by Helen Gray
Scanning quickly, Toni saw an office that made her think every principal’s office in the world must look the same. There was a desk out front, with offices behind and to the side of it. The desk was unoccupied.
She identified the door with the label she wanted and tapped on it.
“Come in,” came from inside.
When she stepped into the room Toni saw a man who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His hair was whitening and thinning, and his face was round and full. Of medium height and a little too heavy, he wore wire-rimmed glasses. “May I help you?”
“My name is Toni Donovan. I teach science at the Clearmount High School, and I’m looking for the principal here.”
The man stood behind his desk and extended a hand, his face brightening. “That would be me. I’m Roy Kissell. Do you have an application for me?”
Chapter 13
Toni went blank for a moment. “Oh, you mean an employment application.”
The man’s face lost its glow. “Yes. Isn’t that why you’re here? We advertised an opening. I assumed that was why you’ve come.”
“Sorry to mislead you,” she apologized. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
He dropped into his chair, his dark eyes assessing her. “No problem. What is it you need then?”
“I’ve been looking into the death of a former coach of yours, Jesse Campbell. My son discovered his body in the lagoon at Sequiota Park,” she explained in a rush.
“Is there any official reason I should talk to you?” His authoritative voice and manner had become a bit intimidating.
“Not really,” she said, opting for honesty. “My brother is on the local police force here and is working with the detectives on the case. As for me personally, I’m a compulsive fact collector.”
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You really are a science teacher then?”
“I am. At the Clearmount High School. But this summer I’ve been teaching a class at OTC for a regular instructor who’s on maternity leave.”
“I see,” he said, seeming to weigh her intent. “So you’re conducting a personal investigation. What are you looking for?” He gestured for her to sit.
She did. “I’ve been checking back through Jesse’s work history, and I wanted to ask about his time with you here. Were you the principal while he was on this school’s staff?”
The man nodded. “I’ve been here for twelve years, so I remember him well. In fact, I hired him. I was shocked when I heard of his death.”
“I’ve seen his resume, so I know this was his first full-time coaching position,” Toni said. “What I don’t know is how he got along here. How would you rate his success?”
“Jesse first came to us as a student teacher from MSU,” he said slowly, as if still making up his mind how much to tell her. But he continued. “He really impressed Lyle Mahoney, the coach who was his mentor. When Lyle resigned that spring to take a position at a junior college, he recommended that we hire Jesse to replace him. What we did was promote the assistant coach to head coach and offer Jesse the assistant position, which he accepted.”
“I assume you were happy with him?”
“We were. He was young and inexperienced, only twenty-one, which is why we felt he should not be hired over the experienced assistant we had. He did a great job and stayed with us for two years. He was popular with the students and staff and became friends with coaching staff at other schools. After getting a couple years of experience under his belt, he accepted an opportunity to move up at another school.”
“That would be Branson, right?”
“Yes. He became head coach of their younger boys.”
“Did he develop any special friends here that he kept in touch with?”
Mr. Kissell considered the question. “I’m not sure. He might have. I didn’t personally keep in touch with him. I only made note when his name came up in conversations or appeared in sports articles.”
“Was he married or single when you hired him?”
“He was single, but he married during the holiday break that first year. His bride was a girl from his hometown. They had a baby the next year.”
“What about the students? Did Jesse get along with them well?”
“As I said, he seemed to get along with everyone.”
“Did he have any student assistants, or did an assistant coach rate a teacher aide—or whatever you call them here,” she added with a smile.
“Actually, he did have one—both years he was here. The boy took care of the details of game preparations, lined up people to run the clock and keep the game books, a lot of little extras. So Jesse needed an assistant as much as the head coach did.”
Toni thought about that. “Do you happen to remember the name of the student who assisted Jesse? He might be someone who would have kept in touch.”
The principal’s head bobbed slightly. “As a matter of fact, I do remember the boy’s name. His mother works in the elementary school as an aide. His name is Barry Kuzman.”
Bingo. A connection had finally been made. Toni was glad she had come. “Thank you for your time. You’ve been helpful,” she said without elaboration.
“We were disappointed when Jesse left, but we understood,” Mr. Kissell said as he stood and extended his hand.
Toni understood, too. It was a typical progression. Beginning teachers acquired a couple years of experience and moved on to something more lucrative if they got a chance. She also understood from this principal’s glowing evaluation of Jesse Campbell that he lived with his head in the sand, or he was choosing to hide the rumors about Jesse from her. There was no point in bringing up what she had heard. She accepted his handshake and left.
Toni was unlocking the door of her van when her cell phone rang. She stopped and dug it out of her purse.
“Your story checks out,” Ken Douglas said. “Jesse Campbell was at Branson five years as head coach for their ninth grade and Junior Varsity basketball teams.”
