You Again

by Ashlee Mallory

  Half an hour later, his mother retired upstairs for bed, he picked up his cell and looked for any missed messages. There was an email from Allie, sent from her school email account. Frowning, he opened it. There was a video attachment. With a sinking heart, he clicked play.

  Hell, that VHS tape had been gold. For there, plain as day, was Jackson Williams, smiling and joking with his students. So charismatic. The tape then cut to clips from Allie’s interviews with Jeremy and Tim. Five minutes in, the video cut off.

  She’d done it, the tribute was almost there.

  Sam looked at the time. It was kind of late for her to still be at the school. It was almost nine and dark outside. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her presence in the school this late at night, alone, was not a good idea.

  He called her cell. It went straight to voicemail. Damn.

  His nerves jangled with foreboding. What was she thinking? The woman needed an epic ass-chewing, that was for damn sure.

  He better get over there.

  …

  A noise from the hallway brought Allie’s head up.

  Was someone still here?

  She looked at the clock. Good grief. Had she really been at this for five hours? It had been worth it, though. Things were coming together far better than she could have imagined.

  She felt a moment’s guilt at having to ask Ryan to take Vi tonight. The equipment at the school was much better than her old home computer, so it made sense to stick it out here. And with only a week to make this thing shine, if she was going to convince the committee to run it at the upcoming gala, there was no time to waste. Besides, Vi was in good hands. Ryan and his new wife were nothing but loving.

  Had Sam seen the video she’d sent him yet? What did he think of it?

  She pressed play and reviewed what she’d put together so far. Pride and nostalgia hit her as the images ran past. The video outtakes were perfect, and she’d interspersed them with footage from her interviews. Brother Luther’s had been a bit over the top but, since most people already knew what he was like, they’d probably appreciate his melodrama. A couple more interviews should just about do it.

  She jumped at another noise. Okay, that had definitely been the sound of a door shutting. Someone had either just left or entered the hall of classrooms from the stairway.

  Strange.

  She’d been under the assumption that after the custodian had said good-night and left around eight, she was the only person left at the school.

  Goosebumps trailed down her arms.

  She paused the video and strained to hear anything other than the sound of the rain still pelting the windows. But with the sound-dampening linoleum that was installed a few years back, it was unlikely she’d hear someone approach the door to the newsroom until they pushed the door open.

  The clock above the doorway ticked ominously.

  She took her phone out of her handbag. In case she needed to make a quick 9-1-1 call, she put her thumb over the emergency speed-dial, ready to go. She held her breath. Waiting.

  The faint sound of a door slamming out in the parking lot startled her, followed by a rush of relief. She exhaled the air that had backed up in her lungs in a whoosh.

  She was so losing it.

  Clearly, thinking about murder and motives was pushing her over the edge. It was probably just one of the other teachers who had worked late, too. Only, they were smart enough to get out of here. Something she should be doing if she wanted to look at all like a human being in the morning.

  She shut down the computer and gathered her things, then stopped to stare at the box from Mr. Williams’ sister. It was still raining like cats and dogs out there. Did she dare leave it here overnight?

  No way. God knew what she’d already lost in the fire. She couldn’t risk losing anything more. Especially not before she’d had a chance to review its contents more thoroughly.

  She pushed the box flaps closed and tried to press the tape down to keep it sealed for her trip to her car. She gave a quick glance around, spotted her cell phone on the table, and slipped it in her pocket. Jeez. She’d been so close to calling 9-1-1. That would have been mortifying. What an overactive imagination she had.

  She flipped off the lights and pushed open the door. It was dark and quiet in the hallway. Eerily silent. And spookily dark. The person who’d left must have thought the building was empty and had turned off the hall lights. Usually, the peace and quiet was soothing and comforting when she walked the length of the hall at night, contrasted with the noise and bustle of the school day. But tonight, with all the weird things that had happened over the past two weeks, the tomblike silence just made her uneasy.

  Ordinarily, she’d head to the back stairwell, which led directly down to her car in the back parking lot. But that meant following the dark hallway around the corner and into whatever abyss waited her until she reached the stairs. She actually shivered at the thought. Thankfully, the stairwell leading to the front of the school was just ahead. Walking around the building outside with the streetlight and moonlight, she’d feel safer getting to her car, even if it was the long way.

  When she reached the door to the stairwell, she couldn’t push through it fast enough. The welcoming light streamed through the windows from the moon and the halogens.

  She exhaled loudly, realizing she had been holding her breath again.

  Suddenly, there was another sound to her right. Instinctively, she turned towards it.

  Just as a sharp pain exploded in her head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The parking lot was dark when Sam pulled up.

  Sure enough, Allie’s Outback was the solitary car in the lot. Idiot. Damn it! She knew better than to be here alone. Especially with everything coming down the past couple of weeks.

  He parked outside the back door and rushed over. Locked. He punched in his code and the door beeped him in.

  He sped up to the second floor, taking two steps at a time. At the landing, he pushed open the door. Other than the light streaming from the stairwell behind him, it was totally dark.

  Foreboding.

