You Again

by Ashlee Mallory

  “Where do you think? At work, of course. He picked up a double shift and will be at the firehouse until Friday. But I have some plans cooking for Friday. A nice romantic evening with me in this scanty number I picked up at Macy’s—my mom would be shocked.”

  “Any particular reason you’re trying to seduce your husband? Has he finally come around to the prospect of starting a family?”

  Laney sighed. “Not yet. But like I said, I’ve hardly seen him.”

  “I know this means a lot to you,” Allie said, trying to convey her sympathy. “But you two have got to sit down and discuss it so you’re on the same page before something happens you’re both not on board with.”

  “Allie. I’m nearly twenty-three years old. My good childbearing years are passing me by!”

  Allie restrained the impulse to roll her eyes at her sister’s melodrama. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m tired of waiting. I waited a year for Mark to finally set the date. Now we’ve been married two more years. Enough is enough. Marybeth, Karma, Lucinda…all my old high school friends already have at least one kid and are planning their next. I can barely hold my head up at my relief society meetings with all the talk of morning sickness, potty training, vaccination woes, and everything else they discuss. I have nothing to offer to the conversation but a smile. But all the while, I’m wishing it was me with those problems.”

  “You have plenty of time to start a family, hon. It’ll happen. Just give Mark time, so he’s truly ready.”

  “I know you mean well, Allie.” Her sister pushed her salad away. “But you just can’t understand the pressure I’m under. From church, my mother, my grandmother, Mark’s family…”

  Allie chose not to push the issue. It seemed as though all she’d ever felt from Peg was the pressure to be someone she wasn’t. From the time Allie was six years old, Peg had been disappointed she wasn’t skinnier, prettier, less awkward. She wasn’t a girl Peg could be proud to take shopping at the mall or show off to her friends and family. When Laney came along, the perfect, beautiful little girl Peg had always wanted, the pressure was off Allie. For that, she’d be eternally grateful to her baby sister. Yeah, she knew what she meant about the pressure.

  “Mom, are we going to have dessert?” Violet bounced in, her lisp even more pronounced, having lost a second front tooth last night.

  “I have some unsalted almonds, fat-free Greek yogurt, and frozen berries in the freezer. We could make parfaits if you want?” Laney offered.

  Vi looked alarmed as she stared at her aunt. Before she could start fake-gagging, Allie jumped in. “That’s okay, Laney. We should be going, anyhow.” To Vi, she mouthed, brownies, and in a nanosecond, Vi had her jacket and was racing to the car.

  Allie prayed that Mark would start having sex with his wife again. Her sister couldn’t afford to lose any more weight. She was already so painfully thin, but limiting the food that passed her lips seemed to be the only thing Laney felt she could control in her life.

  Allie had considered enlightening her sister to that. But Laney had to come to the realization on her own. Allie hugged her sister, kissed her on the cheek, and followed Violet to the car.

  She just wished that whole realization thing didn’t feel so uncomfortably close to home. Not about food, of course, or having a baby. But about a certain dark-haired, husky-voiced author, thoughts of whom would simply not leave her alone, no matter how hard she tried to purge herself of them.

  …

  Sam glanced up at the clock. If his source was correct—and the lovely Janine was a great source for gossip—Allie should be meeting with Señora Sanchez right about now.

  What was she up to? Janine had told him that Allie was creating footage for her video covering Mr. Williams. But he had a hunch it was something more. And likely more dangerous, too. Something she definitely had a nose for.

  He’d taken it upon himself to make sure she stayed out of trouble—whether she wanted his help or not.

  Sam caught up with Señora Sanchez just outside the Crimson Press newsroom.

  “Hola, Señora Sanchez,” he said and delivered his most devastating smile. Or so he hoped.

  She looked up, her eyelids lowered, and her brightly colored lips curved into a smile. She had always been game for a little flirtation.

