Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1) (2 page)

I TOOK THE SHOT. It wasn't perfect timing, but the bullet still found its way to the man's skull. His wife screamed. I took aim at her heart—the one that led her to live in Murray and broke as she saw her husband collapse—and pulled the trigger. She dropped as if she had no skeletal structure and crumpled to the ground.

Then, that woman got out of her truck. She was wearing business clothes, light brown hair, undoubtedly a good person who didn't deserve to die.

But I knew.

She was going to look over here. She was going to see me. She was a witness.

I aimed at her truck window. I just needed to distract her long enough to run away. Just as I pulled the trigger, a man ran and tackled the woman, saving her from a shot that wouldn't have even hit her. It took me a moment to recognize the man. Dr. Meadows.

I eyed her truck again and continued to shoot until my shotgun was empty. That should scare them enough to be unable to give the police a coherent testimony. I put the shotgun in a canvas case and slid the strap over my shoulder. I got onto my bike and rode deep into the woods.

~~~~~

"I'M GOING TO GO SEE if I can find where the killer was shooting from," I tell Grace. She frowns, still holding the cell phone up to her ear.

"How can you be sure he's gone?"

"Because if he wasn't gone, we would both be dead."

"You don't know that," she says. "He could just be waiting for the two of us to leave or he's hiding. I wouldn't go."

"I'm going before he can get rid of any evidence. You can stay here."

"The operator said we should go to one of the houses."

"That's good advice," I say. "You should go."

I cross the road and jog about thirty yards until I reach the woods. I scan around the edge of the woods, trying to find any area that shows a disturbance. When I don't find anything, I walk deeper into the woods, being careful not to step on any evidence.

I find the faintest boot print in the mud. I use a stick to move the wet leaves away from it until I can find where the toe points. I follow its direction.

I hear a rustle of leaves behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Grace is following me. Her hair, which seemed dark blond in the sunlight now appears almond brown under the leaves of the forest, gets caught in a hanging branch. She untangles it.

"Aren't your feet getting wet?" I ask.

"Ugh." She lifts her left foot to show that mud covers most of her shoe.

"Weren't you on the phone with the operator?"

"I was," she says. "But they already know where to come and I wasn't going to follow you with a phone held up to my ear."

"You didn't need to follow me. You could have taken my car and left. I would have just called someone to pick me up later."

"This guy tried to kill me," she says. "I'm a bit invested. What's your excuse for chasing after a murderer?"

"He killed two people in my town. I knew both of them. Azlan and Aisha Khouri. Mr. Khouri had a heart attack about four months ago, so I've been seeing him since then."

The sound of the crinkling leaves stops. I turn around to see Grace standing still, her flats soaked by the saturated ground.

"You're a doctor?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'm a cardiologist. Is that surprising?" I continue to walk and I hear her footsteps behind me.

"You're just…not what I picture when I think of doctors."

"How do you picture doctors?"

"Old. White hair. Glasses with a look of condescension."

"That would be my father," I say.

"Is your father a cardiologist, too?"

I shake my head, trying to hold back a scowl. She doesn't know. It's not her fault for being ignorant about my personal history. "He's a dentist."

I stop. The leaves and the mud are trampled behind two rocks. I kneel behind the disturbed area. I pretend to hold a gun. The intersection of the rocks would be a perfect place to level a rifle or a shotgun.

~~~~~

Two policemen hover around the bodies of Azlan and Aisha Khouri. A third man in khakis and a white button-up shirt—possibly a detective—kneels next to the bodies with a medical examiner.

"It looks like the killer used a large caliber gun," the detective mumbles.

An old Volkswagen Beetle slows down. The window lowers and John Seoh sticks his head out.

"What the hell happened?" he asks. His daughter works for me as a receptionist on weekends, and he's a general practitioner who has recommended half of my patients to me. He's the closest thing I have to a friend.

"Two people were killed," I mutter. It's hard to use words to explain what happened.
Killed
is such a short word. I want to say that their lives were cut short, but even that fails to explain what truly happened.

