by T W Morse
“So you’re two students down, you guys should still be fine!” Dad tries to reassure Mr. Nelson, but his anxiety is spreading. “I had both Terry and Jack in American history. Both of them are good kids, with bright futures. Why would they be dealing with drugs?”
“They profusely deny everything. They even said they’d do a drug test. Maybe it will come back negative; either way it won’t be done by tip off!”
I am starting to think Mr. Nelson cares more about this game than the innocence of his two players.
As we sit in a gloomy silence, our sodas and pizzas arrive, hopefully bringing our spirits back. Mr. Nelson’s appetite is not affected by his current dilemma. He eats one of the pizzas practically by himself, leaving the rest for the other three people at the table.
Dad whispers to Mr. Nelson, “Where did you and Mary go off to last night?”
Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up as our eyes meet during this intriguing adult conversation.
“Nowhere special. To be honest, as soon as we left, she told me to drive her home. So I did. Just like all my dates, no action and quick.” Hannah and I simultaneously choke on our soda. “I don’t know what I said or did to her. It’s like she got something she wanted from me and moved on.”
“How did she act on the ride home? Was she still bubbly?” Dad asks.
“No, actually, she became cold and stern. She had me drop her off at the Whispering Winds Condos, which was a totally different place than I picked up from. Weird! Right?” Mr. Nelson finishes speaking and resumes his sulking once all the pizza had been consumed.
CHAPTER 15
-ULYSSES -
WHO KNEW BASKETBALL WAS MURDER!
W e arrive back at Mangrove High, just in time before the sky does its summer tropical rain routine.
“I feel bad for Mr. Nelson,” Hannah relates to Dad and me as we walk into the gymnasium.
“I know,” I interject, turning to Hannah but then quickly asking Dad, “What do you think will happen to Jack and Terry?”
Dad shakes his head, a little confused. “Nothing good. I would never have suspected them for drugs; they never seemed like the type. Mr. Nelson will be fine. I’ve got to go watch the door. Why don’t you guys take a seat?”
We watch as Dad sits in a metal seat near the front door as droves of Mangrove and Everglades high students and fans start to file into the gymnasium. Hannah and I sit on a bottom bleacher on the Mangrove side, near the entrance.
Mangrove is wearing their customary bright white uniforms with turquoise trim, while the Everglades wear black with white trim. They shoot around to music, classics by Queen, Aerosmith, and newer rockers like The White Stripes blaring out. I am tapping in rhythm to the music rather than paying attention to the players warming up.
Hannah and I start to fill the time by chatting about her friends and her parents, until I see Conrad take the court. He looks distant and disheveled, which is already his look, so it told me how bad off he truly is. His blonde hair looks unwashed, and his skin appears waxy and pale. Hannah and I look at each other with concern.
Hannah yells over to him, “Hey, Conrad! Good luck!” I wave and smile in agreement.
“He looks like crap,” I blurt out to Hannah.
Her eyebrows rise up on her forehead. “Is that what you say to a friend in need? He looks a little sick. I hope he’s okay. We should speak with him after the game,” she says, correcting me.
“That sounds good. This place is really filling up. You sure can tell everyone knows about Jack and Terry. People keep whispering and pointing to Mr. Barron and Ms. Clifton.”
I point, too, showing Hannah where they are standing. Both administrators stand like rigid soldiers under the scoreboard, both scanning the crowd, wearing deep frowns.
“I think you’re right. Our side looks like we’ve already lost,” Hannah comments as she sighs and puts her head on my shoulder for the rest of the warmups.
Basketballs thunder on the parquet floor, beating like drums as the teams warm up, swishing their shots into the nets. Hannah and I try our best to follow each of the Mangrove shooters until the Mangrove High band starts to play the national anthem.
As the anthem is playing, I look over to Dad. I am surprised to see Conrad’s dad, Mr. Wright. This time he’s wearing a fancy black striped suit fitted to his large frame. He stands at the entrance of the gymnasium and then quickly slips behind Dad. He glances over at Conrad and then, to my surprise, opens the door right behind Dad, labeled “mechanical room.” I don’t think Dad notices him because he is too engrossed in the anthem.