  “Señor Fratto. And what are we up to this afternoon? Shouldn’t you be holed up in your new classroom? You know, sharpening your English skills? Reading some Shakespeare or Keats?” She said this in a droll tone that told him she didn’t have too high an opinion of the study of literature.

  “It’s such a nice day outside, I thought I’d get out of my room. Stretch my legs a bit. Hey, I tried this great restaurant the other night. Peruvian. They had this dish—”

  She held up her hand. “Peruvian?” She scoffed disdainfully. “You must have an affinity for dirt and tasteless swill. If it’s real flavor you’re looking for, there’s nothing like the recipes my mother taught me. Real, authentic, Ecuadorian recipes.”

  She went on to describe some of the more savory aspects of Ecuadorian cuisine over Peruvian while he followed her into the Crimson Press room. Allie was fiddling with the video camera, and when she looked up to see him, her face froze in dismay. He pretended not to notice.

  Over the next few minutes, as his conversation with Señora Sanchez continued, Allie’s countenance went from dismayed to decidedly annoyed. She kept clucking and sighing and clearing her throat. He was delaying her interview—or whatever this was—and she was not pleased.

  He smiled and nodded at the señora to continue the recipe she was describing. “Tomato paste with the chipotle peppers. That’s the secret if you want to give your sauce some kick,” she said.

  Allie cleared her throat. Again. And interrupted. “If you’re ready, Señora Sanchez, we could get started. I’m sure you have a busy schedule.”

  “I’ll definitely give it a try. Thanks for the tips.” Sam stood, sticking his hands in his pockets.

  But he wasn’t about to leave the room until he knew for sure what Allie was up to. With her gaze following him, he crossed the floor and headed to the computer behind her. He booted it up and glanced up to see her gritting her teeth. Her eyes shot daggers at him before she turned back to Señora Sanchez. Tsk tsk. He was a school newspaper advisor, too. No way to toss him out.

  He smiled to himself.

  Allie cleared her throat, a little more self-consciously this time. “Thanks again for taking the time to meet with me on such short notice.”

  The señora inclined her head, like a queen to a royal subject. “My pleasure.”

  Allie began the interview. “When did you come on board at St. Andrew’s?”

  “Oh, dear,” Señora Sanchez glanced over at Sam. “Pretend you’re not listening, Sam. I’m afraid I’m going to age myself. I joined the faculty almost…thirty years ago.”

  “And you worked with Mr. Williams? Isn’t that correct?”

  “Mr. Williams started a few years after I did. Teaching the same subjects as you two. English.” Señora Sanchez grimaced over the last word.

  “What can you tell me about Jackson Williams? What was he like to work with?” Allie asked.

  “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Ms. McBride.” She looked indulgently over at Allie. Her tone held a hint of condescension. “I was never particularly close to Mr. Williams. I passed him in the faculty lounge—much as you and I do every day—but other than that, I never really interacted with him. I saw no reason to, quite frankly. We were so different, had different interests.”

  “Help me out here, Señora,” Allie said in an imploring tone. “You can’t think of one thing, one observation from his time at St. Andrew’s?”

  Señora Sanchez looked at Sam, a strange glint entering her golden brown eyes. She turned back to Allie. “I don’t like speaking ill of anyone, least of all the dead. But Mr. Williams was not the most discreet or honorable of men as you seem to think, Ms. McBride. I know for a
fact Jackson Williams had been carrying on with one of the parents here at St. Andrew’s. Despite the fact she was married.”

  “Mr. Williams? Had an affair?” Allie looked more than skeptical. “With whom?”

  “I’ve already said too much.” Señora Sanchez pressed her lips firmly closed. She delivered another indulgent smile to Allie and a wider smile to Sam, holding his gaze a few more seconds.

  Was she trying to tell him something? For a reason he couldn’t quite name, he felt uneasy.

  With a flourish of her hand, Señora finished, “I will try and remember what I can, and if I do, I will tell you. But that is all I recall.” She came to her feet, and Allie offered a half-hearted thanks.

