by Jack Parker
He'd spent the morning talking to some of the parents; that had been a wash, too. Not surprisingly most of them had sworn their little darlings had been fast asleep in bed by midnight on Friday. A few had insisted their kids had gone to the official school party and/or that they wouldn't under any circumstances have allowed them to attend a private party at a teacher's house for God's sake.
Ken shook his head sadly at their stupidity. He had two teenagers himself and, remembering the hell he'd raised at that age, he spent time talking to them and their friends and made damn sure he knew where they were going and with whom. They might roll their eyes when he explained why something wasn't a good idea, but they listened because they knew he loved them and wanted to keep them safe. He had a low opinion of parents who not only didn't check up on their kids, but lied for them as well. Or maybe they were just lying to themselves.
Mrs. Salazar seemed to be different. She was obviously proud of her son Jake and had given him enough details about the football game that he was sure she had been there to watch. She'd then calmly explained that she and her husband had gone home, knowing Jake would want to spend time with his teammates and friends. But she'd maintained a vigil in the front room waiting for him to come home. That had been at 1:00 AM. She'd insisted that he hadn't left again, claiming she was a light sleeper and would've known. There'd been no defensiveness or apology in her tone, and Ken was inclined to believe her.
All of which left him exactly nowhere in the investigation. There just wasn't enough evidence to conclusively call it foul play, but neither was it obviously an accidental death. The only thing he could be pretty sure of was that Maggie Lane's state of inebriation had contributed heavily to her death. The ME had given cause of death as "a blow to the head caused by a fall" without speculating on what might have caused the fall itself. He wasn't yet ready to give up, but he wasn't sure what avenue to pursue next.
Gracie popped into the ladies' room before she headed to her car after school. Emily was standing at the sink, laboriously soaping not only her hands but forearms and the rather large amount of skin left visible by her low-cut sweater. "Did you spill something?" Gracie asked.
"I don't know! Emily wailed, continuing to scrub vigorously.
Gracie looked puzzled. "Then why are you washing?"
"Oh my God, it's horrible," Emily said. "I couldn't wait 'til I got home, I just had to do something right now. All day long I've had this weird feeling, and now it's starting to itch. I've been trying not to scratch, I really have, but it's just getting worse." She stuck an arm under the water to rinse the soap off and then held it out for Gracie's inspection.
Gracie duly peered at the arm, fully expecting to see nothing unusual. Emily was quite capable of freaking out just because her skin itched from being a little dry in this cooler weather. Instead she saw several little clear bumps just beginning to well up, along with faint jagged white marks where Emily had been scratching. "It does look like there's something there, but I don't know what."
Emily rinsed off the rest of the soap and checked the newly-cleansed skin. "It's all over here, too," she said worriedly, peering down at her chest.
"Does it itch anywhere else?" Gracie asked.
Emily was in the process of patting the skin dry, which wasn't easy with the cheap paper towels the school provided. She paused to mentally analyze each area of her body, twitching it slightly as she ticked it off the list. "Not that I can tell," she decided.
"Maybe you should show that to 'Doctor' Allison, she might know what it is," Gracie offered.
Emily snorted sarcastically and went back to drying her arms. "She'd probably be afraid she'd catch whatever it is!"
"Gimme a minute and I'll walk out with you," Gracie offered. "If we can find her I'll make it sound like the medical mystery of the year and she'll want to solve it even if she won't touch it. I don't know how she ever expects to treat patients without touching them."
"Latex gloves," Emily said succinctly.
"Funny you should say that," Gracie said as she chose a stall and opened its door. "There was a pair of latex gloves in the bathroom trash last night . I saw 'em when I made a pit stop just before I left after decorating. Allison's such a hypochondriac I could just see her putting them on so she wouldn't have to touch the toilet!"
"I know, right?" Emily replied with a laugh.