“Mr. Wright just snuck in and went into the mechanical room!” I relate to Hannah.
Hannah looks at me like I have two heads. “The mechanical room?”
“Yeah, I don’t think he paid either,” I jokingly add, smiling back at Hannah as we take our seats after the anthem and the tip-off starts the game.
I took out my phone and quickly texted Dad, “Con’s Dad wnt n mechanical r%m Bhind you!” Hopefully he could read it. Dad has difficulty reading text message lingo. I look up to see him reading his phone. It looks like he has to read it a couple times because he looks puzzled. He meets my eyes, shakes his head, and starts typing.
“Ok. I’ll keep an eye on it,” Dad texts me back.
Hannah excitedly pulls my attention away, “Conrad’s starting! Might be why he looked so crappy before the game. He was probably was just nervous.”
“I thought that’s not what a friend needs to say?” I say.
“Your words, not mine,” Hannah says winking back at me. “Let’s go Mangrove!” Hannah cheers at the top of her lungs.
I look back at the administrators. Mr. Barron appears a little nervous as he keeps looking at his watch and tapping his foot like he has to go somewhere. Ms. Clifton looks attractive, wearing a powder blue pants suit, staring either at Dad or the mechanical room door. I quickly bring my attention back to the game when I hear Mr. Nelson squeak at Conrad.
“Conrad, hustle, rebound! Come on, man!” Mr. Nelson’s voice cracks, yelling through the gymnasium.
Mangrove isn’t doing so hot. We are down twenty points, and it isn’t even halftime. The ten players rush up and down the court as Hannah and I watch, like a tennis match, with our heads going from left to right as our sweaty, beleaguered Mangrove boys are getting trounced by Everglades High. I continue to keep an eye on the mechanical room door, and Mr. Wright still does not come out.
“Come on, Mangrove! Take a shot! Pathetic call, ref!” Hannah booms out next to me, now standing. “Ref, you need glasses!” I believe that is what she said because it was in Spanish, and my Spanish is really weak. She sits down in disgust as I look amazed.
“What?!” she asks innocently.
“Nothing.” As I stop studying her and throw my eyes toward the ref, I add, “Yeah, get some glasses, ref!”
I aim my dimpled grin at her, but she just shakes her head saying, “Gringo.”
The halftime buzzer pulsates through the gymnasium, and all the fans quickly make for the concessions and bathrooms. Hannah and I make our way over to Dad.
“Ulysses, are you sure Mr. Wright went in through this door?”
“Yeah. He was wearing one of his expensive suits.”
“That door is always supposed to be locked. I think only the custodians and Mr. Barron have a key. How did Mr. Wright get in?” Dad is about to try the handle but hesitates.
“Should we let Mr. Barron know?” Hannah chimes in.
“I’m pretty sure both Mr. Barron and Ms. Clifton saw him go in during the anthem,” I include in my report.
“Weird, that Mr. Barron didn’t do anything. If he doesn’t come out by the end of the game, I’ll let Mr. Barron know,” Dad says worriedly. “Why don’t you guys take your seats? The game is about to start up. It looks like Mr. Nelson did have reason for concern. We’re getting blown away by Everglades High.”
“Those awful refs don’t help out; they couldn’t see a foul if it was r
ight in front of them! They suck!” Hannah comments passionately, adding a few Spanish words I don’t recognize.
Dad and I raise our eyebrows. “What?” she adds.
“Nothing,” we both say at the same time as I hurriedly walk back to our seats and Dad resumes his door duties.
The game plays on. Conrad looks distracted. The whole Mangrove team looks like zombies while Mr. Nelson keeps shaking his head, his tracksuit jacket sleeves are rolled up and he looks as pale as Conrad. Our side of the gymnasium is quiet as Everglades High starts to rack up the points.