  He groped along the wall until he found the light switch and flipped it on. There was a strange echoing patter coming from down the hall. Footsteps, maybe, racing down the front stairs? He jogged toward it.

  “Allie?” he called out, trying to keep the panic from his voice. If it was her, she’d hear his voice and come back. Assure him she was fine.

  And if it wasn’t her…

  The hall grew deathly quiet again.

  “Allie?”

  He reached the Crimson Press room. The door was open, and he flipped the lights on. His heart nearly burst from his ribcage. Empty.

  He tried her classroom next, but she wasn’t there, either.

  Her car was still in back, though. She had to be here.

  The stairwells. He would try the one closest to the newsroom first.

  He pushed the door open and almost tripped over her. She was sprawled on the floor, along with a litter of papers and things. Hell. Had she fainted? Again? Or was it something more sinister…?

  Wrestling down his panic, he gently turned her over onto her back. She was out cold, but a quick scan of her body didn’t reveal any blood or stab wounds, or anything that would indicate she’d been attacked. He quickly felt for her pulse.

  Thank God.

  Sweet Jesus. Relief poured through him when she stirred.

  “Allie? What’s going on? Did you fall in the dark?”

  She just stared at him, not saying anything at first. If she had a concussion it could be—

  “Someone hit me,” she mumbled. “On the back of my head.”

  Alarm flooded through him. “God damn it,” he muttered. “You sure have a nose for trouble.” He pressed his fingers lightly around the base of her skull. Sure enough, she grunted in pain as he touched the large goose-egg. He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No!” Her eyes widened in a
larm. “That’s not necessary. I’m fine.” She struggled to sit up.

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve got a knot on your head the size of Alaska. You might have a concussion.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t need an ambulance. I can call my sister to take me to the Emergency.”

  Like that was going to happen. Not on his watch. “No, I’ll take you,” he said forcefully enough that she wouldn’t argue.

  She eased out a sigh. “Fine. But we should call the police first, though.”

  She was probably right about that. “If you’re sure you feel okay.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Can you walk? With my help?”

  He helped her up and half-carried her to a chair in the newsroom. Swiftly, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Detective Johnson’s number. The detective answered, and in brief order, Sam explained what had happened.

  “He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Sam said, and returned the phone to his pocket. “Do you think they took anything?”

  She looked down and seemed to realize she was still holding her purse. She opened it and peered inside. “My wallet’s still here.” She pulled it out and scanned the contents. “Nothing taken.”

  “Did you see who hit you? Anything at all in the way of a description?”

  “No. Sorry.” She shook her head, then winced at the motion. “I don’t understand. If nothing’s taken, why did they hit me?”

  Sam bit down his growing anger at whoever had done this. “I don’t know, but if you’re up to it, maybe we should look around. See if anything’s missing.”

  “Oh, my God. The box!”

  He held up a hand. “There was some stuff lying next to you.”

  They went back to the stairwell. The box was on its side in a corner. Half the contents had spilled onto the floor. They pushed everything back in, and he carried it back to the room.

  “Do you think the person who hit me was looking for something in here?” she asked, fingering the cardboard flap.

  “God knows. Can you tell if anything is missing?”

  She dug through the box, and he watched as she pushed things around to reveal the contents again. The letters they’d read were still there, the elegant scrawl of his mother’s handwriting hard to miss. “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. You?”

  He surveyed the contents again, but he hadn’t exactly been taking inventory earlier. “I just don’t know.”

  An hour later, they didn’t have any more answers. Detective Johnson hadn’t found any sign of forced entry, and a call to the school’s security company indicated that other than Sam, no one else had used an access code to enter the school after the building was locked. Which meant the person had likely gained entry to the school earlier in the day.

  As a precaution, Detective Johnson took the box and all of its contents—including the damn letters—into police custody. He didn’t indicate one way or another what he thought about any of the items, but he did say it was worth taking a look, in light of recent events. He promised to send them an inventory list of its contents, to see if it jogged their memories of anything that might be missing.

  For a crazy minute, before Detective Johnson arrived, Sam had considered asking Allie to hold off on turning over the letters. To buy some time for him to figure out who had really done the murder. But there hadn’t been time and, in the end, he could never have asked her to conceal potential evidence, no matter how terrifying the implications might be.

  But he’d sure wanted to.

  Sam was quiet as he followed Allie home. He’d insisted on taking her to the ER, where the doctor had examined her and reluctantly cleared her to drive, on the condition that Sam follow her home in his car to make sure she got there safely. Sam had tried to insist on driving her himself, but she could be damn stubborn, and with that doctor’s permission, he hadn’t stood a chance of convincing her.

  He did, however, succeed in insisting he check out her house before leaving. After scoping it out for anything suspicious, inside and outside, he was satisfied nothing was out of order. Allie should be safe.

  All the same, he was extremely reluctant to leave her.

  “You know, it really wouldn’t be any trouble for me to stay the night. If you’re afraid to be here alone, that is.” They were standing in her front room. Allie’s face was turned from his, focused on a message that she must have received on her phone. “You won’t even know I’m here, camped out on your couch.”