A few minutes later they stood at the edge of the parking lot, scanning the surrounding area in hopes of catching sight of Allison's red hair. For all they knew she'd already left, or had decided to go watch the team practice. Amy and Meaghan walked by and waved at them.
"Hi guys. Hey, have you seen Allison anywhere?" Emily asked a little too eagerly. Her right hand drifted toward her left arm and she dropped it to her side with an effort of will.
"I think I saw her at her locker a couple minutes ago," Meaghan said.
"Yeah," Amy put in. "She was talking to Tyler. You think she'll give up on Jake and start dating Tyler?"
"I don't know why," Emily said. "She'd have nearly as much competition with him."
"There's other fish in the sea besides Jake," Meaghan said. "Maybe it's time they got some attention."
"Yeah, but who'd want them?" Emily asked rhetorically.
"Hey, there's Allison coming out now," Gracie said, waving to get her attention.
"See ya later," Meaghan said. "We're off to the mall."
She and Amy walked away as Allison walked up to see what Gracie wanted.
"Hi, Allison," Gracie said. "Emily the weirdest thing going on, she doesn't have a clue what it is and I just knew you'd be able to tell her what's wrong."
Both girls watched as Allison's smile disappeared and her face took on a look of studious interest, with just a trace of pleasure at being consulted. "I see. What seems to be the problem?" she asked.
Emily handed her books to Gracie and pushed back the sleeves of her jacket and sweater to reveal her arms. "They started feeling weird this morning, and now they're itching like crazy."
Allison leaned closer but made no move to touch Emily's arm. "You've been scratching," she scolded. "Is this just on your arms?"
"It's on my chest, too," Emily said with obvious distress. She took hold of the lapels of her jacket and pulled it open.
Allison looked dispassionately and nodded her head in agreement.
"She says it doesn't itch anywhere else," Gracie said.
"Well, then, it's probably not measles," Allison pronounced. "The only other thing I know of that might look like that is poison ivy. Didn't you say the other day that you're particularly allergic to it?"
"Poison ivy?" Emily asked, looking like she'd just received a death sentence.
Um, yeah, I am allergic to it. But I haven't been around it, and besides, it's fall, it isn't growing now."
"There's still oil in the vines even if there aren't any leaves," Gracie told her. "You might not have even known what you touched was poison ivy."
"People with severe allergies can react to any part of the plant," Allison said, though she'd backed off noticeably. "Get some Caladryl and stop scratching it, Emily. That will only spread it." She smiled rather mockingly. If you hadn't worn such a revealing sweater you wouldn't have gotten it on your chest. You'd better hope you haven't touched your boobs!"
Emily gave her a look that seemed to say at least I have boobs, but merely said "How long will it take to go away?
"Oh, a week or so," Allison said airily. "Gotta go, see you guys later." With that she headed for her car.
Emily turned to give Gracie a pleading look. "Where could I have gotten it?"
Gracie remembered the conversation at the recycling on Saturday morning. "Maybe it was you making out in Mrs. Lane's backyard," she said with a smirk
"But I told you, I wasn't making out with anyone at that party. The only guys I'd want to make out with were too busy ogling Maggie."
Jake found the door he was looking for and knocked loudly. He was nervous about being here but
knew it was something he had to do – should have, in fact, already done. He heard a voice growl something that seemed to grant entry so he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, opened the door and walked in.
"Lieutenant Freeman? I'm Jake Salazar, I talked to you yesterday at school," he said. His father had always taught him to look people in the eye, speak in a firm voice, and not show fear. He had nothing to fear, he'd done nothing wrong. Well, maybe not nothing…
"Hello, Jake. Come in and have a seat," Ken said cheerfully, waving him in. But he said nothing further, as if to deliberately ramp up Jake's nerves.
Jake took a seat and clasped his hands together in his lap. Get it over with, he thought. "There's something I'd like to tell you, sir," he began.
"I'm listening," Ken said calmly.
"First of all, I did not kill Maggie – uh, Mrs. Lane," Jake said with all the sincerity he could muster.
