Dying to Teach (9 page)

“Yet.”

They waited till their substitute teacher left then did likewise.

* * * *

At school, it wasn’t hard finding an unlocked door. They walked quietly along the freshly polished tile floor, listening for the location of the pair of janitors who worked all hours of the night. Kiana and Evan made it to the auditorium without meeting, or hearing anyone.

“Any idea how we’re going to get into the office?” Evan asked.

Kiana took a small string of keys from her pocket. “One day, a long time ago, Ms. Forest was out sick. She asked me to bring something from her office and gave me the key. I realized yesterday that I’d forgotten to give it back.”

“Did you forget on purpose?”

“’Course not,” she lied. She
had
kept that key on purpose. Possession of it would keep her closer to the one person in her life who treated her like an adult.

They shut the office door and locked it, then stood there taking in the small spartanly finished room.

“Where do we start?” Evan asked.

“You check the closet, I’ll look in the desk. Make sure you check everything: coat pockets and things like that.”

“You want me to tear out seams and dig into makeup containers for microdots?”

“Don’t be a wise guy.”

Kiana walked around the beat-up desk, with the lineup of mousetraps across the front. She grinned recalling how Mrs. Deacon had discovered one of them on a chair—the chair she or Evan usually used. “Wonder why Mrs. Deacon put the traps like this.”

Evan turned from his search of the closet. “Maybe as a message to the person who put them here. You know, ‘Don’t mess with me.’”

“Yes, but why in here? The office is locked all the time. She’s the only person who’ll see them.”

“Dunno.”

The only other things on the desk were what she’d expect: a stapler, a coffee mug holding pens and pencils, and a blotter decorated with notes in Ms. Forest’s precise handwriting in the small calendar squares. Funny that there was nothing personal—no dentist appointments, no secret late-night dates, just stuff like the date all costumes had to be ready, the date of the final dress rehearsal.

Only one thing marred the blotter’s perfect appearance: Friday and Saturday nights, the dates of their performance. The dates they hoped to save the school’s drama program. Three days from today. The days were circled so many times in red ink that the pen had worn through the page. Kiana smiled. Nice to see the date was as important to Ms. Forest as it was to them. Just then, she realized that no matter what happened this weekend, Ms. Forest’s death would most certainly signal the end of the drama program. She had been the glue that held the whole thing together; she was the connection between the kids and the school board. Kiana swallowed the sadness and wondered whether to change high schools. Rumor had it that Nashua had a good drama program. Maybe she could transfer there. She’d need the credits and the experience to qualify for Greensboro College’s advanced program.

“Hey, should we coordinate our stories in case somebody comes in?” Evan asked.

“They won’t care; we’re here after hours all the time.”

“
With
Ms. Forest.”

“Yes, but we’re still preparing for a performance.”

“Right.” The single word was spoken a little hoarsely. Evan ducked back into the closet. His top half disappeared inside. Kiana wondered if he was hiding tears.

“Nothing in here,” came the soft words, “except that yellow jacket Ms. Forest always wore.”

Gwen wore that jacket all the time. Kiana swallowed a lump and went back to business. She’d worry about the program and her education later. Probably thinking about school was a waste of time anyway. The only place her parents could afford to send her was right here in the state. None of the colleges had
any
accredited drama courses. Which might solidify her parents’ desire to keep her out of the theater altogether.

Kiana pulled open the middle drawer. Nothing important here, just office and theater stuff: push pins, highlighters, a bag of rubber bands, a box of staples. The top left drawer held a half a ream of paper, though there was no printer or computer in the room. The next drawer held a coffee mug, really out of place since Ms. Forest didn’t drink coffee or tea. Was it a clue? Kiana nearly laughed. Probably not.

The drawers on the other side yielded no clues either.