  No response. He was about to repeat the offer when she finally glanced up.

  “Thanks for the offer, Sam. But I’ll be fine. I’ll probably draw a hot bath and then crash. Nothing to be worried about.”

  With great reluctance, he nodded, reminded her to lock the door behind him, and left.

  Guess his charms had grown rusty. Rusty? Hell, more like completely eroded.

  After he figured out who was trying to destroy so many lives, he was going to have to do something about that, too. Because there was something here. With Allie. Something he wanted to explore. And not just sexual—although too many thoughts had passed his mind on that score for him to deny the physical attraction. No, he not only was lusting after this woman, but he genuinely liked her. A lot.

  And unlike with some of the other women he’d dated, where he ended things when he reached that same realization, with Allie, he only grew more intrigued. Maybe it was because, for the first time ever, he felt he could trust the woman.

  Allie couldn’t help herself. She always told him the truth, no matter how brutal.

  Trust in relationships was something he’d given up on long ago.

  It felt good finding someone who was different.

  The question was, did she feel the same about him?

  …

  Despite Sam’s powers of persuasion, Thursday after school was the earliest Meredith could fit an interview into her tight schedule. Allie sat in the corner of the newsroom, trying to be unobtrusive and to focus on what they were there for today. Not on Sam as he sweetened Meredith up.

  “Thanks for helping out.” He delivered the other woman a wide smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. Charming was completely out of character…but it worked for him. They’d decided he would do the actual interview because Meredith would only shut down if Allie was asking the questions.

  “Anything for an old friend.” Meredith leaned forward and touched Sam on the arm.

  Allie almost felt guilty knowing Sam was laying it on thick so they could pump Meredith for information. Almost.

  Then she thought about all those days and weeks—okay, years—she’d spent miserable because the guy she adored had slept with…Meredith. Or so she’d believed.

  It had been a knife to her heart for so long, it was liberating to look at her former friend and not feel that pain any longer. But Meredith wasn’t aware of their conversation, that Allie now knew it had all been a big, fat lie. So the bitch continued to preen, to pretend for Allie, and for Sam, and maybe even for herself, that she and Sam had some kind of history.

  And for the first time, Allie actually felt sorry for her. How empty her life must be today to cling so tightly to decades-old petty triumphs…

  Allie turned her gaze back to Sam. Last night, when he’d offered to stay the night, she couldn’t deny her heart had fairly leapt from her chest. She’d known the offer was purely platonic, and his comment that he would sleep on the couch confirmed it, but for a blissful, thrilling moment, she’d really wished he’d meant something more.

  Now it looked like they were destined to be just friends.

  If only she could convince her heart.

  Sam had been there again for her last night. Not that she’d needed saving. She’d told herself that a million times, trying not to get too worked up over the fact someone had actually knocked her out with a blunt object. If they’d wanted to kill her, she would now be dead. But other than the painful lump on her head—which reminded her she needed more Tylenol—she’d been unharmed.
The person had obviously been looking for something, and she’d gotten in the way. Or…

  There was also the possibility they had been trying to warn her off. Again. Because the fire and vandalizing her car hadn’t been successful. The problem was, Allie didn’t scare easily. Not at this point. Instead, she was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this murder.

  She glanced over to the camera. Meredith was talking about some of the people who’d gone to school with them and what they were doing now. Name-dropping kids from the more popular crowd to show how “in” she’d been, and that Allie, sadly, wasn’t. The thing was, Allie barely even knew who they were talking about, and she didn’t care in the least. More importantly, she could tell Sam didn’t, either.

  “You should both know—and I’m not trying to burst any bubbles of yours or anything, Al—but there were a number of rumors that Mr. Williams wasn’t as big-hearted—” Meredith stopped abruptly and touched her fingers to her lips.

  Allie barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

  “As?” Sam prompted.

  “Maybe big-hearted’s not the right word,” Meredith went on. “He wasn’t as…shall we say, paternal as some people thought. I know of one girl who transferred rather abruptly during the previous school year because of something that happened between them. I’m sure you can imagine what that might have been.”

  Allie told herself not to get offended or bristle at Meredith’s comments. She knew all too well how reliable some of those “rumors” were.

  “Who are we talking about?” Sam asked casually.

  “Can’t you imagine? I always thought the two of you were pretty tight at one time. Tiffany Sawyer. You guys went out a few times if I’m remembering right.”

  Allie had no clue who they were talking about, but Sam seemed to register some recognition at the name. He sat forward a little more earnestly. “You’re saying Tiffany and Mr. Williams were having some sort of affair, and when it went south, she transferred?”

  Meredith leaned in, too, with a conspiratorial air. “It went a lot more than south. I was on the junior varsity cheerleading team at the time, and there hadn’t been any reason for us to be modest back then. Especially Tiffany Sawyer. Most of the other girls would have killed for her breasts,” she said. But not her, of course. “Anyway, she started to show signs she was carrying on a lot more than just a relationship with Mr. Williams.”