“Thanks.”
There was a low-level buzz and Cynthia Hardesty grabbed her cell phone. “I’ve got to take a quick break,” she said, staring at her smart phone as she pushed her fingers across the screen. “I need to take care of some personal business.”
Except she called it bidness. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she thought it sounded cool, but it really didn’t. One thing that bothered me was that she didn’t seem to take the class seriously. She was much too busy with her bidness.
“Would you mind if I ran out for a minute, too?” Alice said. “I’ve finished my sewing and I’m afraid Stuart might be asleep if I wait much longer.”
“No problem,” I said, taking a quick look at her stitching job. “You’re doing really well.”
“Thanks,” she said, with a note of pride. “Be right back.”
“Oh, can I be excused, too?” Whitney asked, her arm bobbing up like an overeager student’s. She nudged Gina. “I need to make those reservations, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Gina said, and winked at me. “She’s got a hot date Friday night.”
“Shh, don’t jinx it,” Whitney said.
“Go ahead,” I said, checking my watch. “I need to talk to someone down the hall. But I should be right back.”
“Are we taking a break?” Marianne asked, looking up for the first time.
“We’ll be taking an official thirty-minute dinner break in a while, but if anyone needs a minute right now, go ahead. For those staying, please continue to work on sewing your signature pages.”
“Before you go,” Jennifer said, “can you show me how that loopy knot thing works again? I’m all thumbs.”
“Yes.” I stopped at her station and demonstrated the weaver’s knot again, pointing out the importance of kinking the linen thread. Then I went around the room and showed each student the kink in the thread, just to be sure everyone was on base.
After Jennifer assured me she could do it on her own, I left the room and headed for Layla’s office. For the last hour, my mind had been fretting about our argument over the Oliver Twist. I’d appreciated her making nice when she brought Alice into the class, but I was still anxious.
I’d formed a plan. I would ask her if I could buy back the book. Or, if that didn’t appeal to her, I could call Ian McCullough, the Covington Library’s head curator and an old college friend of my brother Austin-and my ex-fiancé. And when I say fiancé, I mean we liked each other a lot and tried to pretend it was love, but we both knew it wasn’t. We’re still great friends. Ian might have had a way of tracking down an actual true first edition of Oliver Twist. If he was successful, the Covington might consider it good publicity to donate the book to the Twisted festival auction. It went against the grain to help Layla Fontaine, but the last thing I needed was to have her blackball me in the book arts community because, God forbid, I had too many scruples.
Scruples. How boring!
I skirted the gallery, dark now except for the few pin spots illuminating the wood-block prints and a faint stream of moonlight seeping through the skylight.
From across the wide space, I saw a figure silhouetted against the window of the front door. It was probably one of my students making her phone call, but I couldn’t tell which one. I didn’t see any of the others who’d taken a break. They might’ve gone outside or down to the mudroom for some privacy. It seemed awfully quiet in here, even with two classes in session. Naomi’s pop-up book display created odd shadows on the lower gallery wall. I shivered and wondered why they didn’t turn up the heat a little.
The long north hall leading to Layla’s office was even darker than the gallery. The lights were off, which was odd. Someone from the staff always worked late when classes were held, but both Karalee’s and Marky’s offices were dark. I had to feel my way along the wall as I walked.
I thought about Ned, who ran and maintained the printing press. He never seemed to leave and often closed up on the nights when classes were in session. Did he live in one of the dark rooms down the hall? Maybe it was the absence of light that made me nervous, but I couldn’t help thinking that Ned was one of those guys you heard about on the news. He was quiet and kept his yard clean. Who knew he’d stored the bodies of six ex-wives in his freezer? You could never be sure about guys like Ned.
That wasn’t fair. Ned was a nice guy. It was just too dark in here and my thoughts were turning morbid.
As I got closer to Layla’s office, I could make out a thin line of light under her closed door. I hoped that meant she was still working in there. Maybe she didn’t realize the hall lights were off.
“Layla?” I called.
There was no answer. Perhaps she’d already gone home. I took one more step and nearly tumbled over something on the floor.
I flailed my arms out to balance myself, then found the wall and leaned against it. “Damn. Who leaves stuff in the middle of the hall?”
I didn’t know what it was, but it was something substantial. A bundle of laundry, maybe? I reached down to try to move it and heard a groan.
It wasn’t a bundle of anything. It was a body.
Chapter 3
“Oh, my God.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, I cried, “Somebody’s been hurt or-or…”
They’re dead. I didn’t say it out loud. I’d heard a groan. They had to be alive.
“I need your location, ma’am,” the woman said.
I gave her the information.
“Are they breathing?” she asked.
“So far. I’ll check to make sure.” Duh, good idea. It was still so dark, I could barely see my own hands in front of my face, but my eyes were beginning to adjust. I hunched down and felt an arm, covered by a soft wool sweater, indicating it was probably a woman. Moving my hand up her arm, I felt her shoulder, then her neck. There was a weak pulse. She was still breathing.
“She’s alive, but very weak,” I said. “Hurry, please.”
“We have a squad car in the area, ma’am,” the dispatcher said. “Please don’t panic. They’re less than two minutes away.”
