And though she had been the one to bring it up, expecting to hear such a rational, practical response, her heart sank. Spending time with her had clearly not been a factor.
Shocker.
She straightened her back, resolved not to let him see how crushed she felt.
“Like you said,” he mused. “On the heels of Mr. Williams’s body turning up, there has to be a connection. Obviously, you’ve hit on something that’s making the killer nervous. And to be frank, I’ve never had a front row seat during a murder investigation like this. I’m usually piecing things together after the criminal’s been apprehended and is standing trial. Not as things are happening.”
He sounded…thrilled. Thrilled Mr. Williams was murdered. Thrilled she and Sam had almost died.
“You’re thinking of writing a book about what’s happened?” Hearing it out loud like that sounded even worse than in her head, and she grew angrier. “Profiting off Mr. Williams’s death? His murder? All for a lousy buck?”
So impassioned a moment ago, Sam’s eyes cleared, and he came back to earth. He stared at her, his brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t be profiting from his death or disrespecting his memory. If anything, I’d have a golden opportunity to present Jackson Williams as a three-dimensional person, someone with hopes and dreams and passion, that a broad audience can appreciate. People who otherwise would never have heard about Mr. Williams. They’ll see him as something other than just a victim.”
Allie shook her head. He had to realize this was wrong.
“I know it’s been a lot of years, but I remember your relationship with Mr. Williams. He was your soccer coach, wasn’t he? And our advisor on the newspaper. I remember seeing the two of you after school, reviewing pictures you’d taken, hearing his words of encouragement to you. You’re going to stand there and tell me this man, this man who cared so much about you and all of us…you’re going to sell him out?”
Sam’s throat pulsed, and she could see she’d really made him angry. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to change her mind on this. From the glint of cold anger in his eyes, neither was he.
“I’m not selling anyone out.” His voice was cold. Devoid of emotion. Even anger. “As I said, if anything, I’d be giving Mr. Williams’s a chance, post-mortem, to tell people about his life, about the unfair ending to it. You’re right. I did know Mr. Williams. And I can assure you he wouldn’t have issues with my writing.”
“Of having people read the salacious details of his life and death? Of course he’d mind, you moron.” She stopped. There really wasn’t any point in continuing their conversation.
Sam seemed to have reached the same decision. He turned crisply and headed for the door. She wasn’t going to try and stop him.
“Make sure you lock this door behind me,” he said tersely. And then he was gone, the sound of the front door slam echoing through the house. She swallowed, despite the swelling lump in her throat.
Wow. Maybe she hadn’t known Sam, after all.
…
“I’m sure all of you read the next three chapters of A Room With A View per the assignment,” Allie said to her senior lit class on Monday morning. “And you’re ready to discuss your impressions of the contrasting personalities in the book. Who wants to begin? What was Forster trying to portray with Charlotte’s character in comparison to Lucy’s?”
The usual group lingered in the back of the room, including Bryce Bauer, Clarissa Furan, and a few of their friends. They were the most boisterous of the group. Of course, with one being captain of the football team—regardless of how abysmal the team played—they didn’t see why they should rob the world of any of their witty and clever thoughts.
One pair of eyes blinked nervously up at Allie, then flitted back down to the desk. She hesitated, knowing that calling on Darcy Sanders would cause the girl further mortification at having to speak in front of the class. Especially since she knew Darcy’s young heart ached over one boy in particular—Bryce, the captain of the football team, no less.
She could fully appreciate Darcy’s hesitation and angst—boy could she ever. But she also knew the girl was a very gifted student, her writing far more insightful and complex than one would expect for someone so young. Darcy just had to learn to believe in herself—something Allie also knew all too well was easier said than done.
Darcy’s hand reluctantly went halfway up and quickly went down again. That was enough for Allie. “Darcy?”
A hot flush spread from Darcy’s pale, freckled cheeks to the rest of her face, and her brown eyes widened. Her tumbleweed mass of dirty-blond hair tied back with whatever sturdy elastic could manage the thickness. She looked as though she wanted to melt into the floor.
“Actually, I’m not sure if I thought they were so different.” Allie strained to hear Darcy’s soft voice. She paused, and Allie worried she had forgotten what she was going to say.
“Okay, that’s interesting,” she prompted.
“I think maybe Charlotte saw a little of herself in Lucy. Lucy seemed kind of…naïve. Wanting to see the best in everyone.” Darcy paused again and studied a spot on her desk, evading Allie’s eyes as her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Even if the people around her, in her social group, told her to think otherwise. Charlotte may have had a choice once, in picking the right man. Listened to what people told her was right, instead of following her own heart. And Lucy had to make the same choice. So they’d been the same, but different, because of the choices they made.”
“I don’t know why Lucy would choose either of those guys,” Clarissa interrupted. “A poor clerk or a know-it-all nerd? What kind of lame choice is that?” Her comment earned a round of chuckles from the class.
Allie sighed. Inwardly, of course.
She glanced up just as a figure passed by the classroom door. Sam’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, and her heart jolted. Damn. She had been so successful in not letting him interfere in her thoughts—much. But he didn’t stop walking. And he disappeared. Leaving Allie completely off her game.