Every teacher she knew kept personal things around their classrooms. Things like pictures of their families, a book to read during breaks, a spare pair of shoes. But there was nothing here to indicate Ms. Forest even had a personal life. Kiana circled away from the desk. Her hip caught on the corner of the blotter and dragged it part way off the desk. A rectangular piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Just then Evan came out of the closet. He spotted the paper and scurried to retrieve it for Kiana. A real gentleman. He handed it to her but remained peering over her shoulder at a photograph. It was in color but obviously not taken recently. The couple, probably in their late teens, stood in front of a stately brick building under a pair of spreading maple trees.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Ms. Forest. Her hair’s longer, and she’s wearing bangs that cover her eyes, but it looks like her.”

“Gotta be, look at that mole near her left ear.”

“That’s her all right. But who’s the guy?” Kiana leaned in closer. The man was about six feet tall with thick-rimmed glasses, long hair and a beard. Their arms were companionably around each other.

“He looks familiar,” Evan said.

“Wish we had one of those computer programs that can remove hair.”

“He sure has a lot of it.” Evan laughed. “In the movies, guys dressed like that are hiding their identity.”

“Looks like they’re in front of a school.”

“A college maybe. Where did Ms. Forest go to school?”

“Two places. Bridgewater State. It’s in Massachusetts. After that she went to the University of California.”

“This doesn’t look like California. You think it’s Massachusetts? What kind of trees are those?”

“Duh. They’re maples.” Kiana slid the photo into her back jeans pocket. “Did you find anything in the closet?”

“Nothing much. A change of clothes, a sweatsuit, an umbrella, and a pair of running shoes. Before you ask, there was nothing in any of the pockets. And I didn’t find any microfilm.”

Kiana crossed to the old sofa against the far wall. Ms. Forest had bought it at a yard sale for ten dollars. She’d borrowed Mr. Chalmers’ pickup truck then asked Kiana and Evan to help haul it in here. It was an ugly piece of furniture, but Ms. Forest said it filled up the space and provided a good place to read manuscripts and things like that. Kiana knelt on the floor and looked under the couch. Nothing but a warren of dust bunnies.

With no place else to look, the teens left the office. They searched the costume room, poking into pockets and shaking shoes. They did a more thorough search of the storage closet though there was really no point to any of it, the cops had been here already. From the mess she and the others had cleaned up that morning, they hadn’t missed anything.

Again, Evan voiced Kiana’s thoughts. “Darn, I really hoped we’d find something.”

“Maybe we did with the photo.”

“You sure we should’ve taken it? Maybe we should just make a—”

“What photo?”

The teens spun at the sound of an intruder’s voice. There stood one of the janitors—the skinny one with the silly mustache. Kiana couldn’t recall ever hearing his name. Not that it mattered. He held a mop in one hand and a look on his face like he might consider using it as a weapon.

“Hi,” said Evan, always the master of dialogue. “We were getting the costumes ready.”

“Were you now?”

Kiana jumped in to help Evan. “You know, for the performance this weekend.”

“Yes,” said Evan, “the one to save the drama program.”

The termination of the program was obviously news to the man so Kiana used it to bolster their case. She launched into a long-winded monologue about the death of the program because of waning funds. “Now that Ms. Forest is…gone,” she said with true sadness, “I—we don’t know what’ll happen regardless of how things turn out this weekend.”

“Happening all over the place,” the man said.

“That’s right,” Evan said. “My dad’s hours got cut at work. You’re probably worried about your job too. I have an idea, why don’t I tell all the kids to mess things up before we go home every day. Give you some job security.”

“You kids couldn’t leave it worse than you do. Between graffiti on the bathroom walls and trash in the classrooms, my job is secure.”

Kiana bit her tongue to keep from mentioning the dirt under the office couch and the microwave table in the teachers’ lounge.

“Well,” Evan said, clearly not ready to give up the topic, “you hear all the time about job cuts and people forced to do the work of two people.”

The janitor nodded solemnly.

“What do you think Kiana,” said Evan, “do the costumes seem okay to you?”

“All except Dan’s. We’ve got to get his slacks mended.”

Not missing a beat, Evan added, “Yeah. And don’t forget your—did you know Kiana was the leading lady?” to which the janitor shook his head. “Don’t forget that necklace you were going to borrow from your aunt.”

“Gosh, I should write that down.” She found a pad of paper on the table and scribbled NECKLACE in large letters. “Okay, I guess we’re through here. Ready Evan?”