“I’m not panicking,” I said, standing. “I just can’t see anything. Are you sending an ambulance, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll stay on the line until the police arrive.”
“Thanks.”
The door to another office opened suddenly. Naomi peered into the hall. “What’s going on out here?”
A sliver of light from her desk lamp cast her in shadow and did nothing to light up the situation in the hall.
“What are you doing in there?” I asked.
“I’m trying to work,” she said, her tone petulant.
“Really sorry to bother you, but somebody passed out in the hall.” Hey, I could be cranky, too. She wasn’t the only one whose peace and quiet had been disturbed. “Can you turn on some more lights? I can’t see a thing.”
Naomi didn’t move, just stared at the body. “What happened?”
“How should I know? Turn on some lights. This woman fainted or something.” I was getting crabbier by the minute. I hated stumbling over bodies.
“Oh, my God.” Naomi fumbled for the light switch on the wall outside her office door, but nothing happened. “Sorry, I guess the hall light’s burned out. I’ll have to get it fixed.”
She flipped her office light on and opened the door all the way, and the hall was illuminated. She tried to open Layla’s door, but it was locked. She skirted the body and tried Karalee’s office. It was unlocked so she shoved the door open and turned on the light.
“How’s that?”
“Much better.” As I said it, I could hear a siren wailing in the distance. “Police should be here any second now.”
“Is she breathing?” Naomi asked, still staring at the body.
“Barely,” I said.
Naomi wrung her hands. “It’s a good thing you found her. You probably saved her life.”
“I just happened to come along,” I said modestly, clasping m
y hands together. They felt tacky. I held them up to the light, then wished I hadn’t.
Blood. My stomach twirled and my head started to spin. I really hated blood. “Idiot,” I muttered. I couldn’t help it, though. The sight of blood made me sick. I took deep breaths and stared at the woman on the floor. Since she was bleeding, she must’ve hit her head on something. Something sharp or hard enough to draw blood.
As I stared more closely at the woman, my insides took an even more unwelcome dip. That fuzzy black angora sweater looked alarmingly familiar.
“Oh, no.” I inched back until my butt hit the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Naomi demanded.
Icy chills slithered down my spine, worse than I’d ever felt before. God help me, I had just saved the life of Minka LaBoeuf.
The blast of sirens brought everyone out of the classrooms. I managed to keep the hall clear while Naomi ran to the front door and led the two police officers through the gallery to the hall. One officer looked around while the other knelt and checked for a pulse.
“Watch out,” I muttered. “There’s blood.”
The officer kneeling looked up at me. “You found her?”
I nodded, then shivered and looked away.
“Okay, good job.” He grabbed his walkie-talkie and called for an ambulance. He was answered by a squawk, then the dispatcher responded, “Ambulance en route.”
“I’ll wait up front,” I said, and walked back to the gallery, where all the lights were now glaringly bright. Alice rushed over and met me.
“What happened?” she whispered. She looked even more pale than when she’d first showed up in class. “Is somebody sick?”
“Somebody’s been hurt,” I said.
Tom, Cynthia, and Gina crowded behind Alice.
“Who is it?” Tom asked, staring past me into the hall.
“Another instructor,” I said, unable to utter Minka’s name out loud.
“It’s Minka LaBoeuf,” Naomi announced from behind me. “Brooklyn saved her life.”
I winced. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” Naomi insisted, then added, “Brooklyn found her and called nine-one-one. Look, she’s got Minka’s blood all over her hands.”
Oh, great. I knew she meant that in a nice way, but it really didn’t sound good.
“I… I need to wash my hands,” I whispered, staring at the dried streaks of blood.
“How did you get her blood on your hands?” Cynthia asked, her eyes focused on my outstretched hands.
Her tone carried a strong hint of accusation and I was about to shoot back something when Alice took hold of my arm and said gently, “Let’s go wash your hands.”
Just then, the tall, good-looking Hispanic officer whose badge read “Ortiz” zeroed in on me. “You found the victim.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. Soldier up, Wainwright, I thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “She was passed out in the hall. I stumbled over her on my way to Layla Fontaine’s office and called the police.”
“Who’s Layla Fontaine?”
“She runs this place,” I said. “Her office is at the end of the hall. I think she must’ve gone home already.”
“What do you do here?” he asked, taking notes.
“I’m just one of the instructors.” I waved my hand toward Naomi. “This is Naomi Fontaine. She’s the facilities coordinator for the center.”
“But-but I didn’t do anything,” Naomi declared, her wide-eyed gaze whipping back and forth between Officer Ortiz and me. “I opened my office door and Minka was lying there, and Brooklyn was kneeling over her.”
I shot her a look. “They already know that.”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Ortiz said calmly.
No, it wasn’t. Was Naomi deliberately trying to throw me under the bus? Whatever happened to me being the big hero, saving Minka’s life? You couldn’t trust anyone anymore.
“Where’s Layla?” Tom asked, looking around.
“She went home,” Cynthia said through clenched teeth. “Brooklyn just said that. Try to keep up.”
Someone was even crankier than I was.
