by Mary Angela
Dickinson was no longer listening. She had rearranged herself on the folded blanket, her back turned toward me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I looked out the front window—for the fourth time. Damn Lenny. He was late. It was almost nine thirty. Stalking into my office, I looked out the window and saw headlights from down the street; it had to be him. I put on my black windbreaker and wasn’t disappointed. He pulled up in front of my house and shut off the engine. When he knocked on the door, I was just grabbing my mini-flashlight.
“Sorry,” he said. “Mrs. Baker needed help with her cat. Damn thing climbed down the air exchange vent.”
I could hardly scold him with that excuse. “The air exchange vent?”
He shrugged. “She’s painting, so she took off all the vents—not a good idea. You should have seen her teetering up there on her ladder, ready to bust a hip. I told her I’d go over there tomorrow and help her finish up …. That is, if I’m still alive.”
I tied my tennis shoes.
“I didn’t know you owned athletic attire.”
“Kickboxing phase,” I explained.
“Ah,” Lenny said. “I went through my own Tae Bo phase. What was that guy’s name? Billy Blanks? Got through the first CD.”
“At least you still got the CD. All I got was sore knees from a little powerhouse named Candy.”
“Who really names their kid Candy? It ought to be outlawed.”
“I know,” I said, grabbing my house key. “Come on, let’s go.”
It was dark, but the faint glow from the street lamps lighted our way to the campus. The breeze nearly howled through the tops of the old trees, and the shadows played tricks against the gray sky, making the street seem unfamiliar. The friendly old houses looked tall and sinister and the students shifty and dangerous. I looked at Lenny, handsome in his black jeans and jacket, and wondered if I was doing the right thing. I didn’t mind about myself; I had to see this through. But Lenny? Would he have become entangled in something like this without me? And wasn’t there a chance—a good chance—that this adventure was going to lead to more trouble?
“You know, Lenny, maybe it would be best if I go alone. I’m smaller than you are—”
“Don’t grow a conscience now, Em. It’s unbecoming. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can make my own decisions.”
I opened my mouth then shut it. If I could be stubborn, he could be downright obstinate. I hesitated.
He glanced over at me and put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze. “Come on. This will be a breeze compared to your grammar final.”
I smiled and walked a little more quickly, saving my doubts for later—two o’clock in the morning or thereabouts.
A few blocks more and we were on campus, cutting across the grounds toward the streetlight. Past the road, we could see the dark theater and didn’t bother to wait for the light since traffic was minimal. Unlike every other building on the main campus, though, the theater had little cover from trees, so anyone might have seen us crossing the parking lot. Still, it didn’t take us long to get to the side door, which was open.
The long hall was deserted and so were the offices. Thankfully the same art exhibit had been on display for the last three months. When the semester was in full swing, several budding artists would crowd the hall with their canvases and sculptures, and the building would see more traffic. But tonight, nothing but ominous silence awaited us.
“There’s no way the basement door is unlocked. Let’s start in the theater,” I whispered.
Lenny nodded and followed silently behind me.
The door closed with a click that seemed to reverberate throughout the auditorium. I cringed, but Lenny didn’t notice since it was so dark. There were no windows, no stray rays of light to illuminate our way. I looked around, hoping my eyes would adjust, but it was no use. Lenny began fumbling with his coat.
“Pen light,” he whispered.
“Let’s wait,” I whispered back. “Just in case.”
We crept along the wall until we got to the stage door. Instead of using it, we crawled up the side of the stage. I felt a little bit like Alice in Wonderland as I tiptoed onto the set.
“It doesn’t look like anyone is here,” I whispered.
“Let’s hope not.” He flicked on his light. It illuminated a small circle of white, which he flashed back and forth. “So where to?”
A kettle hung over a faux fire looked like a good place to hide evidence, and as I pointed to it, Lenny flashed his light inside. We found nothing except freshly painted metal.
“We’re probably wasting our time,” he whispered. “The cops had to have gone through this stuff already. Besides, who would hide the evidence at the scene of the crime?”
I fumbled for my own flashlight. “Someone smart, that’s who. Then he wouldn’t be implicated if it were found. He could blame it on any number of people.”