Toni finished opening the door and crawled into the vehicle. It hadn’t had time to get too hot yet. “I’m in a parking lot and it’s hot out here. Just a minute while I get the motor and air going,” she said while juggling the phone and digging for her keys. “Okay, go on,” she said moments later over the sounds of the motor and air conditioner.
“I spoke to the principal, and he was pretty forthright when I identified myself and told him that someone investigating the case questioned me,” Ken explained. “He said he didn’t see any reason to hide anything at this point.”
“So what about the termination? Was it voluntary or forced?”
“Forced. The guy gave them winning teams, so they liked him. But when they were faced with convincing evidence of dalliance with a student, they felt they couldn’t risk keeping him around. There was never a formal charge, but they were afraid to grant him tenure and possibly have it happen again. They told him his contract wouldn’t be renewed, but that he would be allowed to resign. Everything you heard is true.”
Toni sighed deeply as she disconnected. She knew there were efforts in progress to close loopholes that allowed problem teachers to move from one school district to another. It was commonly called ‘passing the trash’ when districts allowed a teacher to quietly leave a school, failed to report problems to state authorities, or failed to check with state officials before hiring a teacher. The new school district might get the truth, but not the whole truth about the person’s background. They might learn the dates of service and whether the person was dismissed, but no other information.
Toni drove to Quint’s apartment. When she pulled into the visitor parking spot near his unit, she called John. “Would you like to ride home with me for the weekend and not have to drive that far with your sore arm?”
“Sure. That’ll also save me a tank of gas.” He chuckled. “What time will you pick me up?”
“Right after class. We’ll grab lunch on the way out of town. See you then.�
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She tucked the phone back in her purse and exited the van into the still oppressive heat. She gazed longingly at the pool about fifty feet across the lot. No, she didn’t have time for a swim, she reminded herself.
“Got any Coke in your fridge?” she asked when Quint answered the doorbell.
“I think there’s one with your name on it,” he said dryly.
She stepped inside the cool apartment and went straight to the kitchen. “It’s cooking out there,” she said as she pulled the fridge door open. “I’m parched.”
Quint leaned against the sink and watched her while she popped the tab and drank. “What’s on your mind, Quizzy?”
Toni made a hand gesture toward the living room, taking another swig. She followed him and plopped onto the sofa. “I’ve talked to the principal at Glendale and someone who knew Jesse when he was at Branson. I also had my principal talk to the Branson principal and confirm what I heard.” She summarized the facts.
Quint cocked his head to one side, his brow arched, when she finished. “You’re really into this sleuthing, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. And I feel like we’re following a trail that’s getting near an answer.”
“I’ve been on the phone,” he said smugly. “I don’t go back to work until tomorrow night, but I decided to check in with the detectives. We were right about Mrs. Campbell.”
“You mean she didn’t do it?”
He nodded. “Under interrogation her story didn’t hold together. She finally admitted she was trying to take the blame to protect her ex. Her story was a little garbled, but the gist of it, according to Detective Green, is that she made a mistake by getting involved with Jesse, and then she didn’t know how to get out. When they got caught and Jesse insisted they get married, she agreed. She knew Grant was angry and hurt and was going to divorce her, whatever she did.”
Toni nodded in understanding. “Jesse had other affairs. The difference that time was that it was his buddy’s wife. He thought he should marry her, probably from guilt.”
“You’re right. Sheila was miserable over losing custody of her kids, so when it looked like Grant was the chief suspect, she panicked. She thought he really did do it, you see. She knew her kids need him, and she’s eaten up with guilt.”
“She wants to reconnect with her kids,” Toni said intuitively. “I wonder if there’s any chance of reconnecting with Grant.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Quint allowed.
Toni considered that for a moment, but then her mind switched tracks. “How would you feel about going out with me?”
He gave her a knowing look. “You mean play bodyguard while you poke around somewhere?”
“Nothing dangerous,” she said. “Are you familiar with a place called the Goldenrod?”
“Sure. It’s a restaurant and nightclub. Is that where you want to go?”
“It’s where the girl Jesse messed around with at Branson is supposed to be working.”
His expression cleared. “I guess we could go to dinner there. They serve food—and other things. I’d rather go with you than sit here knowing you’ll go alone if I don’t.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s way too early to eat. Why don’t we go for a swim first?”
It sounded wonderful. “I’ll have to run get my bathing suit.”
After a quick trip to the Donovans to get the suit and tell her in-laws that she would be eating with Quint that evening, Toni reveled in an hour of frolicking in the water with her brother. Not only was it cooling, but it was mentally refreshing, temporarily suspending thoughts of all things serious.
“Are you getting hungry?” Quint asked about five o’clock.
“Hungry enough.” She reached for the rail to pull herself up the steps.
When they were changed and ready to go, Toni grinned at Quint. Wearing light colored pants, a short sleeve white shirt, and dark loafers, he looked nothing like a cop. That was good.
