Dying to Teach (4 page)

“Sorry,” Angie said. “When I was little, my grandmother referred to the bathroom as Grampa’s thinking place.”

Apparently Ms. Shaw didn’t see the humor. She continued toward the far corner of the room, and then outside through a door that looked like it’d been cut as an afterthought in the cinderblock wall. They followed a curving, brick lined path.

Randy’s thinking room turned out to be a small patio area nestled between clusters of small trees, weeping cherry, birch, and a pair of Japanese maples. It was cool and shady even though the October day bordered on sultry. Randy perched on the edge of a chair at a round glass table. A laptop computer sat on the table before him. The homepage of WMUR news was on the screen. He was reading the story about Gwen Forest.

He half-stood and shook hands with Angie. The secretary asked if he needed anything. He noticed Angie’s iced coffee then requested coffee for himself. Once the secretary left, he gestured for her to sit.

She set her cup on the table and briefcase on the bricks, then settled into a chair across from him. He had a pleasant looking face; clean-shaven with striking blue-green eyes. His dark brown hair glinted red highlights in the sun. His suit was nice but not expensive.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I could hardly refuse your impassioned plea.”

“You mean my begging.” He broke eye contact to gaze at something over her left shoulder. She wrestled with herself a moment, considering whether to look at what had captured his attention. After all, he had invited her here. Let her think this was a most important thing. Finally she could resist no longer; she turned to see a chickadee flitting from one birch branch to another. That was it—a bird?

Okay, so he’s nervous. Angie waited and after another minute he tore his attention from the little bird. “I’m sorry to do this to you. I’m just desperate. Gwen was—well, she was a lot of things: my confidant, my friend. As a matter of fact, she got me the job here. I guess I should go back a bit further. We were married…seventeen years ago. It only lasted a year—we were young, over our heads in love. But love can’t survive some of the things we had to deal with that year. We divorced but remained friends. The job of principal came open five years ago.” He waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we ended up in the same school. Gwen heads—headed—our drama program. The faculty loved her. What’s more important is that the kids loved her. When the school board announced plans to shut down a number of the school’s extracurricular activities, she and the kids took it upon themselves to stage this fundraiser performance to try and keep the program intact. I’m sure you can see, it’s imperative you find… It’s imperative the show is a success—so Gwen didn’t die in vain.”

“I understand.”

“I hope your hotel room is all right.”

“I haven’t checked in yet. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“They said it was on the fifth floor.”

“Fifth?”

“Fifth’s not good? I can have it changed.”

“The fifth is fine. Actually, it’s perfect. Every morning I go jogging. Not sure I’ll feel safe doing it in the city so I’ll take the stairs.”

“Right. Right.” Randy looked truly perplexed. “Where do you want to begin?” He didn’t wait for her to speak. He reached into a folder beside the computer and came up with a thick sheaf of papers. “You can have my copy of the manuscript.”

The title was Adrift. Not too telling as to the genre. The secretary arrived with the coffee. While she filled Randy in on something happening in the school, Angie started reading.

“What do you think?” Randy asked.

She let the pages snap shut. “Catchy opening. Solid characters. I can’t wait to read more.” And she meant it.

A self-satisfied expression danced across Randy’s face. She wanted to say there was more to all this than a few compelling pages in a script but instead took a couple of sips of the coffee. Then she slid the manuscript into her briefcase and stood up. Time to get to work.

Randy called to the secretary, who was just disappearing along the path. “Lorraine, please summon Kiana.” The secretary waved two fingers in acknowledgement. “You’re going to love Kiana Smith. This whole production was her brainchild. I don’t know how she did it—I suspect Gwen played a big part—but just before school shut down for the summer, Kiana and two other seniors convinced the school board to let the drama program remain open till Christmas. During summer vacation, the three of them wrote the play.” He tapped a finger on the plastic cover of the manuscript. “And…they oversaw the composition of the entire score.”

“They wrote the music?” Angie sat back in her chair and thinking about the horror-show of a score they had for their next production.

Randy shook his head. “Four boys from our school band who, last year, formed a band of their own. I haven’t personally heard them yet but they’ve done several paying gigs already.”