“I’m going to check over here,” said Lenny, walking toward a long rack of costumes. “Maybe the gloves were disguised as part of another costume. Be careful.”
I nodded, staying close to the set of Les Mis since constructing set pieces had been Austin’s area of expertise. In addition to the garden gate where Cosette and Marius would proclaim their love for each other, there was a fake brick wall with scaffolding, steps, and a ladder. It was amazing, really, all the work that had been done already with much more still required. Two grocery carts held building materials I assumed were still to be added, and various buckets and trays littered the stage.
“Hey, look,” said Lenny, “gloves.”
I quickly flashed my light in his direction. “What?”
He held up his arms, garbed in ladies’ opera gloves.
“Cute,” I said, walking in his direction. “Did you find any of the rubber variety?”
“Oh I always carry those in my back pocket.”
“And how convenient, a bed,” I said, pointing to what was probably Fantine’s deathbed since it was small and narrow. Here Jean Valjean would make his promise to take care of her daughter, Cosette, for the rest of his days.
Lenny gasped audibly. “I’m shocked at the direction this conversation is taking. Maybe Giles was right. The stress—”
We heard the noise—a door opening backstage—at the same time, shut off our lights, and stood silent. Neither of us dared move as we heard footsteps coming toward us. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and retreated back toward the door.
I seized Lenny’s hand and pulled him toward the bed, squishing in between the brick wall and the headboard. Seconds later, we heard the footsteps again and then the drone of the stage lights warming up. I stared at Lenny with an open mouth. With one quick walk across the stage, the person in the theater would know our location. Lenny pointed under the bed, and I mouthed the word “How?” He held up one finger and then began to slouch down. When he was lying on his back, he inched his way under the bed, and I followed suit. The entire time I could hear what sounded like men’s dress shoes walking up and down the steps from the costume shop to the stage.
As I lay on my back, my chest heaved involuntarily, and I began to feel as if the bed were getting closer and closer to my face. A pulse hammered in my head, and I hoped Lenny didn’t realize how close I was to jumping out of my skin. I kept imagining the person sitting down on the bed, sinking deep into the mattress and bedsprings, pinning me to the floor. Frozen and silent, I watched for the first sign of movement.
As I lay there examining the mattress, though, I began to think what an excellent hiding spot a bed was, and my breathing became more regular. It was the first place I ran to as a kid, hiding my mother’s copies of Modern Romances magazine and piling blankets up over my lumpy form. A thought entered my head, and I instinctively looked at Lenny, but he was facing the other direction, presumably watching for the man’s feet to appear.
When the footsteps faded again, I ever so slowly reached with my right hand until I felt the side of the mattress. Then I be
gan searching between it and the dust ruffle. Nothing. I scooted lower, drawing my knees up so as not to expose my feet. Lenny touched my shoulder, but I couldn’t possibly explain what I was doing. I reached my hand in again and made contact with something, but I couldn’t be certain what because the footsteps were back again, this time for good. There were no more trips backstage. Instead, the person crawled up the ladder, onto the scaffolding, a long cord in tow.
Lenny pointed in the person’s direction, and I nodded, acknowledging that I had indeed seen him—or at least the shoes, so I assumed it was a man. There was nothing we could do but wait. Suddenly I heard a click and then a male voice say, “Damn it!”
I recognized the voice as Alex’s and was not surprised. I assumed he was the one working late. Still, I wished it had been Dan. Dan was less menacing than Alex, and if we had to be found out by anyone, he would have sympathized more with our situation. Just today Dan had been trying to find answers to Austin’s death.
Now Alex began to climb back down the ladder, following the cord offstage.
I knew this was my only opportunity, and I boldly took it. I sat up as far as I could and grabbed wildly between the mattress and spring, hoping to find what I had imagined were the gloves. Lenny gripped my leg desperately, but I shooed him with my free hand. Unsuccessful in my half-hearted approach, I stuck my head out from beneath the bed and lifted up the mattress, seizing the rubbery material as I slid back under the bed.
