Haunted Hair Nights

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Eventually, Marla had to use the rest room and asked for directions.

  “It’s down that hallway, on the same side as the garage,” a female student told her. She’d been wrapping mummy tape around one of the mannequins. The girl, whose name was Rose, had taken a long break earlier, making Marla wonder if she’d gone off for a secret smoke or a rendezvous with one of the boys instead of a bathroom visit.

  Marla located the facilities, grateful to find a supply of toilet paper if not paper towels. Her face looked tired as she gazed at herself in the mirror. No wonder; she’d been at work all day. After fixing a quick dinner at home, she’d hopped in the car with Brianna to come here.

  At least tomorrow was her late day at the salon. On Thursdays, she worked from one to eight, so she’d have the morning free.

  As she emerged from the lavatory, Marla glanced out a side window on the opposite end of the house from where she’d been working. The darkening sky made it hard to see, but was that a trail of blood leading into the woods?

  Oh, how clever. Doug the football coach must have tossed some of his red paint out there, the same stuff he’d gotten on his shoes. Or maybe he’d hosed it off outside, and some of the residue had stained the dirt.

  Driven by curiosity, she stepped outdoors through a nearby exit. A coppery scent wafted her way. Wait, wasn’t the graveyard in front of the house? That’s where their outdoor lighting would be aimed. So why would kids want to come back here in the dark?

  Then again, that could be the reasoning for this attraction. A big splotch of the red stuff stained a clump of grass and then dribbled off into the woods. What lay in wait? A pop-up zombie? A shredded cheesecloth ghost? A grasping plaster statue? Or a creepy doll with whitened eyes?

  Steeling her nerves, she withdrew a small flashlight from her cross-body purse and inched forward. Slivers of ice pricked her spine as she followed the trail. Somebody had to test the scare zone to see if it worked, right?

  Broken tree branches and crushed leaves attested to someone’s passage. She stopped at a curve, where thick foliage hid a view of the path ahead. All was still except for leaves rustling and the rapid pounding of her heart. Over there, she thought, her pulse racing. A patch of green showed through the shrubbery.

  As she rounded the corner and saw what lay across the trail, she clapped a hand to her mouth.

  The green color wasn’t grass, and the crumpled form on the ground wasn’t a fake dummy meant to enthrall guests.

  Her stomach heaved, but she forced the contents down. She stared transfixed, unable to move, as though being still could reverse time and alter the course of events. But nothing would change the fate of the man who lay under a sprinkling of fallen leaves.

  Mr. Ripari rested in peace face-up on the ground, dead as the restaurant that had closed its doors. In his gut was a knife that had nothing to do with props and everything to do with death. The grim reaper had arrived, and it was horribly real.

  “Help! I need help out here!” She turned and ran toward the house.

  Chapter Two

  “Tell me again how you managed to stumble upon another murder victim,” Dalton said, hours later in their brightly lit kitchen at home. He’d been wonderfully supportive ever since she’d summoned him with a frantic phone call, but now he wanted some answers in private.

  Marla, bone weary, sagged into her chair. Brianna had closeted herself in her room, too affected by the death of her teacher to want to discuss it. Making things worse had been the lengthy interview by a police detective who suspected them all. This case wasn’t in Dalton’s jurisdiction, so he’d had to stand clear.

  “It could have been anyone,” Marla replied, her hands cupping the mug of coffee he’d made for her. If this disaster didn’t put gray into her chestnut hair, she didn’t know what else would. “People came and went out of the room where I worked. Brie was upstairs. Some of the kids worked on a graveyard out front.”

  “So how did the history teacher end up getting knifed in the backyard?”

  “Maybe he was meeting someone back there, or he wanted a moment of quiet. How should I know?”

  “I can’t believe this would happen at a school event where you two were present.”

  “Let’s not start, Dalton. We’ve been over this. It’s not our fault, and we’re both safe.”

  “All right. Let’s see what we know about it. The sooner this case is solved, the better I’ll feel about Brianna’s safety.” He stooped to pet Lucky, their golden retriever, who’d nudged him for attention along with Spooks, their cream-colored poodle.

  “Bill Ripari owned the place, which he planned to sell to a theme park company from Orlando.” Marla related the property’s history.

  “So who inherits it now?” Dalton asked.

  “He wasn’t married. One of the parents mentioned that another family was claiming ownership and trying to prevent a sale until they could present proof.”

  “You don’t know who they are? I could check court records for injunctions.”

  “Also see if Mr. Ripari had filed a will,” Marla suggested. “He would have named a beneficiary.”

  “Good idea.” Dalton gave her a thoughtful glance. “Being stabbed with a knife in the middle of a school event indicates a crime of passion. Did anyone there have reason to resent the teacher?”

  Marla rubbed a hand over her face. “I’ve been over this with Detective Hanson. Let’s give it a rest for the night. I’m too tired to think anymore, and I feel bad for Brie. She liked Mr. Ripari.”

  “It appears not everybody shared her sentiment.”

  His wry tone stuck in her mind as she rose to check on the teen. Brianna lay in bed, staring into space, the sheet pulled up to her chin.