He nodded. Kiana stepped around the janitor keeping one eye on that mop.

“Before you go,” said the janitor, “tell me about that photograph you stole.”

NINE

Angie had been surprised to see Kiana and Evan in the coffee shop. Kiana had said they weren’t dating, yet there they were. Should she go say hello? Was there an out-of-school protocol regarding teacher/student interaction? She didn’t know, but one thing was clear, they were engrossed in something. Angie hoped, but didn’t believe, it had nothing to do with schoolwork, even though there was a notebook on the table between them.

Back in her car, she’d set the coffee in the holder and the bag holding tomorrow morning’s muffin on the passenger seat. As she waited for a break in traffic Evan and Kiana had come out of the shop, climbed on a copper colored motorcycle and motored away—toward the school. Possible that either or both of them lived that way but instinct told Angie they were doing what they were explicitly told not to do—investigate.

Her plan had been to pick up Chinese take-out and spend the evening reading Prince & Pauper manuscripts. And talking to Jarvis on the phone. Last month, except for four days he was gone to a conference, they’d spent every second together. That was another reason she was glad for this side job; she’d thought she needed some space. But two days away had her missing his infectious smile and comradic elbow nudges. She even missed that silly deerstalker hat.

Angie wound the steering wheel to the right and followed Evan’s motorcycle. Two blocks later, she lost it in traffic. For a few blocks she searched up and down, then wondered if they’d gone back to school.

No bike in the main parking lot, which brought a bit of relief…until the insistent little voice—a veritable nuisance during investigations—chimed in,
they wouldn’t park out in the open
. Angie drove around the school. The teen’s vehicle wasn’t in the east lot.

But it
was
tucked in a corner near the gymnasium. Nobody in sight.

Angie parked too and went to the closest heavy metal door. Locked.

By the time she found an unlocked entry, more than a half hour had passed since she’d seen them in the coffee shop. She tiptoed along the corridors toward the auditorium. As soon as she stepped inside she heard voices. Strange because she’d expect the kids to be as quiet as possible. Well, they were novices, weren’t they? Exactly the reason she’d warned them to let authorities handle things.

She eased down the aisle, up onto the apron, then along the small hallway leading to the backstage rooms. Ahead, the hallway widened into the green room. Three shadows showed on the left hand wall.

Three?

Perhaps Kiana and Evan had met somebody—Kiana
had
mentioned forming a
group
of teens to investigate.

The third shadow, a male, loomed taller. Probably he stood closer to the doorway. He held something long and narrow in his right hand. He wasn’t brandishing it like a weapon, but the clench of his hand on it left no doubt he considered using it as such.

An unfamiliar male voice said, “Before you go, tell me about that photograph you stole.”

Two voices—those of Evan and Kiana—claimed to know nothing about a picture.

Angie had no idea what photograph they referred to but it was clear the man wanted to take it. She tiptoed back to the stage apron, then retraced the route with deliberate
hope they hear me
footsteps along the hallway and into the green room.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught in traffic.” She pretended to notice the man dressed like a janitor. He was of average height with short-cropped dark hair and a pencil thin mustache. She papered on a smile. “Hello. Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name, I’m Gwen Forest’s replacement.” Angie stretched a hand toward him.

He transferred what she now saw was a mop, to his left hand, and shook hers. “Linc. Lincoln Underwood.”

“Nice to meet you, Linc. Don’t tell me,” she acted surprised, “are you here to try out for a part in our play?”

He shook his head. “I’m no actor. I’m the janitor. B-but I—”

Angie reached into her handbag and came out with the sapphire necklace Cilla had given her. She handed it to Kiana. “I got that jewelry we needed. Check it out. I think it’ll go perfectly with that costume. Evan, your mother called my cell a few minutes ago. I told her you were on the way home.” Now Angie turned to the janitor. “Sorry if we disturbed your cleaning. We’ll get out of the way.”

Angie spun on a heel and started along the hallway, hearing the rushed footsteps of the kids following. She ignored the janitor’s, “But wait. Those kids—”