“They must be pretty good.”

“I’m not sure this play will help their musical aspirations since they’re a heavy metal group.”

“Are they part of the orchestra too?”

“They
are
the orchestra. By the way, I sat in on a rehearsal last week. I was utterly impressed that our small school could turn out such a talented group of students.”

“Quite a coup for your academia.”

“Yes. Which is a great reason
not
to lose the program. But first and foremost—” A movement to the right had Randy lowering his voice. “Kiana and Gwen were very close. I just want you to know.”

Angie nodded. “Gotcha.” She would tread lightly.

“It’s going to be tough around here without Gwen.”

“The police have any suspects in mind?”

“Not that I’ve been privy to. I was questioned extensively this morning. Apparently I was the last to see Gwen alive. We have—had a standing dinner date every Sunday evening.” He lowered his face but quickly recovered.

“Everything was all right?”

“Between us, you mean? Sure. Like usual.”

“No, I meant, was she acting all right? Did she seem upset about anything?”

He shook his head. “I keep going over all the times I’d been with her lately. All the people I’d seen her with. Trying to discern tiny bits of dialogue that seemed off, mannerisms that weren’t quite right. You know what I mean? But no, she acted the same as usual. No change. We talked about the play, the kids, her car—it needed ball joints. I offered to take her to drop it off,” his voice caught, “after school today.” He heaved a great sigh.

“And…”

“I can only think of one thing out of the ordinary.”

“And…” Angie repeated.

“It’s so farfetched.”

“Sometimes those clues turn out to be the case solvers.”

He laughed. “That’s how it always happens on TV. But I know TV cop shows are nothing like real life.”

“No.”

“It happened a few days before her death. There was a disagreement—well, it was more like a loud discussion. Between Gwen and Evan Harris. It’s just that—”

“That he’s a nice boy and you can’t see him committing murder.”

“Exactly.”

“Evan is one of the authors of the play. He wrote most of the musical score.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t—”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” He pulled in a couple of breaths then changed the subject. “She and Ted Chalmers—he’s our boys’ gym teacher and coach of the basketball team—have been seeing each other for quite some time. Everybody kept expecting them to announce their engagement.” He shrugged.

“How would you have felt about that?”

The question seemed to stymie him. Then he smiled. “Oh, you mean because Gwen and I were married. That was a long time ago. We got over it. She and Ted are—were a good match. You’ll like him. He’s tough but fair with the kids. Wants to make sure he gets all they’re worth. Gwen’s best friend was—”

Movement along the path signaled Kiana’s arrival. The girl was tall, at least two inches taller than Angie’s 5’7”, and carried herself like a princess, practically gliding toward them. She was dark skinned, maybe of Indian descent, with a tiny mole on her left cheek. Angie couldn’t help imagining this elegant girl in a flowing silk gown and turban.

He stood up. “Angie Deacon, I’d like to introduce Kiana Smith.”

The girl stepped closer, holding out her hand. Angie shook the clammy palm and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Kiana nodded, those dark searching eyes never leaving her face.

“Kiana,” said Randy, “this is the woman I mentioned. She’s taking over for Ms. Forest.”

A glimmer of confusion twitched at in the girl’s eyes. She opened her mouth as though to ask a question. To the side, Angie saw Randy give a discreet shake to his head.

Kiana closed her mouth and re-smiled. “It’ll be an honor to work with you.”

“Thank you. Shall we get started?” Angie stood.

“Thank you again for coming,” Randy said. “Please come see me before you leave. I’ll be anxious to hear what you come up with.”

What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Kiana waited for Angie to precede her along the path and back through Randy’s office.

The secretary looked up from a phone call and nodded at them. “Have a great day.”

Once the office door eased shut and they stepped into the empty hallway, Kiana’s pace picked up. Her heels, invisible beneath the hems of the acid-washed jeans, clicked on the checkerboard-tiled floor. Angie followed past classrooms with voices murmuring behind the closed doors, still wondering about Randy’s last words: I’ll be anxious to hear what you come up with.