The cop tending to Minka called from the hallway, “Can somebody turn on the hall light?”
“It’s not working,” Naomi explained to Ortiz.
He walked a few feet into the hall, stretched his arm up, and tested one of the exposed bulbs by twisting it. The hall filled with light.
“Now that’s weird,” Gina said, her eyes big and round.
Cynthia frowned in agreement.
Another blast of a siren announced the arrival of the ambulance. Two EMTs rushed through the gallery carrying their packs filled with equipment. I managed to corral the onlookers away from the hall to give the techs enough space to pass through.
Whitney walked over and joined us. “What’s going on? I thought I heard a siren. Are we on a break?”
Gina grabbed her arm. “Girl, where were you?”
“I was on the phone,” Whitney said defensively, then lowered her voice to add, “That skinny guy let me use one of those storage rooms down the hall so I’d have some privacy.”
Was she talking about Ned? I looked around the gallery, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Somebody was attacked while you were gone,” Gina whispered excitedly.
“We don’t know that,” I said quickly.
Officer Ortiz signaled me over. “We’ll need to get everyone in one place and start some interviews.”
“You can use my classroom,” I said, then turned to Gina and Whitney. “Can you help me lead everyone back to the classroom?”
“You bet,” Gina said. She gathered my people while Naomi assembled Minka’s students and led them back into their classroom. Within five minutes, the area was cleared.
“You should go wash your hands,” Alice murmured.
I scowled as I held out my hands. “I completely forgot.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
I smiled in gratitude. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”
In the small bathroom, I let hot water run over my hands. My stomach took another dip as the water turned pale red from Minka’s blood. I wasn’t sure what made me feel worse, the blood itself or the fact that it was Minka’s.
And wasn’t that a horribly uncharitable thought? Nevertheless, I used lots of soap and plenty of paper towels to clean and dry my hands completely, then tossed everything in the trash can.
And no, I didn’t consider that destroying evidence. I hadn’t done anything to Minka but save her life, sort of.
Back in the classroom, Officer Ortiz was trying to keep order.
“If anyone saw or heard anything,” he said, “I want to talk to you first.”
Everyone began speaking at once.
“Stop,” he barked. “Did anyone actually witness anything specifically related to the assault on Ms. LaBoeuf? Raise your hand if you did.”
I was impressed that he pronounced Minka’s name correctly, although I always preferred to hear her referred to as La Beef. I should’ve felt more remorse that Minka had been hurt, but I was almost giddy. Not in a happy way, but more of a shaking, freaking-out kind of way. Maybe I was in shock. I’m sure the fact that someone had been attacked a few short minutes before I walked down that hall would sink in later.
Since nobody in the room could offer any real help, Ortiz gave up and passed around a sheet of paper, asking everyone to write down their contact information.
As the students took turns complying with his request, I asked Ortiz where the ambulance would take Minka. He mentioned San Francisco General Hospital, barely a mile away.
Somehow, the name of the hospital made Minka’s injury sound even more life-threatening. “I don’t suppose she just fainted and hit her head.”
It sounded lame, even to me.
“She didn’t faint,” Ortiz said bluntly.
“Was she attacked?” Whitney asked.
“Are we all in danger?” Maria
nne asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Ortiz said. “Until we find out, I strongly suggest that you leave here in pairs or in groups. Don’t let anyone walk to their car alone.”
“Absolutely not,” I assured him.
“Is class canceled?” Dale asked.
I looked at Ortiz, who shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. We’ll be here for a while, asking questions and checking the premises.”
I glanced around. “Who wants to keep working?”
I was surprised to see everyone in the room raise their hands.
“I guess we’ll keep going,” I said.
On the drive home, I tried but failed to find some connection to all the strange events of that night. First, the Asian man had shouted and stormed out of Layla’s office, followed by Layla giving me grief over the provenance of the Oliver Twist.
Then Minka showed up and ruined my day. And shortly after I started my class, Layla came in to make nice and introduce Alice Fairchild. That’s when I saw the pathetic look of adoration on Tom Hardesty’s face. Apparently he had the hots for Layla, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his wife, if her expression of sheer contempt was any gauge.
Then there was the attack on Minka. Followed by Naomi’s lame attempt to blame me.
And damn it, why did I have to be the one to discover Minka? My shoulders shook with dread as I recalled her statement earlier in the evening.
“Wherever she goes, somebody dies.”
And sure enough… Okay, she didn’t die, but tonight’s attack was a little too close for comfort.
And that train of thought had to stop immediately. This was not my fault and I refused to feel guilty about it. And hey, Minka was a rude bitch for bringing it up in the first place.
Still, I wondered what this meant for Minka. How badly had she been injured? It couldn’t be a good sign that she hadn’t regained consciousness by the time the EMTs took her off to the hospital.
True, I didn’t like her. To be honest, I pretty much despised her. She’d been a thorn in my side since the day we met back in graduate school, where she developed an unhealthy crush on my boyfriend and tried to physically injure me badly enough that I would drop out of school. There were other weird and creepy happenings during that time. A dead cat on my porch. My tires slashed. I knew Minka was responsible, but she was never caught.
The Lies That Bind Page 3
