Vince stopped and threw back his head in frustration. When he spoke it was low and direct. “I have told you everything save what I had for breakfast that day, which incidentally—”
“Where did you park your car?” He looked at me, incredulous. “When you came to the school that morning, where did you park?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Vince, it’s important.”
“I parked over at the McDonald’s. That answers the breakfast question too, if you must know.”
“Why not here, in the lot?”
“In the event that I got here before Al, I didn’t want to give him a heads-up.”
“But you said you visited him every year. Wouldn’t he have been expecting you?”
“Yes. At some point. But he could never be sure of exactly when. It kept him off guard. Uncomfortable. That was all part of it.” An Egg McMuffin with a side of sadism. “What does this have to do with anything? What does it matter where I parked?”
“Were there any other cars parked here? When you walked over from McDonald’s, did you notice what cars were here at the school?”
“I …” He stopped. My feeling was that he was going to answer off the cuff but decided, if he was ever going to get Jeffers and me off his back, he’d be better off actually thinking about his response. When he spoke again, there was an authenticity in his words.
“I didn’t notice,” he said. “Isn’t that funny? I was so focused on my intention—so focused on getting to Al—that I blocked out everything else. Meisner would be proud, huh?” He chuckled at the irony.
I believed him. I knew exactly what he was talking about. The narrow vision. Your whole world existing on the head of a pin and that being the only thing you’re able to see. I knew it well.
***
“Can’t Jeffers subpoena him, or whatever it’s called?” Paul asked.
“Subpoenas are for court appearances,” I said.
“Well, whatever it’s called. There must be some official police term for bringing someone in and forcing them to talk.”
“Arrest. And even that doesn’t guarantee you’ll get the information you’re looking for.”
Paul and I were at the Commons, a park area of sorts on the grounds of what was officially called Butler’s Barracks, a national historic site commemorating more than 150 years of Canada’s military involvement. While enjoyed primarily by cyclists, rollerbladers, joggers, and those just out for a stroll, there are still several structures—officer’s quarters, gunshed, and barracks—on the grounds that are open to visitors during the summer months. It was also the only place in town for dogs to run off leash. And, incidentally, where Moustache had orchestrated my first date with Paul.
Moustache raced up and down the lane, stopping to double back when a scent caught his nose or a tree called to his leg. He was supposed to be giving a lesson in socialization to a Portuguese Water Dog puppy, but he had left the poor pup to fend for herself.
“Technically, no one is obligated to give police any information or assist them in any way with regard to an investigation,” I explained, using lingo I’d learned from Jeffers and Port Authority.
“But if he knows something … If he’s lying?”
“Lying is different. That could be considered an obstruction of justice. But Leland hasn’t lied. Not really. Jeffers thinks he has, but he hasn’t said anything. Can’t be a lie if it hasn’t been spoken.”
Paul clapped his hands to get Moustache’s attention. He ran back, mouth open in excitement, ears flapping, his glorious tail wagging as fast as could be managed. It was a look I loved. So much joy. His plume of a tail drooped as Paul affixed his leash and brought him alongside the puppy. The puppy nipped at him playfully, and Moustache let out a huff.
“Just for a little bit, buddy,” Paul said to the pouting dog.
He did this from time to time—engaged Moustache’s services to help socialize a puppy that was brought to the clinic by rescue shelters for examination prior to adoption. Moustache was not a good teacher but tolerated the puppies without too much grousing and got one of Paul’s home-cooked feasts as a reward. Or, rather, bribe.
“So what’s Jeffers going to do?”
“I don’t know. He’s meeting with Inspector Morris today. It’s tricky, especially since Leland is only fifteen.”
“And his sister didn’t see the car?” I looked at him and stopped walking. “You said he followed her, so it would make sense that whatever he saw she saw too.”
“Of course!” I said. I reached up to take his face in my hands and was leaning in to plant a big kiss on him when Moustache yanked at the leash, jerking him away.
Paul and the puppy followed obediently as Moustache pulled toward the base of a tree. The puppy narrowly missed being peed on but was unable to avoid the spray of dirt Moustache kicked in her inquisitive face. She let out a sneeze and plopped onto the ground. Moustache looked up to Paul, who laughed and unhooked the leash with one hand and scooped up the puppy with the other.
“That’ll teach you to stick your nose in someone else’s business,” he said to the mass of brown and white curls.
“Indeed,” I said, wiping dirt off her snout.
Moustache darted down the path, relishing his freedom and celebrating the end of his work day.
I thought about what Paul had said about Ellie. He was right. The chances that Ellie saw the car were good. But in order to find out whether she did, Jeffers and I would need to get Ellie alone. And what were the chances of that?
Chapter 27
The school was decked out in maroon and metallic blue and was already bustling with activity when I arrived pre-showcase. Most of the students were in the studio waiting for Vince and me and a last-minute rehearsal. Ellie was not part of the group, and I kept a close eye on the door, expecting her to arrive any minute. She didn’t.
