mr. Reynolds, “I do have some good news.”

Though the only good news would be finding Ms. Forest’s murderer, she let herself sink back into the chair.

“I have asked someone to come help out with all this. I can’t say more right now but I’ll have news later. After lunch.”

His blue eyes made direct contact with hers. Was he telling the truth?

Yes. He was. Kiana felt a glimmer of hope.

Just then, those blue orbs flickered away. Almost immediately they returned to rest on hers. But that infinitesimal flicker said one thing: his truth was tinged with some doubt.

“I promise. I’ll send for you later. Now, scoot off to class before you’re—” The final bell rang. He smiled. “Before you’re
too
late.”

Kiana walked back into the school and through his office. She said good morning to his secretary Miss Shaw and hurried to her locker for books to get through the morning classes. She kept the notebook handy, in case more ideas popped up. Of course she was disappointed Mr. Reynolds hadn’t been more receptive to the plan. What could she expect though, he had a school to run, a couple thousand kids to protect.

Maybe after he had time to think.

No matter. She didn’t really need his blessing. Though it would’ve been nice.

He hadn’t said what he planned, or who was coming. Pressing for information would have been a waste of time. Mr. Reynolds wouldn’t be swayed by cajoling.

Just as Kiana stepped into calculus class, she realized: he hired a detective, somebody to infiltrate the staff, dig out information and suck out secrets. What a great idea! That principal was really on the ball. Who could it be? Was there a modern day Sherlock Holmes or a real-time Jessica Fletcher here in New Hampshire? Kiana couldn’t help feeling excited. What remained confusing was why he’d turn down a teen investigatory group. It could only be an asset.

She settled into her chair behind Evan Harris, one of her writing partners on the upcoming performance. He smiled up from the math book. For two years he’d had a crush a mile wide. So far she’d been able to sidestep his veiled but oh-so-obvious hints at something more. Why, she didn’t know. He was handsome—one of the most sought after guys in school—but she didn’t feel that way about him. Gwen said she was just nervous, that dating other boys would help smooth that over. So she took the advice and let Tommy Jones take her to a dance at the rec center. And let Tyler Brown take her to a pep rally. Both boys ended the dates with an attempt at something more—and that’s where the problem lay. Boys wanted what boys wanted. Kiana wasn’t interested in sex. At this stage, outlets like the drama club and the honor society were more rewarding, would potentially provide a better future.

One of these days, Evan would ask her out. Till then his infatuation could remain in the background. But because of his feelings, he’d jump at joining the investigatory group. He might not be the best at digging for clues because he was more the type who had to be led, but he was great at logic and very organized. Yes, he’d be a good asset to the group. Now, who else to ask?

The math teacher’s sharp, “Miss Smith?” made her sit up straight. From the tone, it was clear the teacher had spoken more than once. Add that to the snickers coming from around the room and Kiana felt herself blushing. Good thing she had dark skin, the flush didn’t show as much.

She spent the class adding to the notes on the yellow pad. Finally the bell rang. As the throng flowed through the hallway, she tugged Evan to the sidelines and broached the idea of the group. At first he balked using the same excuse as Mr. Reynolds—that it might be dangerous. But before she could deluge him with the benefits of such an investigation, that wonderful, toothy grin spread across his face.

“Meetcha at lunch, we’ll talk about it.”

“Can’t, I have something to do. Let’s meet at the coffee shop at three.” Kiana jammed a copy of the page from the notepad into his hand. “See if you can get Todd to come.”

“Are you kidding, Kee? No way. The only thing on his mind lately is Jennifer.”

Kiana laughed at the way he wrinkled his nose and inserted a snooty tone to Jennifer’s name. “You’re right. Try Dawson.”

“Nope, he’s too busy with football practice.”

Frustrated she started to move away. Evan touched her arm and she stopped. “Don’t you think it would be better if just the two of us did this?”

She almost laughed. Evan would do anything to be alone with her.

“Less chance for word to get out. Less danger.” After a couple seconds of hesitation, he added, “Less people for the killer to go after.” Evan said it so matter-of-factly he might’ve been giving a sports score.

Though the logical side of her threatened to spurt out, she nodded. “You’re right. Stupid to put others in danger.” She pointed to the page clutched in his fingers. “See what you think of my ideas. Add more.”

Again she started away. Again she stopped. Something was different about him. As she pondered what it might be, he wrinkled his nose again. Ah yes. “How come you’re wearing glasses?”

“Can’t find my contact lenses. I looked for them Saturday morning, thought I left them in my locker. Trouble is, they weren’t there either.”

“I know how careful you are with them.”

He gave a short laugh. “Took me long enough to convince my parents to let me wear the things. If they find out I lost them, which they’re sure to do when they see the glasses.” He made a slashing motion with his hand near his throat.

Kiana snapped open the clasp on her handbag and reached inside. Evan would be happy to get the lenses back. As her hand touched the case, her mind worked on a way to ask how he’d come to be in the teacher’s lounge. But just then Mr. Reynolds stepped through the crowd of kids.

From an instinct borne of years of being shooed from loitering in the hallways, Evan stepped back. “See you later,” he called over his shoulder.

As Kiana went her own way, she became glad for the diversion. The more she thought about that lens case, the more questions arose. Like: Did Evan really know where he’d lost it and was afraid to admit it? What on earth was he doing in the teacher’s lounge?

If he
did
remember where he lost the case, and she returned it, he’d know where she got it, which would raise questions in
his
mind. If—and this was really stretching things—if he was the killer, then his doubts about her would grow and fester and…well, she might just find herself in the same predicament as Gwen.

THREE

At 12:32, Angie pulled into the crowded parking lot of Carlson South High School. Most of the cars were older models probably belonging to first-time drivers. She slipped the Lexus into a vacant spot close to the faculty lot, finished the last of a congealed packet of fries, crumpled the wrapper and stuffed it into the side pocket of her briefcase, then gathered briefcase and iced coffee and got out.

During the drive she had decided this change of schedule might be a good thing, and now even felt a little excited. She’d be working with teens, away from the diva with the overblown ego. Tyson could either handle her or fire her—his choice. That’s how they’d left it as she headed south an hour and a half ago.

The sign over a doorway to the right of the wide entrance said Principal Reynolds. Angie straightened her rayon skirt and ducked inside. A cute, redheaded secretary greeted her with a wide, bleached white smile. A plaque on the desk said Lorraine Shaw, secretary. “Hi. Randy’s in his thinking room. He’s expecting you.”

Thinking room? Angie couldn’t keep from chuckling as she followed Ms. Shaw into a neat, shiny and quite empty office. The secretary shot a curious glance over her shoulder.