The police wave him forward and he keeps driving. The policemen have blocked off the area with tape and blocked the bodies with their cars. I'm glad. Nobody needs to see this.

"So, was the woman or man shot first?" the policeman asks.

"I drove by before the first shot went off," Grace says. They both look over at me.

I shake my head, trying to get the image of the deceased couple out of my mind. "The man was shot first."

"Then what happened?" the policeman asks.

"I saw Miss—Grace—get out of her car at the same time the woman was shot. I…I was afraid that she was going to get shot. I mean, if everyone else in the area was getting shot, it seemed likely that she would, too. So, I bolted out of my car and…pulled her down to the ground."

"That's when the killer started shooting my truck," Grace says. "We waited until the shooting stopped."

The policeman turns to me. "And then you went to check the woods for evidence, Dr. Meadows?"

I nod. "If the culprit was still there or if there was any evidence there…I wanted to make sure no one would get hurt by him again."

"Dr. Meadows," the police officer says. "We respect you around here, but it's not advisable that you chase after murderers."

"I understand," I lie. It may not be sane to chase after murderers, but it certainly seems like the right decision. Who lets a murderer escape?

"Miss…Ellery. We will need to impound your truck as evidence," he says. "I'd suggest you take your purse or anything else you need. Both of you should know that we may need to question you later."

"Of course," she says.

I nod. She takes her purse—which looks more like a small, red messenger bag—out of the truck. She and I watch as the truck is towed away.

"Are you okay?" I ask her. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor?"

She shakes her head, looking toward the woods.

"Why do you think the killer chose that couple?" she asks. "Do you think it was simply because they were there? Prejudice?"

"I don't know," I say. "They were both good people who didn't deserve to die. That's all I know."

She winces.

"Are you sure—"

"No, it's not my head," she says. "It's my phone. It died this morning, so I plugged it into the charger in my truck. It's still in there."

I unclip my phone and offer it to her. "You've already used it once." "No, thank you, though," she says. "I just really need to get to the high school."

"You're…not a student." I feel my face heat. "I'm not saying you're old…"

She flashes me a smile. "I understand. I'm a substitute teacher. It's my first day, too, at Waycroft High School. I imagine that they won't be too happy if I'm late."

"Well, why don't I drive you there? It's really the only option if you don't want to be late."

She glances over at the police who are still eyeing the Muslim couple with a mixture of grief and uneasiness.

"Sure. I'd appreciate that."