I look over to Mr. Barron and Ms. Clifton. Mr. Barron looks increasingly nervous, while Ms. Clifton looks happy that Mangrove is losing. Mr. Barron looks at his phone and then looks up sharply. He quickly says something to Ms. Clifton and then speed walks down the side of the court. We watch him as his short body passes us. I can see sweat dripping down his face and his dark tan skin was now becoming bright red. He heads for Dad. I see Mr. Barron pull out a large key ring and wiggle the lock on the mechanical room door. Dad says something to Mr. Barron as he opens the door. Probably how I saw Mr. Wright duck in there earlier and the door was unlocked. It appeared that Mr. Barron shakes his head and laughs it off, then proceeds into the mechanical room.
I quickly turn to Hannah, “Let’s go.”
“What! Go where?”
“Let's follow Mr. Barron!” I grab Hannah's hand and quickly lead her to Dad’s position at the front entrance. I see Dad catch the door before it closes behind Mr. Barron. He looks up at me as Hannah and I arrive.
“What are you doing, Ulysses?”
“I’m interested in seeing what is going on. Like you, Dad! That’s why you’re holding the door; you were going to go in.”
“Yeah, but not with you two.”
“I love creepy stuff like this. If there are any problems, I’ll protect you guys!” Hannah adds. “I have a black belt in karate.”
Both our mouths drop with this little piece of information. I knew she went to lessons but a black belt? Damn, girl!
Dad grunts, “Okay, let's go.”
We all enter the mechanical room. Dad stops us before the heavy metal door can close behind us. He examines the door lock. “There’s duct tape on the locking mechanism, preventing the door from locking. That’s what the burglars did in the Watergate break-in.”
“Really, Dad? — A history lesson!”
“Didn’t you see All the President's Men?”
“No,” Hannah and I chorus, shaking our heads confused. “Did Mr. Wright do that? Why would he break into a mechanical room?”
“Let's find out, come on. Be quiet — stay close,” Dad whispers before leading the way.
The door opens to a long hallway with bright flood lights. The lights are bright, exposing puddles on the worn cement floor. Several of the pipes have condensation and are dripping, making loud ping sounds with every drop. On all sides of us are large HVAC pipes making hissing sounds. It is hard to hear anything other than the pinging sounds of water droplets. We continue walking, the air becoming increasingly damp with humidity the further we travel, making the place feel eerie and damp. The gymnasium feels like a hundred miles away, but we can still hear thuds and the murmurings of the crowd noise.
“Creepy,” Hannah whispers as she clings to my arm, wrapping hers tightly around mine. Dad walks cautiously in front of us.
The heat and humidity are becoming oppressive as we follow the pipes to the end of the chamber. We are all sweating profusely now. Sweat droplets drip down my face. Hannah’s arm is now wet against mine, but we continue onward.
We finally emerge from the tunnels lined with pipes, and we come upon a huge opening with large HVAC power units making loud electrical buzzing sounds. In front of them stands Principal Barron. He is frozen with his back to us and is unresponsive to our entrance.
Dad cautiously says, “Mr. Barron, are you okay?” On my left is an emergency exit door with a smear of what looks like blood on its handle. I am about to tell Hannah and Dad when Mr. Barron turns to face us and we all see what caused him to freeze.
Lying crumpled on the ground, still and surrounded by blood, is Mr. Wright! Mr. Barron’s face is bright red and lined with horror. He continuously professes, “I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t do this,” in a low whisper.
Mr. Wright’s body is contorted with his head thrown back in an open-mouthed expression, while a black curved handle of a knife protrudes from his chest. Large smears of blood cover his white shirt beneath his dark suit. The light above him spotlights the entire scene.
Hannah and I gasp. Hannah crosses herself and whispers, “Oh my God, oh my God,” while clutching the silver cross around her neck. She tries her best to shield herself against the reality of the gruesome scene in front of us.
Dad puts his arm around both of us, like he is trying to either comfort us or protect us from the scene. He meets my eyes with a grave frightened face, turning to Barron and asking in a shaken voice, “Mr. Barron, what happened?”
My chest is heaving. I am having difficulty grasping for air. I blurt out, “What the hell happened to Mr. Wright?! Mr. Barron, did you kill him?!” I feel a little sick but can’t take my eyes of off Mr. Wright’s dead body.
Dad is taking in the scene, staring all around us.