What had they been talking about?
This was going to be a really, really long quarter if one glance from the jerk could disrupt her thoughts so completely.
She rallied. “We have about twenty more minutes left. I’d like you to split into small groups and put together a list of social parallels from Lucy’s time to today.”
The class slid their desks into smaller semi-circles consisting of four students, based on groups she’d set up the first day. They started their chatter while she collected herself.
After Sam had left Saturday night, she’d jumped on the treadmill, determined to put him out of her mind. Running usually helped push all the stress out of her life. But it hadn’t helped that night, nor had the hot, steamy shower she’d taken afterward. Because all she could think about, even now—despite the fact Sam had the moral compass of a snail—was what it would have felt like if he’d kissed her. And what would come next.
Because she definitely would have kissed him back.
Sunday hadn’t been much better, besieged by calls from Peg and Laney who both chastised her for even thinking of associating with that horrible man. Questions she was starting to ask herself, as well. Lord. What if he did throw in some lurid stories of her family in his next book? She’d never hear the end of it. Ever. She’d have to move away. Maybe even change her name.
She wandered through the classroom, listening to the discussions she was certain were quickly tailored to more appropriate on-topic discussion the closer she came to each group. And as soon as she moved on, likely returned to other, more scintillating—at least to seventeen-year olds—non-literary discussions.
Kind of like her…
When the bell finally rang, she followed the students out of the room, in search of much-needed caffeine. And some juicy gossip, to get Sam Fratto off her mind.
She wasn’t surprised when she entered the faculty lounge and found him sitting at a table already enjoying a cup. Wh
at she was surprised about was who he was sitting with.
Meredith Sanders. Her arch nemesis. Someone, long ago, Allie had considered a dear friend.
Lord, she’d been seriously deluded as a kid.
Well. She wasn’t about to be chased away. She had as much right to be here as they did.
…
Sam had been listening to Allie interact with her kids in the room next door for the better part of an hour, hearing them laugh at her comments, pepper her with questions, when he’d realized he had to get out of the classroom. Not because the discussion next door wasn’t appealing, but because he’d been straining to hear what she was going to say next, like some love-sick teenager.
It was damn embarrassing.
Coffee had sounded pretty good, and was the perfect solution for his dilemma. So he’d taken refuge in the faculty lounge, which was peacefully quiet during his free period.
He didn’t know why he was letting her get under his skin. Especially since she’d made it painfully clear what she thought about him and his work.
Like so many other people before.
Devaluing his hard work and the careful attention he brought to so many tragic stories. Some of the families had even written him later to thank him for the closure his books had provided them. And in one case, his footwork in re-interviewing some of the witnesses had actually helped in the eventual capture of the real killer.
He was a goddamn hero. And she treated him like he was some kind of immoral paparazzi, a reporter for some damn cheesy tabloid.
And her last comment about writing about her in his next book? What kind of a leech did she think he was? He would never stoop so low as to include such a personal experience in his book.
Well. He was pretty certain.
To be honest, if there was an angle that would be relevant to the story, he wouldn’t necessarily rule it out. But that unusual likelihood would only happen if Allie or someone present at the party had been, somehow, involved in Mr. Williams’s murder.
He thought back to Allie fifteen years ago. And made a face.
Hell, no. She’d been as big a goody-two-shoes then as she was now.
He wondered what the prim little do-gooder would have done if he’d acted on his inclination in the garden yesterday afternoon and kissed her soundly… His instincts told him she’d probably have enjoyed it as much as he would.
He slammed his eyes closed and gave himself a mental kick in the ass.
This was pathetic. Daydreaming about a goddamn kiss with the schoolteacher?
The problem was he needed to seriously get laid. Then he’d be able to get those bright baby blues from his mind permanently.
He opened his eyes, and as if on cue, Meredith Sanders, the chairwoman of the planning committee appeared in the doorway. He remembered her from high school. She’d been much younger than him, in Allie’s class if he remembered right, although Meredith had been developed enough he hadn’t worried she was still in junior high. She’d also been on the junior cheerleading squad, and therefore, was at the same parties he’d been invited to.
Meredith’s gaze fell on him immediately, and her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hello, Sam,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “I trust you’re enjoying your second week at St. Andrew’s? No new bodies have turned up or dangerous fires have started, at least.” Her brown gaze appraised him from beneath her lashes.
“Good to see you, Meredith.” He extended his hand out in an invitation for her to join him, and she slid into the adjoining chair. “What brings you here? You’re not on the faculty, are you?” He’d met so many people the past week, and there were so many he still hadn’t met, he couldn’t be sure.
She laughed. “Oh, good heavens no. I’m here strictly as a concerned parent. My stepdaughter is a senior here, if you can believe it.” She swung her glossy, dark brown hair so it settled around her shoulders. “Her father lives in Texas these days—we’re recently divorced” —she slid that bit into the conversation quite easily— “but Darcy, being so close to graduating, wanted to stay on here with me. We’re rather close, and I’m afraid I can be a little overprotective, which is why I’m here now.” She crossed her legs and leaned toward him. “The years have certainly treated you well, Sam Fratto. No Mrs. Fratto, though, I take it?”