Nor, for that matter, did Vince.
I led a brief warm-up and reviewed the plan for the presentation then left the students to their nerves and finishing touches. It wasn’t until I’d moved into the corridor that I heard voices coming from Vince’s office. Ellie sat slumped against the wall, crying softly. Her red eyes met mine and filled with new tears.
“Ellie, what’s going on?” I asked.
“My dad found out I was still taking the class. About the audition. All of it. I don’t know how, but he found out.” She choked out the words between sobs.
For a split second I contemplated taking advantage of Ellie’s weakened state and solitude to ask about the car but, ultimately, goodness prevailed. I gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze and stuck my head into the office.
Vince was mid-sentence. “Mr. Penner, I can assure you, I had no idea. It was not my intention to go behind your back. Had I known—”
“She knew!” Armin Penner fired at me.
Vince’s desk separated him from Principal Harvey and Armin Penner.
“You knew Elsbeth was forbidden to take this class,” Armin spat at me.
“Armin, Ms. James is a guest artist here,” Gerald Harvey said in an attempt to smooth things. “She has no say in—”
“She knew,” he said again with such ferocity that I almost took a step back. “Are you the one who’s been filling Elsbeth’s head with ideas? Encouraging her to defy me—”
“Mr. Penner—” I said.
“—to sneak around behind my back—”
“Ellie was—”
“—to lie to me?”
Vince and Gerald Harvey looked back and forth from me to Armin as if watching a tennis match.
I opened my mouth to speak again but was cut off once more.
“Elsbeth was raised to follow the teachings of the church: to find strength in tradition, commitment to family, and dedication to the faith. It does not include—”
“You know that’s not true,” I said
“I beg your pardon,” Armin seethed.
My mind flashed back to Ellie’s room. The flashes of colour.
The expressions of a growing personality that were stunted in their infancy. The possibilities boxed up and put in the back of the dark closet.
“Ellie was raised to dream. To express herself. To explore and be inspired. That’s not to say she can’t still be true to the faith, but Ellie was raised to spread her wings. All of your children were.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Penner, I know Adele’s death must have been—”
“How dare you!”
“Mr. Penner—”
“How dare you speak her name.”
“And how dare you not honour it.”
That rendered Armin Penner speechless. He stared at me, mouth agape. If it had been a cartoon, I’d have been able to see the bright red rise in his face and steam would have whistled from his ears.
“Ms. James,” Gerald Harvey said gently, “I think that’s enough.”
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t near enough. It was true I hadn’t known Adele, nor did I really have any idea what life was like for her family before she died. But from what I had been able to put together—from Leland’s anger and Corney’s contraband to Ellie’s aspirations and Armin’s religious conversion—this family had stopped living the moment Adele died. Armin Penner sought comfort deep in the church and escaped, with his children, to a place where Adele had never been. A place that had never known her touch or sensed her spirit. And in doing so he had snuffed out the light—her light—that had shone in all of them.
I told him as much.
For a moment I was afraid. And in that moment, I understood clearly how passion and fury could overtake a person so completely that they might hurt another. Or kill. As Al Macie had been killed.
Armin Penner never took his eyes from me as he grabbed his hat from the desk and backed out of the room.
His rage lingered. I didn’t move lest the ability to inflict harm was still within its reach.
Gerald Harvey was wearing a team jersey to show his school spirit and had sweated through the chest. There was fire in his eyes too, but I couldn’t place it exactly. There was anger as well as something else. Fear maybe? But not fear of Armin. Fear of what?
Jeffers’ phone went right to voice mail. I fired off a text and got an automatically generated response that he was in a meeting.
I was pacing the best I could in a crowd of excited students, checking my phone every half second. I didn’t know exactly what information I had to tell Jeffers, but I knew something significant had happened and was hoping his police training would be better equipped to make sense of it than my TV equivalent.
I doubled back on my route and came face to face with Adam and Powell.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.
“Showing support,” Adam said. He leaned in to kiss both of my cheeks.
“An email went out last night inviting company members to the showcase. Something about fostering the relationship between the Festival and the school and the new Artist-in-the-Classroom program,” Powell explained.
“But this is just a Spirit Day presentation. It’s not the culmination of the program,” I said.
“Well, whatever,” Adam said. “We were asked to come, so we came.”
“You should see the turnout,” Powell said. “You’d think an offer for next season was contingent on attendance.”
“This better be good. I’m never awake at this hour. Unless I’m on my way home,” Adam said with a wink before going off on a tangent about something else.
I was half-listening, my mind still on the events of earlier. Powell had tuned out too and seemed to be distracted by something in the distance.
“Bella,” he said, interrupting Adam, for which he received a playful slap. Adam kept talking. “I need to talk to you,” he whispered in my ear.
He was scanning the crowd. I tried to follow his gaze but couldn’t keep up. A few of our Cabaret cast mates joined us, and Adam directed his story to the new and more attentive audience. Powell took advantage and pulled me aside.
