Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1) (6 page)

THE NEIGHBOR, KEVIN DEATS, helps to clean out the wound on my thigh and applies gauze and adhesive tape to it. I apply a butterfly bandage to my cheek, where it seems that the bullet barely scraped against my skin when it shot past my ear. Officer Jenkins stands over the two us. Officer McCoy has already left to check if the shooter is still in the area.

"So, there's no one you know that would want to hurt you?" Jenkins asks.

"Other than the shooter from the Muslim murders? No. I moved here three weeks ago. I haven't had time to make enemies."

"Except the family you're living with apparently," he says.

I shrug. "I guess they don't like me because they think I'm invading their privacy."

His cell phone beeps. He checks it.

"McCoy has checked the woods. He says he thinks that he found the place where the shooter was, but it appears that he or she left. Can we go over there now to go look at what happened and ask Lori Schneider about what she saw? Among other questions that I have for her."

I nod, standing up. "Thank you," I say to Kevin. "You were really kind to let me in your house."

"You didn't really give me a choice," he says, grinning. We shake hands. "Come by any time."

"I'll have to come by sometime so you don't think I only come over to survive." I smile. "Thank you again."

I walk to the front door with Jenkins. We join McCoy, and I lead them over to my brother's house. I show him where the bullets hit the porch and on the ground. Even standing here, makes me nervous. I remember the fear, the sound of a bullet going past me, and the idea of imminent death.

McCoy slams his fist against the door. "This is Murray police, open up!" He continues to pound against the door until Lori opens it up. She has both hands on her hips. "Are you Mrs. Lori Schneider?"

"I am," she says.

McCoy points over at me. "Can you tell me why you locked Miss Grace Ellery out of her brother's house while she was being shot at?"

"I have two children in here," she drawls. "I wasn't going to risk some shooter into my house or a stray bullet to hit one of them."

"Ma'am, you could be charged with reckless endangerment," the policeman says.

"Me?" Lori spits out. She points her finger at me. "This woman has someone trying to kill her and she teaches at my children's school and lives in my house? She's recklessly endangering my whole family!"

"This isn't even your house!" I shout. "It's my brother's. You're renting it. You were only supposed to live in the house for a year, but Connor didn't have the heart to kick you guys out."

"I'm still paying the bills!" Lori yells.

"Ladies, please, nobody's going to be in this house while it's a crime scene," McCoy says, stepping in between us. "When it's no longer a crime scene, we can figure out this whole other problem…which sounds more difficult than a gunman that's running around Murray."

"I don't see why I need to leave," Lori says. "The gunman is clearly after
her
. This is the second time she has been shot at. I saw it on the news."

"Mrs. Schneider, how quickly do you think I can take you down to the station and charge you with reckless endangerment?" he asks.

Lori's face goes red as she glares at me. She storms back into the house, gathers Kit and Zach, and leads them into her van. I turn toward McCoy before they drive away from the house.

"We're going to need your current clothes as evidence," McCoy says. "So, why don't we get you a change of clothes? You should probably pack anything that you're going to need for the next few days, too, because, like I said, this is going to be a crime scene. And then we will head down to the station to figure this whole thing out."

I shrug. Now I have no car, no cellphone, no home, and my current employers aren't fond of me. The only thing I have is a gunman who is determined to kill me.