Her eyes are a celadon shade of green. They are eyes that catch you off guard, and then take you in like a prisoner. I don't mind being captivated.

~~~~~

I FIDDLE WITH the temperature knob in the car. I hadn't expected Grace to accept my offer. It was one of those polite things that you say—a knee-jerk reaction—like saying
I'm good. How are you?
How many people actually care to hear the answer of how a person is doing? How many people say what they are actually feeling?

Grace hugs her bag against her abdomen. I can't decide if she is taking this tragedy well or not. On one hand, she is not flipping out and going into hysterics. On the other hand, she seems on edge. I'm fairly certain that if a balloon popped or a pedestrian ran in front of the car, she would burst into tears.

Or maybe that's how I feel and I'm confusing our reactions.

"Are you okay?" I ask. "I'm sure the school would understand if you took a day off."

"I'm fine," she says.
See? No one says that they are doing terrible
. "It's not like I'm the one who died."

"You were shot at."

"The police said that the shooter was probably just trying to scare me," she says.

I nod. An awkward silence falls between us. She peers out the window.

"So…you're new here?" I ask.

She glances over at me. "How did you know that?"

"Well, as the local cardiologist…I pretty much know everyone around here. It's a sad fact of life that the number one cause of death in the United States is heart disease. And you mentioned it was your first day substituting for a teacher here."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm new. I'm originally from Ohio."

"Birthplace of aviation," I say.

"Yep." She chews on her lip as she turns to look out the window again.

Let me be honest—I suck at private conversations. I can do the whole public charade of conversation—
How are you? How are the kids? How's your job? Brr…it's cold out there.
But as soon as I'm alone with someone in a situation, which demands more intimacy than a normal, passing conversation, words abandon me. I have no idea what to say.

"Uhh…so what made you want to move to Murray, Virginia?" I ask.

"My brother, Connor, used to live here. He told me that school districts were building schools here, and they were desperate for good teachers, so, I moved into his house. He forgot to mention that a family of four was also renting the house…but that's Connor. He has a good heart, but he's absentminded."

"So, where's your brother now?"

"He's an airman in the Air Force. He's stationed at Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, Japan. He thought he'd be spending the rest of his military career in Northern Virginia. He took advantage of a military discount to purchase a new home in Murray Farm, moved in, and invited his friend Benjamin Schneider to room in his house. Six months after he moved in, Connor was offered a grade promotion, one that came with another three years of obligation and an assignment to Japan. He's on track to retire next year."

"Wow. That's…good for him and not so good for you."

She shrugs. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"What did you do in Ohio?" I ask.

"I taught."

There's a note in her voice that makes it clear that there is more to the story, but she doesn't want to expand, so I let it drop. We drive in silence until I park in front of Waycroft High.

"Are you going to need a ride back home?"

She shakes her head. "I'll…find some way home. You guys have to have taxis here, right? If not, I guess I could embarrass myself by riding the bus."

I grab my prescription pad out of my glove compartment. I jot down my cell phone number and hand it to her.

"I know you don't have a phone right now, but this school is old enough to have pay phones," I tell her. "If you do need a ride or anything, just call."

"Thanks," she says, though doubt lingers in her voice. She opens the passenger door and glances over at me. "Really. Thank you. You didn't need to do all this. You already saved my life."

"It's all good." I smile at her. "Just, uh, you know, tell everyone that Dr. Meadows saves lives and hearts."

She smirks. "Sure. No problem."

She steps out and closes the door. I watch her walk into the school. As soon as she disappears behind the door, I drive away from the school. I don't have time for relationships. There's no need to bring another person in my life when my life is just a facade of someone who has figured everything out.

~~~~~

I HEAR MY NAME. The voice calling to me is gruff, but barely audible. It's hard to open my heavy eyelids until I remember—
it's Christmas
.

I may be eight years old and know Santa Claus doesn't exist, but that doesn't stop the excitement of presents and both my parents being home for the morning. I jump out of my bed, whipping the blankets off me, and nearly run straight into my dad. In the dark, I can see his white smile.

"Hey, buddy. I didn't want to wake you too early, but I have something I want to give you before everyone else wakes up."

I grin back at him. My dad is the greatest. Some of my friends say he isn't a real doctor because he's a dentist, but I still think he's awesome. I follow him out of my room. We tromp down the stairs.

When we reach the living room, I revel in front of the Christmas tree, decorated by white lights, red glass ball ornaments, a white praying angel at the top, and an array of presents surrounding the bottom. My father picks out a thin box with red wrapping paper and a small bow.

"You always loved your plastic one, so I thought you might want a real one." He hands me the present.

I hold it like it's more precious than gold—because it is to me. Being the youngest child means I always get hand-me-downs and all of my accomplishments are diminished by the fact that my brother has already done them. For once, I'm the special kid. For once, I'm not "the second Meadow's kid," but I am truly my father's son.

I slide my finger under a crease in the wrapping paper and pull it up. I unwrap the gift slowly, savoring the moment. Underneath all of it is a thin, rectangular box. I glance up at my dad. He nods, encouraging me to open it. I lift the top. Snuggled in tissue paper is a real stethoscope.

I stare at it, my fingertips brushing against the cold steel.

"I called a few general practitioners and they all said this was the best brand." He takes it out of the box, places the rubber earpieces into my ears, and the whole world seems to go quiet. He sets the metal diaphragm against my chest.

There is no description for hearing your heart for the first time—it's calming and comforting, but at the same time there is the realization that this sound is connected to the one thing that's keeping me alive.

I glance up at my Dad. He looks at me and the emotion in his eyes reminds me that his love keeps me alive, too.

~~~~~