Obviously he wanted her opinion about something. Must be she’d been thinking about Prince & Pauper’s diva and missed part of her job description. Probably he wanted to know what she thought about the production itself. Were things going smoothly? Was it professional? Would the first night sellout crowd guarantee a second and third sellout?

Still, the way he worded things—what she came up with—didn’t gel with that. Try as she might, she couldn’t connect his comments to producing a play. She decided to take a chance and appear dumb. “Kiana.”

The girl stopped walking. Her waist length black hair pendulumed around her as she turned to face Angie.

“Do you have any idea what Mr. Reynolds meant?”

“Excuse me?”

“He said he’d be anxious to hear what I come up with. I feel like I’ve missed something.”

A puzzled expression appeared on the mature-for-her-age face. “I am a little in the dark also. Mr. Reynolds said he’d mentioned you but the only thing he’d said was that he was bringing in someone to help solve Ms. Forest’s murder.”

Angie asked “What?” but it was more a knee-jerk reaction than surprise. She spun on a heel, leaving Kiana standing there opened-mouthed, and hurried as fast as she could on two-inch heels back to Randy’s office.

FOUR

Angie ran past Miss Shaw’s empty desk, through Randy’s office, and along the path to his thinking room. He was on the phone. He frowned seeing her rapid arrival, but quickly ended the call and laid the phone on the table.

She got her emotions under control with a few deep breaths, then said, “I want it made perfectly clear, I’m not here to perform a murder investigation.”

He shoved the phone away with his elbow. “But I thought—”

“You asked me to help see that the play went off smoothly. That’s all you asked.”

“But—”

“No buts, Randy. I am not investigating Gwen’s murder. That’s the job of the police.”

“But—”

“Wait just one cotton-picking minute! That’s why every time Tyson offered to come instead of me, you made an excuse: the mostly female cast, the trouble with fitting certain costumes, the—” Gosh, she felt like a fool…for letting her ego overshadow logical analysis of his words. “I think it would be best if I return to Alton and send Tyson in my place.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Randy, I’m
not
working on this case.”

“I can’t believe you can sit back knowing a fellow drama lover was murdered and not do anything about it.”

“The police are trained to detect. They
will
solve this. That’s my final word—er, words. Now, do I trade places with Tyson or will you let this drop?”

He sighed. And nodded. “I think you should know something though. Kiana is determined to investigate this on her own.”

Angie couldn’t hold in a grunt of frustration. “You
did
tell her how dangerous it could be—not only for her but for the school?”

“Of course. But she won’t listen. She was really close to Gwen. And, she’s very headstrong.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one. Angie moved slowly along the path, but the searing of his eyes on her spine had her pace increasing. Was he telling the truth about Kiana? Yes. In those few minutes with the girl, Angie had determined her to be exactly that—headstrong, and then some.

A serious Kiana met her at the outer door of Randy’s office. “Everything all right?”

“I hope so.”

“So you are
not
here to solve Ms. Forest’s murder?”

“That’s right.” Angie stopped and regrouped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound hard-hearted. I just need you to understand that I’m not a detective. And neither are you.”

A flicker of hesitation raced across Kiana’s features. “I saw you on television last month.”

“My name got mentioned in a couple of murders because I’m seeing a police detective. He did the work, not me. Understand?”

Kiana gave a grim nod and opened the door to the dark auditorium. The only light filtered in from the hallway where they stood. Angie hadn’t felt uncomfortable telling Randy off, but did feel bad alienating this innocent girl who only cared about finding who’d killed her mentor. Angie wanted to lecture about the pitfalls of private citizens investigating but the words would fall unheeded into the air. Teens thought themselves indestructible, infallible. It would be years before the reality of life’s situations intruded on the girl.

Kiana entered the arena without turning on a light. She stopped a few feet down the long aisle and gazed out over the rows of silhouetted chairs and the massive stage, hulking like a monster. Angie inhaled the scent that seemed prevalent in all theaters: furniture polish, stale air, and fabric. Not a pleasant scent to most people but it was part of what made up Angie Deacon, and obviously Kiana Smith.