She glanced pointedly at his ring finger. Now, this was a woman who didn’t beat around the bush. She was direct, to the point, and willing to put herself out there. Unlike some women he could name…
“Very perceptive,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you’ve missed your calling and should have been a journalist.” He picked up his mug and brought it to his mouth, hesitating to add, “And no, not married. Never headed down that path. But I do have a son.”
“Really? I’d love to hear about him. You know what I think? I think you need to get a little perspective of life outside this dingy, old building. I’d love nothing better than to take you out for coffee. Anything has to be an improvement over the swill they serve here.”
She had a point. He swallowed the acrid brew. “Well…”
“Maybe I could show you some of the newest developments in downtown Salt Lake you haven’t seen.”
Yeah, he bet she could.
He’d been thinking of how he needed some action. A distraction from his thoughts concerning a particularly irritating, stubborn blonde. And it was only coffee, right?
Why not?
“Sure.” No sooner did he say the word, a sudden arctic blast seemed to come his way. Looking over to the source of the blast, he wasn’t surprised to find Allie standing in the doorway.
Hell.
Or it was going to…and soon.
Chapter Eight
With quiet dignity—or so she hoped—Allie headed to the coffee pot and then the fridge, where she added her usual sweetener to her coffee—this time, white caramel mocha latte creamer—and marched over to a vacant seat by the window. Studiously avoiding looking at the cozy couple at the other table, she pulled the Salt Lake Tribune toward her from where it sat forgotten and made herself focus on the columns.
The latest update on the fire was on the second page of the local section. No leads yet, just a small piece on how the damage was minimal, and the school was going to be able to stay open with classes resuming this morning—in case she hadn’t caught that. No mention about the murder investigation—not that she was surprised about that, either. It was unlikely there’d be any mention until the person was caught.
Or someone else was hurt. Or killed. She shivered and looked up for a moment. Aside from Sam and Meredith looking cozy and deep in conversation, there were several other faculty members present, and she studied them all.
Could one of them be the person who had killed Mr. Williams?
She dismissed half of them straight off. They hadn’t been a student or a faculty member when Mr. Williams taught here. The other six, she studied a little harder.
Tim, Janine’s squeeze, currently taught biology. And he’d attended St. Andrew’s back when she and Sam attended, graduating the same year she was a freshman. He also would have been on the soccer team, just like Sam, and would have known Mr. Williams well. But did he have any reason to want to kill the man?
Señora Sanchez. She’s been teaching Spanish here for almost thirty years, now. Somewhere close to sixty, she was still an attractive woman, as her previous three husbands had all, no doubt, agreed. She would have been in her forties back then. Mr. Williams was thirty-one. Somehow, Allie couldn’t imagine Mr. Williams, so full of life, would have had any kind of relationship with the woman, much less anything romantic. What other motive would she have had to kill him?
Jeremy was standing at the side of the room, speaking with Brother Luther. They had both been on the faculty fifteen years ago. Jeremy had been a guidance counselor back then. In fact, it had only been the year after Mr. Williams’s disappearance that he was promoted to the vice-principal position. Was that a coincidence?
And Brot
her Luther… Okay. The prospect of the man being a suspect was unimaginable. He got teary-eyed whenever anyone even mentioned Mr. Williams, muttering, “Poor man. Poor man.” She could hardly think of any reason he’d have wanted Mr. Williams dead.
Okay. She was becoming a regular Harriet the Spy. Soon she’d be scratching her crazy thoughts in little notebooks and hiding in garbage cans or lurking in dark alleys to confirm her suspicions. Good grief.
Let the police handle this. She was sure Detective Johnson was on top of this.
Except… Allie seemed to be the person with the most to lose. For whatever reason, she’d become a target. Which meant she had more than a vested interest in getting this mystery solved.
She sipped her coffee and looked surreptitiously over the rim at the cozy couple. And narrowed her eyes. Hmm. Meredith had definitely hated Mr. Williams. Not only had he given her a D their first year at St. Andrews, but he’d been resistant to her charms, which she’d always laid on pretty thick for the teachers as part of her plan to become everyone’s favorite. He hadn’t been so easily charmed, which may have been one more reason Allie had liked him so much.
And Sam. He’d obviously known Mr. Williams. In fact, she had been under the impression he was as upset as the rest of the students when Mr. Williams went missing and later, was presumed dead. Mr. Williams had been his soccer coach and his student advisor on the Crimson Press. But what reason would Sam have to hate him? And would that hatred have propelled Sam to kill his own teacher?
Then again, Sam had been stuck in that basement with her last Friday. He’d almost perished with her in the fire. If he’d been trying to destroy evidence to throw her off the trail, he wouldn’t have placed himself smack in the middle of the danger. She dismissed him from the list of possible killers…but couldn’t quite dismiss his attitude where the teacher was concerned.
“Oh, there you are, Al.”
She jerked up at the sharp, female voice. It was Meredith, who had apparently been so enraptured in her conversation with Sam that she only now noticed Allie’s presence. Meredith crooked her finger in her direction.
You Again Page 9