Ken smiled in a kindly manner. "Okay, glad to hear that. Do you know who did? Or what happened?"
"No, sir, I don't," Jake replied. Sweat was beading up on his upper lip. "But I was having an affair with her." He practically sighed with the relief of his admission.
"All right," Ken said in a neutral tone. "Did you go back to see her after the party?"
"I left around midnight; Tyler took me home, and Shaun too." Jake relaxed a bit. "We drove around a little bit and dropped Shaun off, so it was about 1:00 when I got home. You can check with them."
Ken smiled, showing no trace of irritation that his question hadn't been answered. "Did you leave home again later?" he repeated.
"No, sir, not until I went to practice Saturday morning. But I was with her Friday afternoon," Jake said.
"With her?" Ken requested clarification.
"Uh, we had sex." Jake was nervous at making the admission to the older man. Suddenly he felt awkward about his attraction to the teacher and didn't relish having the relationship referred to as cougar and cub. He didn't want to be laughed at.
"I see," Ken said. "When did you leave?"
"About 5:30. I had to be in the locker room by 6:00."
"I know you played the whole game Friday night, and did very well from what I've heard," Ken told him.
Jake preened a bit under the flattery. He knew he was a good player, but it was always nice to hear someone else say so. "Thank you, sir. I know I should have told you this before…"
"I understand, Jake," the policeman said. "The important thing is that you have told me."
"I know you can check DNA and you'd find out about me, so I realized I had to tell you about it first." Jake stood up and turned his back to Ken, pulling up his T-shirt.
Ken looked at the deep scratches on the boy's back. "Mrs. Lane did that to you?" he asked in surprise.
Jake lowered his shirt and sat back down. "Yes, sir, she did. I'd be happy to give you a DNA sample, right now if you want." Now that he'd made his confession his nerve almost broke; he could still be in a lot of trouble. "I swear I did not kill her, Lt. Freeman. Do you, uh, have to tell my parents about this?"
CHAPTER 8
"Play it again," Gracie requested. "I'm not sure I've got all the words yet."
Shawna, sitting at Gracie's desk, reached over and clicked the appropriate icon on the laptop. "You trying to memorize the words the first day it's out?" she asked.
"It's a chick song," Kelly complained. "I might have to leave if that's all you girls want to hear."
"Chill out," Cheryl replied. "You're outnumbered, Dude." The big grin on her dark face made it clear she was teasing him.
Kelly clapped his hands to his ears and made a face, but made no move to leave. Gracie had been friends with Shawna and Cheryl for a long time and while he enjoyed their company he'd had to work at being accepted. None of the four of them had been quite sure how to add him to the group. The other girls weren't jealous as best he could tell, but he knew they'd never forgive him if he hurt Gracie. Another big part was that they hadn't been sure how to deal with a guy who wanted to hang around a lot; the guys they dated hadn't yet figured out that's how you really got to know a girl. But they'd worked it out, and if he had to listen to some chick sing breathlessly about a lost love he figured it was a relatively small price to pay.
He watched Gracie's face as she listened to the music, noting that her blue eyes were sparkling with the emotion of the lyrics. She was singing along with the words she knew, while he was thinking how much more fun it would be to kiss her Cupid's bow mouth. She stopped singing and looked around in confusion, then pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.
Kelly removed his hands from his ears (not that they had really done much good) and Shawna paused the song.
"Hi, Ken!" Gracie said to the phone. Though she concentrated on what he was saying she was aware of three pairs of eyes staring at her, knowing what this call had to be about. "Um, my friends are here now…uh huh, Kelly and Shawna and Cheryl, you know 'em…yes, of course…okay, bye."
"The cop's on his way out to talk to you about Mrs. Lane's murder," Cheryl said without question.
"He's only doing his job," Shawna protested. "I like him, he's a nice man."
"What, did he ask if he could trust us?" Kelly asked.