I wish I could say that it could only get better at this point, but that's what I thought when I moved to Murray.

~~~~~

JOHN'S HOUSE COULD BE featured on one of those hoarding reality shows if it weren't for the fact that the massive amount of possessions he has are organized. As I sit with him in the living room, metal shelves filled with medical encyclopedias and plastic replicas of organs surround me.

I crack open the plastic heart to look inside the ventricles. The Velcro between the pieces makes a satisfying ripping sound.

"So, you're a savior then?" John says, smirking. "Dr. Meadows…not only Murray's sweetheart, but he'll save you from gunfire as well."

I throw the left ventricle at him.

"I did what any humane person would do. Someone was shooting and she just stepped out of her truck…who gets out of their vehicle when there are bullets coming toward you?"

"You do, apparently," John says. "In fact, you run in the direction that the bullets are coming in order to tackle a stranger. At least she's pretty, right? Have you asked her out yet?"

"What? No," I say. "Is that how you pick up women?"

"Why do you think I've been single since my divorce?" he jokes. Lexi, his daughter, bounces into the room, carrying a corkboard as big as she is. She props it up against the coffee table

"Dr. Meadows, did you hear about the movie I'm making?"

"No, Lexi, tell me about it."

"Well, it's about a guy who is obsessed with supernatural monsters," she says. "And he believes they really exist, so he begins killing people that he thinks are monsters…"

Honestly, I zone out at this point. I don't know if I could ever handle being a father. I have a hard enough time figuring out my own life—I can't imagine trying to help someone figure out their own life. Besides, my idea of family is a bit screwed up. I grew up in a household where my mother and father were absorbed in their private interests—painting and model ships, respectively—to the extent that they did not speak to one another at home—or to me—unless it was absolutely necessary. The majority of conversation involved one-word replies and questions like, "Have you seen my glasses?" They never had guests, and they never went to be overnight guests in anyone else's home.

In public, things were a completely different story. My parents were happy, friendly, warm, in short, a family others openly envied. I spent my entire childhood and teen years being told how lucky I was to have parents who loved me so much—and hearing others tell my parents how lucky they were to have such a close relationship with their sons.

I internalized this to be normal behavior until I began to get opportunities to observe the behavior of my classmates and friends at home with their families. My attempts to talk to my parents about their attitudes were ignored and dismissed by statements like "not everyone likes their families as much as everyone claims they do." I tried hugging my parents and telling them I love them, but it was usually met by confusion or outright aversion. In high school, I tried to get their attention by excelling at everything I could. I played football and lacrosse, was a student council member, and graduated in the top ten of my high school. They congratulated me in public, which is the best I could get, so I took it. When I went to college, I began the only rebellion phase I ever went through—cigarettes, marijuana, excessive drinking—but I quit all of it, except smoking, by my sophomore year. Rebellion is ridiculous if it doesn't get my parent's attention.

My parents eventually divorced, but continue to live under the same roof. I suppose it would be difficult for either one of them to have a relationship with another person or stray from their routine. I hadn't heard from them in almost six years, and now, apparently, my dad was dealing with the aftereffects of a heart attack.

I should call, but what would I say? I love you? Hadn't that failed enough? Should I apologize for not being around? But that's not my fault. He's the one who told me that I shouldn't talk to him again. That's his weight to bear. I imagine the weight on his heart until it gave out.

"…and, in the end, the only person left is Sarah, who manages to kill the Supernatural Killer by convincing him that he can't cross over salt. She chops off his head with a chainsaw," Lexi finishes.

I blink as I find myself back in reality.

"Uh, Lexi, I think your movie would do better without any beheading," John says.

"Dad, how else would I get people to watch it? Have you seen any horror movies recently?
Final Destination
?
Saw
? People love violence."

"Well, this is for a class and I don't think your teacher would like necks with blood gushing out of them," John says. He turns to me. "Can you back me up here?"

"Lexi, if you cut out the beheading, I'll let you use some of the lacrosse team for your scenes," I say.

"Oh, my, gosh, Dr. Meadows." She throws her arms around me. I lean away from her sudden affection, but then that reminds me of my parents, so I pat her on the back. "That would be perfect for the scene where the killer is chasing after a swim team!"

I seriously hope that she doesn't want my lacrosse team to get into Speedos, but it's too late to back out now.

"You're going to have to buy them some pizza," I say to John.

"No problem. How much can one lacrosse team eat?"

"You have no idea."

He winces, but he's still smiling. Lexi, thrilled about the idea of having more actors, runs up to her room, rambling about how she has to call her cameramen and her producers.

"So, how's the cardiology business?" John asks. "I hope it's better than my practice. We have a rash of people with colds coming in."

"It's…the same old thing. People coming in with damaged hearts."

"You don't sound too happy," he says. "But that is the business."

"I'm just worn down," I admit. "Everyone in Murray comes to me for their heart problems, and it's gotten to the point where I can't accept new patients. There's just too many people to fit into my schedule. I hate turning people away, but I can't do it anymore. There's only so many people you can give bad news to in one day. I got into this business to save lives, but I don't feel like I'm doing that anymore."

"You are, Sam," he says. "Especially when you threw yourself onto that lady who was being shot at. Did you do a 007 thing and tell her your name was Meadows…Sam Meadows."

I smile, shaking my head.

"I feel the same way you do sometimes, Sam," he says. "You just have to decide if it's worth it. Have you considered forming a partnership?"

My cell phone rings. "One minute."

I usually would ignore my phone, but I don't have an answer to John's question, and I don't want to think about trying to work with someone else. That's the kind of intimacy I'm terrible at. My cell phone shows a number I don't recognize. I click
answer
. "Hello?"

"Is this Dr. Sam Meadows?" a deep male voice asks.

"Yes, it is."

"This is the Murray Police. We would like you to come down to the station as soon as you can," he says.

My first reaction is panic—is someone hurt? But then I realize that I would be nobody's emergency number. Nobody would call me first if they were in a car accident or even if they killed someone and needed help burying the body.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. "Did something happen to my practice?"

John raises an eyebrow.

"No, sir. We just need you to come down to the station. We will explain everything once you're here."

"Okay," I say. As soon as the word slips out, the man hangs up. I set my phone down on my lap.

"What's going on?" John asks.

"I don't know," I say, standing up. "It was the police. They want me to come down to the station."

"Maybe you're getting a medal for saving that woman's life," John jokes. I take the plastic parts of the heart replica and put them back together. I set it back on the shelf. It would be nice to see Grace again. Something about her presence makes me forget that I have patients with damaged hearts. She makes me forget that my own heart is heavy and full of regret.