Quint drove. The building he parked next to was long and flat roofed. A huge neon sign stood at the perimeter of the lot, a bright yellow goldenrod glowing next to the club’s name.
Toni smiled to herself as she accompanied her handsome brother inside. It amused her to think they would be taken for a couple. The ceiling was low, the décor an effort at glamour and glitz that fell a bit short. To the right was a large arched doorway with a sign over it that said BAR. The room beyond it was dimly lit with flashes of neon making intermittent streaks of colored light across the walls.
There were twenty or so tables in the restaurant, about half of them occupied. They made their way to an upholstered corner booth and sat across from one another.
A blonde waitress, who looked no more than eighteen or twenty, approached with menus and an order pad. She wore a skimpy black and white fake leather outfit. “May I help you?”
“Is Sonya Finch working tonight?” Toni asked as she accepted a menu.
“She’s working the bar right now. I’ll tell her someone is looking for her. Maybe she can stop by to see you when she gets a break.”
“Thanks. I’d like a large iced tea, a salad, and the grilled chicken special.”
Quint ordered a steak, baked potato, and coffee.
When the waitress left, Toni studied their surroundings. The clientele seemed fairly affluent. She wondered if there was any gambling, drug dealing, or sexual activity going on there. “You’re off duty, so I’ll do the questioning,” she informed Quint.
He grinned. “Enjoy yourself.”
Their waitress returned with a loaded tray. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked when their food was before them.
“Everything looks good,” Quint said.
For the next few minutes they ate in silence. They were just finishing when a waitress entered the main room from the bar. She was tall and slim, with straight dark hair to her shoulders and thick dark lashes. She wore the same skimpy outfit as the restaurant waitress. Her makeup was heavy, and long silver earrings dangled from her lobes. She held a camera.
When she saw them watching her, the girl paused and snapped a picture. “Sandy said there’s a good looking couple out here asking for me,” she said brightly, white teeth flashing. Her voice was low and husky.
She held up the camera. “The picture’s only a ten spot.”
Quint reached for his wallet, but Toni forestalled him. “I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for her purse. She pulled out a ten and shoved it toward the girl, regarding it as payment in advance for any information they might glean.
The girl tucked the money into her bra, pulled the picture from the camera, and handed it to Toni. “Thanks from Sonya.”
“I’m Toni, and this is Quint,” Toni said with a hand gesture. “I understand that you went to high school in Branson.”
“Sure did, sweetie,” she said, stepping nearer. She looked from Toni to Quint and back. “Does that make me famous?”
“I also understand that you were intimately acquainted with Coach Jesse Campbell.”
Sonya’s smile disappeared, and she took a step backward. “Hey! What is this?”
“Just some friendly fact gathering,” Toni said. “Since you knew him so well, we were wondering if you might have any idea who hated him enough to kill him.”
“Who sicced you on to me?”
“You weren’t very secretive. The story got around.”
“I’ll just bet,” she said with a snort.
Toni watched as a flash of anger crossed her face, and then changed to something more like arrogance. Sonya edged up close to the table.
“He was an important part of my education. He knew how to show a girl a good time, and I was goofy about him. I have no regrets,” she said with a toss of her head.
This was a pretty fast and loose gal—or at least she wanted to be perceived as such. Toni exchanged quick glances with Quint. He dropped his lids in a gesture that she interpreted to mean she was on her own. She motioned for S
onya to sit across from her. Surprisingly she did.
“Who broke it off?”
“He did,” Sonya said with a shrug. “But I understood. He was looking at big trouble, and his wife was unhappy with him—not that I could blame her, I guess. Anyhow, he told me we had to keep a lot of distance between us. The principal and super called me into the office and asked me a bunch of questions. I basically told them to take a hike and gave them nothing they could use to fire him. They had to find other reasons to not give him a new contract.”
Toni figured protecting her lover had probably given the girl a sense of martyrdom. “Were there any more girls from the student body involved with him?”
Sonya gave her a sharp look, as if questioning her brightness. “No way. I’d have scratched their eyes out.”
“Did your parents know about it?”
“My mom worked at the school, so she found out and told my dad. And, yes, they were upset. But they’re getting over it. They retired last year and moved to Florida. They tried to get me to move with them, but I wasn’t about to leave here when I’m just getting into the kind of work I want to do.” She glanced around the room. “Not waitressing. This is just while I’m getting launched.”
“At what?”
She picked up the camera and waved it. “I work for a modeling and photography agency. I get some practice here on the photography, and I’m starting to get some modeling assignments.” She didn’t say how many.
“Do you know anything about Jesse or your classmates being involved in gambling on sports? Did he ever say anything to you about such a thing?”
Sonya’s brows went up, her eyes rounding. Then she shook her head, making the long earrings swing wildly. “Never heard of such a thing. Well, it’s been nice meeting you, but I have to get back to work.” She bounced to her feet and sashayed away.