"Well, yes, since this case involves – or could involve – people we know, he did ask if he should wait until you guys were gone," Gracie admitted. A conspiratorial grin stole over her face. "But I'd just tell you guys all about it later, so he might as well tell you himself."
"We helped you with your Dad's, um, case," Cheryl said, clearly changing the word at the last second. "And we know these people, we can tell him all about 'em."
"It's okay, Cheryl; you can say 'murder' because that's exactly what it was," Gracie said. "But Ken's not so sure Mrs. Lane was murdered."
"He's not? Shawna asked in surprise. "What else could it be?"
"Maybe he's changed his mind," Kelly suggested. "He wants Gracie to help him figure out who done it."
All three girls groaned at his euphemism. "But we don't know who it was," Shawna insisted.
"We don't know what we don't know," Cheryl joked.
"Well, let's hear the song one more time, then I guess we ought to go to the front." Gracie looked around at the purple bean-bags they were sprawled in. "I don't think I should entertain a policeman in my bedroom!"
"I've got a better idea," Kelly said. "Why don't you bring us up to speed on what you already know."
"Spoilsport," Cheryl said.
Gracie stood up and started the music herself. "I'd rather Ken told you himself, just in case I missed something."
"You? Miss something?" Kelly asked. "I'll meet you guys in the front."
When Ken rang the bell a few minutes later they were sitting in the living room talking about the teacher and all the various theories they'd heard. Gracie brought Ken into the room and made introductions, just in case he'd forgotten which girl was which. She sat down and picked up a pad and pen from the coffee table, as if she were some kind of secretary.
"Nice to see you all again," Ken said as he took a seat. He had a good memory for names and faces (always a good trait for a cop) and remembered Gracie's friends well. Shawna, the blonde, was a little on the naïve side while the tall thin African-American girl, Cheryl, seemed to be less shocked at the things people did. He wondered if she deliberately tried to cultivate the world-weary attitude. He didn't know Kelly as well, though over the last several months Gracie had talked about her boyfriend enough that Ken had a pretty good idea what he was made of.
"Just as a reminder, this is an on-going case and anything I say isn't to be repeated." He made eye contact with each in turn to make sure they understood. The last time he'd talked to them about a case it had only involved Gracie's family; this time he'd be discussing their friends. But he trusted Gracie and Gracie trusted them; and besides, they could tell him things that none of the other students probably would.
"Okay, then. How much has Gracie told you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Shawna declared.
"She thought we should hear it from you," Kelly said.
"We know Mrs. Lane was found dead on Saturday morning, after the party on Friday night," Cheryl said factually. "It's all over school that she fell and hit her head, but no one seems to know what made her fall. Do you?"
"No, Cheryl, I don't," Ken answered her frank question. "Not yet, anyway. I am sure that she'd been drinking and that contributed to the fall. Guess I'd better start at the beginning. Mrs. Lane's neighbor saw her patio door standing open early Saturday morning and went over to close it; she saw Mrs. Lane on the floor, went in to check, and called 911. She told me about the party and said she'd seen a light-colored car parked in front of Mrs. Lane's house in the wee hours of the morning."
"My car's a light tan – but Cheryl and I didn't go to the party," Shawna said.
Ken smiled ruefully. "That isn't much to go on, and it's very likely that the car has nothing to do with the death. Thankfully many criminals are stupid, but they usually don't drive their own car to a murder."
"Not if they intended to commit murder," Gracie mused aloud.
"Exactly. The ME puts time of death between 1:00 and 3:00AM; according to the last hold-outs the party was over at 1:30 so that narrows it a bit. Her blood-alcohol level was .12, so she was definitely intoxicated. Cause of death was a blow to the head caused by a fall from the dining room onto the hard tile floor in the sunken living room. There was some skin under her fingernails, but no bruises or scratches or other indication she'd put up a fight of any kind. No signs of forced entry, and about a zillion fingerprints so they won't do us any good."