~~~~~

THE FOURTEEN CANDLES on my birthday cake flicker as Mrs. Johnson sets it down on the table in front of me. I know my face has to be bright red.

"Mr. and Mrs. Johnson…you didn't need to do this," I mumble.

"Of course, we did," Mrs. Johnson says. She gestures to the young girl beside me, a petite blonde with eyelashes so thick that she always appears to be wearing eye liner. As a teenage boy, all women are beautiful, but she is ethereal. "You're a good friend of Lucy's and it's your birthday. Since you decided to spend dinner with us, we had to make you a cake."

I glance at Lucy. She shrugs.

"You told me that your family doesn't really do anything for your birthday," she says. "I may have mentioned it to my mom. She's kind of big on celebrations and traditions."

"Make a wish and blow out the candles," Mrs. Johnson says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. I take a deep breath. What do I wish for? A kiss from Lucy. To pass social studies.

I wish my family were like this.

I blow out the candles and regret tinging my thoughts. Why did I think that? What's wrong with my family? What's wrong with
me
that I would be disloyal to my family like that?

Mrs. Johnson cuts the cake and then hands a piece to everyone. My piece is the largest, the vanilla white of the cake contrasting with the dark chocolate frosting. When I take a bite out of it, it's the perfect mixture of delicate and rich. The Johnsons ask me about school, my interests, my aspirations, and they involve me in conversations about their own lives. It's the opposite of my family. My family hasn't even had dinner together since I was nine years old. My father usually picks up his dinner from some fast-food restaurant after work, while my mother has dinner in her home office. I've had a lot of dinners that consisted of throwing random canned produce into a pot and cooking it on the stove.

"So, Lucy, four years old at the time, decided to try to use the dog as a stool—" Mr. Johnson bursts into laughter.

"Dad!" Lucy whines. "You're embarrassing me."

"I'm just telling Sam a story about how you ended up being upside down in the trash can," he teases. "That shouldn't be a big deal if he's
just
a friend?"

She blushes and tries to cover a smile behind her lips. She glances at me and my own face becomes flushed again. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson laugh, and I can't help but feel their unrestrained joy. I can't help but feel that I've been missing this happiness my whole life.

~~~~~