“That weekend Al and I went away. I told you he got weird.”
“Yes.”
“There was another couple there.”
“With you?”
“No. They were on their own. We saw them in the restaurant.”
Powell’s eyes were still searching the hallway. There were people milling about but most had gone into the gymnasium.
“I didn’t get it at the time,” Powell continued, “but I think Al must have known them. Or one of them.”
This was just what Jeffers and I had guessed. That Al had seen someone he knew that weekend.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because one of them is here.”
I spun around, looking in every direction, scanning every face. I looked to Powell. At the same time, my phone rang.
Things seemed to speed up and slow down at once. Adam was at Powell’s side pulling him away. Vince was standing with our students motioning to me from the end of the hallway. My phone continued to ring, a photo of Jeffers’ face identifying the caller.
Teachers corralled late students, music blared, and maroon and metallic blue swirled together. Amplified voices led the student body in the school cheer and a roar erupted through the gym’s doors. The noise. The phone ringing in my hand. I ran.
“Where are you?” Jeffers asked.
I was standing at the top of the stairs that led to the basement. I thought I had retreated to the farthest recesses of the school, but the sounds of the assembly permeated through the walls. I had to cover my exposed ear to hear Jeffers properly.
“I’m at the school. Listen, we were right. Al Macie did see someone at the Inn. Powell just confirmed it.”
“Did he tell you who?”
“He didn’t get a chance. But whoever it was is here, Jeffers. Now!”
“Go see if you can get a positive ID from Powell. I’m on my way,” Jeffers said and hung up.
I turned and felt a hand against my chest. The push sent me flying backwards. The sound of my phone clattering down the stairs was a precursor to the contact my body made against the concrete. It landed at the bottom a split second before me and I registered a face reflected in its cracked screen before I passed out.
Chapter 28
There was something dripping on my hand. Steady drops. One every three seconds. I watched them land and waited until the next one. The counting helped me focus and by the time I’d reached ten, my mind was able to take in more of what was going on. Every ounce of my being ached. I was lying on my side and when I tried to raise myself to sitting, the pain caused my consciousness to waver. Wherever I was, I didn’t get here on my own. I was sure I wouldn’t have been able to manage it.
I steadied my breath and, through small movements, took an inventory of my injuries. My ribs had taken the worst of it and my mind flashed to Manda kicking up her heels in Sally Bowles’ shoes. That image alone helped me summon every bit of strength I possessed and push myself upright. It was like being stabbed by a thousand knives. My stomach lurched, and its contents ended up on the floor.
I was in a boiler room that had seen better days. Rusted pipes and puddles on the floor revealed weaknesses in the lines. I leaned my head back against the wall. The dampness was cool and soothing. I closed my eyes, savouring the relief, and must have fallen asleep because when I opened them again, I was face to face with my attacker.
“I brought you some ice,” he said. “And some Advil.”
“It’s going to take more than that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
“You pushed me down a flight of stairs!”
“I know! But I didn’t mean … I didn’t think … Are you all right?”
“I need a doctor,” I said. It hurt to speak. “I’m pretty sure my ribs are broken.” Frankly, I was surprised my neck wasn’t too.
He shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
I asked.
“I can’t let you go. Not yet. Not until I figure this out.”
He paced the length of the small room, covering the distance in three giant strides. The ceiling was low, and he had to bow his head.
“Mr. Harvey,” I stammered.
He raised a large hand in a gesture that called for silence and continued to pace.
“Please.”
He rushed over to me and laid his baseball glove of a hand over my mouth and nose. “Shut up,” he said.
His fingers stretched over my eyes and through them I could see ice in the blue of his own. The pressure he placed on my face cut off my breath, and I feared it would soon crush my nose. I kicked and writhed as best I could. Tears poured down my face, and I screamed into the leather of his palm.
“I said ‘shut up’!”
I clawed at his hand and sunk my nails into his flesh. Only then did he seem to realize he’d been suffocating me.
“Oh my god,” he said, pulling away. “Not again. Not again.”
He repeated it over and over.
I gulped in air, coughing up what I couldn’t immediately take in. My lungs pressed against the broken cage that surrounded them. The pain was excruciating, and I passed out again.
“What did he tell you?” he asked when I woke. He had been waiting.
“Who?” My breathing had settled into something manageable, but the pain had not.
“That man! The one at the assembly!”
“I don’t know who—”
“You were talking to him! He saw me and whispered something to you!” he yelled.
My brain ached from being jostled during the fall. And the deprivation from oxygen. I brought my hands to my head and willed it to focus. “Powell,” I said, as clarity began to settle.
“What did he tell you?”
“Just that he recognized someone.”
He stopped pacing and stared at me. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to speak but didn’t know the words.
“Bella!” Jeffers called from the other side of the door.
“I’m here,” I said, before another of Gerald Harvey’s hands could stop me.
“Are you all right?”
Triple Threat Page 17