  “How could he be dead?” the girl said when Marla entered her room.

  Marla sat on the side of her bed and stroked her arm. “I’m so sorry. It was generous of him to offer his house for your event. He seemed like a nice man.”

  “He was a good teacher. History isn’t my favorite subject, but he made it interesting.”

  What’s worse is someone you know might have done it. “They’ll find whoever is responsible. Try to get some sleep. We’ll all be able to think more clearly in the morning.”

  Brianna clutched her hand. “You’ll help track down the killer, won’t you? I’m not going to feel safe at school until we catch the guy.”

  “You will have no part in this. I can talk to the other parents involved, but we have to let the police do their work.”

  As she prepared for bed, Marla knew she’d get involved. A few inquiries here and there couldn’t hurt, under the guise of aiding the students. She made a mental to-do list of people to interview. Her first stop would be the school to offer her condolences and to snoop out any gossip about the deceased teacher.

  ***

  Marla followed the routine for checking into the school. She got a visitor badge from the front office along with the information that grief counselors were available to students regarding poor Mr. Ripari’s untimely demise.

  “I was there,” she confided to Connie the desk clerk, choosing a quiet moment when classes were in session. “Brianna and I were setting up the place for the sophomore class’s haunted house. Now it’s turned into a real one.”

  The sixtyish woman gave her a sad smile. “Everyone is upset. Mr. Ripari was well liked by his students and our teachers.”

  “Will there be a memorial service?”

  “I have no idea. He didn’t have any relatives to our knowledge, and he was single. We’d all like to attend if there is one.”

  “It’s a shame if the haunted house is cancelled, although that would be appropriate under the circumstances. Could the project be moved, if the class wants to continue it elsewhere?”

  “Oh, I doubt anyone will have the heart for it now. And Mr. Ripari’s place was perfect, from what I’ve heard. It’s too late in the season to book a site elsewhere.”

  “What are you saying about Mr.
Ripari?” said a stern male voice from behind.

  “I was telling Mrs. Vail that we’re distraught over his unexpected death, Mr. Underwood,” Connie said in a meek tone.

  Marla spun around to regard the school principal. “I’m sorry for your school’s loss. I thought I’d touch base because Brianna and I were there last night, and we’re both still struggling to accept what’s happened. If I can help in any way—”

  “Come into my office. You can share the details of what you remember.” Mr. Underwood signaled for her to follow. “I can’t conceive of how Bill was killed with our students present. Why, it could have been one of them! And then imagine the liability case to follow.”

  “Yes, we don’t want any legal ramifications, do we?” Marla trailed him into his private enclave and took a seat after he’d shut the door.

  “Please refrain from being facetious. We have to be concerned about these things.”

  “You’re right. Actually, I noticed the house could use some repairs. Did you visit the place before approving it for a school function?”

  Mr. Underwood shoved his fingers through his thinning dark hair. The color was a bit too uniformly dark to be natural. “Of course. Bill promised to fix things up to ensure the kids’ safety. He wouldn’t have received permission otherwise.”

  “I understand he meant to sell the property. Did you know it had been a tourist attraction back in the early days? Another theme park company is interested in acquiring the land. Mr. Ripari said any sale would be contingent upon the buyer converting the house into a living history museum. He envisioned the site as a recreated village from the past. However, I’ve heard there’s some controversy over the ownership.”

  The principal gave a dismissive wave. “It’s no secret. He was quite incensed that another family was trying to claim inheritance rights.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “They’re saying a secret marriage occurred, and half the property should belong to their family.”

  “And this has only come to light now?”

  “I believe a certain diary was found. It must have mentioned this wedding.”

  “Who are these people? Do you have any clue?”

  “It isn’t my affair, Mrs. Vail. I’m merely sharing the concerns Bill expressed to me. So who all did you meet at the house last night?”

  Marla described the people who’d helped on the project. “Do you know anyone among them who might have held a grudge against your history teacher?”

  He gave a furtive glance at the door and lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t say this, but you’re married to that police detective, right? It might be important to the case. One of the mothers has been in here a few times complaining about Bill’s grading system. She’s afraid if her son fails his class, it’ll hurt Ricky’s chances of getting into the college of her choice.”

  “Her choice?” Marla repeated, not dissuading him of the notion that her husband would be involved in the investigation.

  “Yes, she’s one of those moms.” His face brightened with a happy grin meant to disarm. “You’re great with Brianna, by the way. She raves about you. You’re a good role model for her.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Underwood. I do my best.”

  He ushered her out, while she wondered what nuggets of information she’d contributed to their dialogue. From her viewpoint, he’d offered two leads to follow. One involved the family trying to edge in on Mr. Ripari’s inheritance, and the other suggested an overachieving mother. The name, Ricky, rang a bell. Wasn’t this Hannah’s son from last night?

  She stopped by the front desk again, giving Connie a sweet smile. “Is there any way I could get a copy of the ladies belonging to the parent-teacher association? I may need to contact some of the moms about our project.”

  “Are you a member? We usually give out a roster at the beginning of the year.”