  After the clicking of heels told him Señora Sanchez had left, Sam glanced at Allie, who turned the camera off, sat down at the computer opposite him, and stuck a thumb drive into it.

  “That was a bust,” Sam drawled, watching her carefully. “If you hoped to get footage for your video, that is.”

  She shrugged, keeping her attention on the computer screen. “It served its purpose.”

  “What did you think about her claim that Mr. Williams was having an affair with one of the parents?” Had Allie noticed the way the woman was almost implying something…something to him? Though, what it could be, he couldn’t fathom.

  This time, she sighed dramatically and met his gaze. “Mr. Williams wasn’t some sneaky womanizer, no matter how Señora Sanchez was trying to paint him.”

  So Allie hadn’t picked up on anything. Maybe it was just his imagination. Still…

  “Who’ve you got so far?” Sam asked, trying to get his mind off his niggling unease.

  She looked at him with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I have a gut feeling there’s more going on here than just a video.”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said archly. But she kept her gaze carefully averted. “Since Mr. Williams’s body was discovered, my primary goal has been to honor his memory.”

  “And would solving the mystery of who killed Mr. Williams and buried his body be part of that goal to honor his memory? Because if it is, I have to admit, your modus operandi is…brilliant.”

  She blinked.

  “Brilliant,” he clarified, “and dangerous. Not something you should be doing on your own.”

  She was trying to appear patient and failing miserably. “Sam, I know I’m not the most technologically savvy person here, but even I can manage to point the video camera at my subjects and push the button that says record.”

  Just as he thought. She hadn’t denied his suspicions. He started to jot down some names on the pad of paper at his elbow. “Tim, Señora Sanchez…Who else are you interviewing for this so-called project?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business.” When he hiked a mute brow at her, she huffed, and said, “I interviewed Tim and Brother Luther yesterday, and—”

  He snorted. “Brother Luther? Are you kidding? What did he have to say?”

  Her spine went straight. “A lot of good things,” she said defensively, then added, “As far as I could tell between his long pauses, broken by the occasional sob.”

  Sam grinned at her admission. See? She did have a sense of humor. “What did Tim have to say?”

  She explained the gist of that interview. It was clear she wasn’t getting very far, that was for sure. “Then there was Señora Sanchez today,” he said. He tipped his head to one side. “Am I, by any chance, on your list of suspects?”

  She actually turned pink. “You were, initially. Until I realized if you were the—the person who—”

  “Who killed Mr. Williams,” he supplied so she wouldn’t have to say it.

  She exhaled sharply. “Yes. If you were…that person, you wouldn’t have locked yourself in the basement with me after starting the fire. Besides, I can’t come up with a creditable motive for you to kill him. Tim said Mr. Williams made you captain of the varsity team when you were only a junior. Obviously, you had a good relationship with him. So, unless you care to share a reason you had to kill him…?”

  This time, he avoided her gaze. “Good point. Although, to be fair, there’s been no confirmation the fire was caused by arson. Could just have been a coincidence. But,” he added when she leveled him with a look of utter disbelief, “on the chance it was arson, I’m relieved to know I’m off the list. So, who’s on your short list?”

  “You’re the expert on criminal motives. Why don’t you tell me?” she countered instead.

  Sam could tell she still riled over his admission he was considering writing a book about the murder. Possibly also about his so-called “date” with Meredith. But she was wrong on both counts, so he wasn’t going to let it get a rise out of him. She’d realize soon enough. But it was a shame the easygoing camaraderie they’d established over the past week had vanished. He’d like to fix that.

  He lounged back comfortably in the chair, his fingers laced behind his head. “Well, we both think the killer was probably someone with a vested interest at St. Andrew’s and had access to the school and grounds.”

  She nodded. “Old news. That’s why I decided to tape these interviews. See if I can uncover a few motives for murder. Unfortunately, so far, it hasn’t been terribly productive.”