Mr. Barron looks at Dad in a shocked, daze expression, “I didn’t, I didn’t do this.”
“Ulysses, I don’t think Barron killed him. He only entered a minute before us, and Mr. Wright appears to have been dead for longer than a few minutes. Also, there's blood on the exit door; Mr. Barron doesn’t have any blood on his hands.”
Dad looks back at us sternly and says in a take-charge, rapid voice, “You two go to the front entrance and call the police. The cell reception is poor in this room. Wait for them up there. Tell them everything that has transpired. Barron, stand in the corner and don’t touch anything!” He takes the key ring off of Barron’s hip.
“Which key opens this door!?” Barron points at the long key with a bold, black 20 written on the base of the key.
He shows me the key. “Unlock it for the police when they come in. That tape on the lock may not hold. Keep things on the lowdown: Don’t say anything to anyone but the police. Are you okay to do this?”
We both nod nervously and quickly walk out the way we came, leaving Dad and Mr. Barron with the murdered body of my best friend’s dad.
CHAPTER 16
- LOGAN -
THE 1% MURDER
I look up and stare hard into Barron's eyes as Ulysses and Hannah run off to call the police. He looks sick and worried. His tan, leathery skin is dark in the terrible lighting of the mechanical room.
“What hell happened here, Thomas?!” Since moving south I have never referred to my boss by his first name, but the hell with etiquette.
He looks at me blankly and shakes his head.
“I swear to God, if you say ‘I don’t know,’ I will punch you! Look! I can help you, but you need to be honest with me,” I bark at him, moving into the corner as I take a few steps away from the dead body of Mr. Wright.
“Okay! Okay!” he grumbles loudly. He lifts his slumped, short stature to its full height. “Donald Wright and I go way back — we used to be business partners,” he stammers. “Before I was an educator.”
“What kind of business partner?”
“Logan, this is none of your concern!”
“None of my concern?! It doesn’t look good for you! Ulysses told me about your spat with Mr. Wright yesterday in the office. And now you stand over your dead ex-partner — that’s enough for an arrest warrant and the school board to suspend you. I can’t help you unless you come clean with me. Were you two being blackmailed?”
“How did — ” Barron swallows his words and looks at me with a surprised expression, even his leathery skin gave that one away.
“The argument Ulysses overheard for a start, and then I took a stab in the dark, but you just confirmed my hypothesis. How di
d you know to come here?” I ask.
It looks as if he is about to tell me the details, but we then hear murmuring of voices coming through the tunnel. That was fast! The deputies must have been near the school because of the game. Barron walks down the tunnel to meet them. I turn quickly to Donald Wright’s body, pull out my iPhone, and start snapping pictures of the crime scene; first of the body, then the exit door. They are almost at my position, so I quickly slip my phone in my pants pocket and step away from the body.
Deputy Diaz comes in huffing from lack of good air while Ulysses and Hannah trail behind him. Jose Diaz and I are close friends. Jose often joined Bob and I at the bar or when we played in our adult soccer league. Jose immigrated to the United States, from Venezuela, when he was twelve. He’s been Mangrove High’s campus resource officer for several years now. He looks down at the body, and then at Mr. Barron, with a very depressed, shocked expression.
“Did the kids fill you in on what happened?” I ask.
In his still-present Venezuelan accent he replies, “Yes.” Sounding more like “jes.” “So you all found the body?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
He leans over Mr. Wright, while putting on rubber gloves. “I have deputies stopping the game and starting to take statements. Mr. Barron, maybe you should go out and assist them, but please stick around. Our detectives will be arriving shortly, and I’m sure they will want to hear from you.”
Mr. Barron leaves immediately, not wasting a second more. Diaz raises his eyebrows.
“We touched nothing. I found tape on the door, preventing it from being locked,” I share with Jose.
“And there’s a blood smear on the emergency exit door,” Ulysses adds.
“How did Barron know this rich guy? A principal had a strong enough beef with a parent to do this?”
I lean into him and whisper, “I don’t think he committed this murder, but he’s involved somehow; he’s hiding something. The victim is Conrad Wright’s father,” I add.