  “I’ve joined, so my name should be listed. I couldn’t come to the first meeting.” Or the next few meetings after that one. She had to try harder hereafter. “Thanks,” she added after Connie handed over a booklet. “Can you let me know if there’s a memorial for Mr. Ripari? Maybe the school will do something if no one else steps forward.”

  “We should, especially since the school might benefit from his death.” Connie’s face reddened. “Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Another woman entered and strode directly to the principal’s office, where she knocked on his door. After she disappeared inside, Marla leaned inward toward the desk clerk.

  “Exactly how will the school benefit from Mr. Ripari’s death?” Maybe he wasn’t as well liked as Mr. Underwood let on. In that case, the other teachers might have been hoping for a replacement.

  “Look, this doesn’t go beyond these doors, but poor Bill told us that since he had no close relations, he’d left us a bequest in his will. The properties he owned would go into a trust for the school should anything bad happen to him.”

  Chapter Three

  Marla left the administrative suite and strode down a long hallway, her shoes tapping on the vinyl flooring. Closed doors on either side indicated classes in session. The odor of wax polish mixed with the smell of old gym socks. It brought back memories of Marla’s high school days and her ambitions to become a teacher. She remembered the angst of wanting to be accepted into the popular crowd and winning favor by doing girls’ hair. It took two years of college to reveal her true calling. She hadn’t done hair to ingratiate herself into a clique. She’d enjoyed creating works of hair art and making women look good in the process.

  Speaking of looking good, this place needed renovations. The linoleum flooring was gouged in spots. The paint needed refreshing, and cracks in the ceiling could use repair. She and Dalton had attended Brianna’s functions here. How come she’d never noticed these details before?

  Connie’s words rang in her ears as she headed toward the gym to interview the football coach. So the school would benefit from Mr. Ripari’s demise if nobody else’s claim on his property proved valid. What if somebody had hastened the teacher’s death before he could sell the land? Someone like Principal Underwood, whose reputation would shine should such a bonus land in his school’s lap.

  Marla believed one of the volunteers from that night must have murdered the man, but she could be wrong. Another person might have lured the history teacher outside.

  She pushed open the double doors into the gym. The thump of a ball bouncing and the sound of teens yelling told her a basketball game was in session even before her eyes registered the action. A coach’s whistle blew loudly and often, but he wasn’t the man she sought.

  “Where can I find Coach Garsen?” she asked the nearest youth, a pimply-faced kid.

  “Check his office. It’s past the boys’ locker room in that direction.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Marla paced forward, keeping to the edge of the gym and out of range of the game in progress.

  As she passed the locker room, voices drifted her way through the partially open door.

  “Did you tell Coach Garsen?” one boy said, his deep tone indicating his older age.

  “Hell, no, man. I don’t want him to cut my supply.”

  “You’re sick. You should let him know. It could get worse.”

  “It’ll be worse for me if I get kicked off the team. He’ll stop giving me the pills, and then I’ll fall behind.”

  Pills? Marla paused, tilting her head to hear better and praying no one spotted her there.

  “You won’t get a scholarship if people find out, and that could put the rest of us at risk. I’m gonna tell him if you don’t, Benny.”

  “You keep your mouth shut, man. I’ll deal with it.”

  A gravelly male voice intruded. “Why are you boys lingering in here? Get your sorry asses back to class.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lynch,” said the older kid with a sneer in his tone.

  They must have shuffled off, because for a moment silence reigned. Marla prepared to vamoose
if she heard the janitor’s footsteps coming her way. Instead, metal clanged on metal inside the locker room. She pushed the door open another crack and dared to peek in. The lanky maintenance man stood in front of an open locker, an intent look on his face as he rummaged through the contents.

  What was he doing? Saving her questions about his behavior for later, Marla hurried past, not wishing to get caught snooping. At an office labeled Faculty Only, she knocked on the door. When nobody answered, she twisted the knob. It opened easily. Inside, papers covered nearly every surface, but she was glad to see a personal touch. Potted plants provided happy contrast to the gray institutional monotony. Graphs and charts depicting teams and schedules hung on the walls. To a non-sports fan like herself, they were completely indecipherable.

  The coach emerged from his inner office, a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Hello, how can I help you?”

  “I’m Marla Vail, Brianna’s mother. We met at the haunted house.”

  He hung his head, no small feat considering the beefy weight of it. “Sad business, wasn’t it? I still can’t believe we’ve lost Mr. Ripari. The kids all liked him.”

  “Did they? Do you have a minute to chat, Coach? I have a few concerns about my daughter’s safety.” Not to mention those pills the kid mentioned, but we’ll let that go for now.

  “Sure, ma’am, although I’m not clear on what I can do for you. Come inside.”

  She sat in a chair opposite the desk. Framed certificates decorated the walls, while gleaming trophies filled the bookshelves. A splash of sunlight came from a window overlooking the parking lot.

  “So do you teach classes in addition to coaching the football team?” she asked, trying to discern his role.

  “Yes, I’m on the physical education staff.” He fingered a coffee mug on his desk.

  “You’ve been with the school a long time?”