  He considered. “Maybe try a different angle. I’m thinking the killer would have needed an accomplice to help get back to Salt Lake after ditching Mr. Williams’s car in the mountains. You could try to figure out who that was. Someone might have seen or heard something about a trip to the mountains and don’t realize what they know.”

  She gave him a look of grudging approval. “Yeah. Good idea.”

  He unlaced his hands and flexed his fingers. “Aren’t you interested in who this parent is that Señora Sanchez claims he was having the affair with?”

  Allie glanced at the clock and stood. “Not really. She claims she hardly knew Mr. Williams, so I have a hard time believing she would be privy to such sensitive information. Take it from someone who did know him, it’s not something he ever would have done.”

  Her face was even more flushed now, not from embarrassment, but from growing ire—thankfully not directed at him, for a change. It made her blue eyes sparkle. She leaned over the keyboard from where she stood, offering a modest view of some ivory skin, and quickly clicked a few keys. The computer started to power down, and she gave him a smug smile as her private files blipped off the screen. Cute. As if he couldn’t hack into them if he really wanted to.

  She straightened. “Well, this run-through of motives and suspicions has been really helpful. Not.” She grabbed her purse. “I have a class that starts in a few minutes. Have a nice day.”

  He watched her stride out and sighed. That went well.

  Not.

  But he wasn’t giving up. Not on her, but also not on the germ of a book idea that was beginning to form in his mind.

  Hell, this was a crime, and he was a crime writer. It’s what he did for a living. Who he was.

  He damn well wasn’t going to apologize for that.

  But somehow, there had to be a way to make Allie see his side of things. Because the more he was around her, and the more he knew about her, the more he wanted to get to know her better.

  A lot better.

  And that, he realized, was nearly as dangerous as coming face-to-face with a killer.

  At least with a killer, he had a fifty-fifty shot at coming out of it unscathed.

  …

  The roast beef was like chalk in Sam’s mouth.

  He swallowed it as best he could and chased it down with some water. Across the table, his mother slipped a piece of a red potato in her mouth, unaware of the dark thoughts plaguing him. If he were more like Allie—determined to see only the best in Mr. Williams—he’d be able to dismiss the Spanish teacher’s accusation more easily.

  But in his line of work, nothing could be ignored, no matter how prepostero
us the claims might be. And this one…well, he didn’t believe it was as preposterous as Allie seemed to think.

  Mr. Williams could very well have been sleeping with a married woman.

  “Is everything tasting all right?” his mother asked, glancing at his still full plate.

  The dark shadows under her eyes reminded him how tired she must be feeling, even if she was too proud to admit it, pasting on a wide smile to pretend nothing was wrong. But she was sick, damn it. Really sick. Phase three breast cancer. And even with the surgery to remove the tumor a couple of weeks ago and the chemotherapy treatments she was undergoing, the prognosis remained uncertain.

  “Dinner is great, Mom. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

  “If you mean by telling Patty what I’d like for tonight’s menu, then it was no trouble at all.”

  “As long as you’re not putting yourself out for my benefit.” His water glass was empty, so he grabbed the wineglass and took a sip. “Why didn’t Aunt Kathy stay for dinner?”

  “Oh, you know your Uncle Fred. He couldn’t even heat up a can of soup if his life depended on it.” She made a face. “How are things going at the school? Are you enjoying your classes? The students?”

  Perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better opening.

  “Things are going well. Teaching isn’t as easy as it looks, but I’m enjoying it.” He thought about how he could broach his questions delicately. “The classroom I’m in is actually next door to Mr. William’s old classroom. Allison McBride has it now. She’s the one at the planning meeting who got it in her head to make that video in Mr. William’s memory,” he explained. “She was grateful you supported the idea.”

  His mother nodded and picked up her wine. “A very persistent little thing. I imagine she was disappointed the fire destroyed everything down in the archives.”

  “Persistent is right. She’s still determined to make the video despite the fire. She’s been taping and interviewing people who knew Mr. Williams for whatever footage she can get.”