I held it up to my face, squinting to examine it. Five fingers. Now ten. This had to be it—the gloves! I shoved them in Lenny’s face, and he nodded. The footsteps were back, so I quietly folded the gloves over my chest, trying to curb my excitement. It was hard. The gloves were the first real piece of evidence that supported my theory as to what might have happened here Saturday night.
The cord clanged up the metal ladder again, step by step, but this time, when Alex reached the top, drilling followed. The noise startled both of us out of our silence. Luckily, the loud buzz covered up any commotion we may have made under the bed. The drill started and stopped several times, and I imagined Alex was drilling something into place. We lay trapped beneath the bed for what seemed like eternity, neither of us comfortable on the hardwood floor, the sound of the drill keeping us on edge. Finally, Alex came down the ladder, coiling the cord as he went. For several minutes, we didn’t hear anything at all; still, the lights remained on. I turned toward Lenny, and he shrugged his shoulders. We waited then waited some more. Finally the lights shut off, and we were engulfed in darkness again, not daring to speak.
Slowly, I unzipped my jacket, sliding the gloves inside. I wondered if I was leaving my fingerprints all over the gloves or if fingerprints could stick to rubber. Then a terrible thought occurred to me: had I in fact ruined the evidence that would convict Austin’s murderer? Too late now. If I returned them to their hiding place, the killer might come back for them, and then where would we be? I gingerly zipped up my jacket.
“Go?” The word was barely audible. I pointed to the exit with my thumb.
Lenny didn’t respond but moved closer to the dust ruffle. I inched closer to him. We did this several times until we found ourselves out from beneath the bed. Creeping to the edge of the stage, we slid off, Lenny silently helping me down. Neither of us turned on our lights; instead, we blindly followed the length of the wall until we were at the door.
Now the hallway was pitch black, and I wondered how long we had been in there. Thankfully, the light from the street shone through the windows of the front doors, giving us enough light to make our way down the hall. We moved noiselessly toward the side door, keeping close to the wall. The lack of light reassured me that Alex was gone, but we would know for sure once we opened the door and could see the parking lot.
Lenny pressed down on the bar in the middle of the door, but despite his best efforts, it still made a loud noise. He waited for a moment and then pushed it open a crack. We scooted out, allowing it to close slowly behind us.
It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to dash headlong across the parking lot, for now we were exposed under the bright outside lights. Instead, I followed Lenny, who briskly turned toward the sidewalk. I glanced behind my shoulder, looking for Alex’s car, when I suddenly collided with Lenny’s solid back.
“What the—” I began, then quit. I realized why Lenny had stopped.
“Ms. Prather, isn’t it? I can’t imagine what you’re doing out so late—and on a school night, too.”
It was Detective Beamer, and he had caught us in the act.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My mouth went dry as I met Detective Beamer’s accusing eyes. What could I possibly say that would explain our presence at the theater this time of night? I felt like one of my students, trying to come up with a plausible excuse as to why my paper was late.
“Detective Beamer. Hello. We were just leaving the theater.”
“That much is obvious,” said Beamer. “What were you doing in there?”
I glanced at Lenny; he had nothing for me. “Well you see, I’m on this committee. We meet about various artistic endeavors. Like the play Les Miserables? Hammer out all the particulars before the production.”
Beamer crossed his arms. “You mean to tell me you were in a meeting? So why the catsuit?”
“No, no. I wasn’t in a meeting tonight. Tonight I was simply helping Alex with some … drilling. This is what I wear when I do any sort of, you know, heavy labor.”
“I think you both better come with me down to the station. Who is your friend here? Haven’t we met before?”
I looked desperately toward Lenny. I didn’t want him to get into trouble. “Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s just—”
“I’m Lenny Jenkins,” said Lenny, sticking out his hand.
“You’re a professor, too?” asked Beamer.
Lenny nodded.
“English?”
Lenny nodded again.
“I remember now. You were with Ms. Prather the first time I was over here.”
I could just imagine Giles’s face when he heard we had been hauled down to the police station in the middle of the night. Perhaps even arrested for obstructing justice—or worse yet, murder! For all Beamer knew, we were the ones who had killed Austin and were erasing evidence we had left behind. It looked bad, indeed, for both of us. I had to do something fast to keep us from going down that road to prison.
“Look, Detective, I’m going to level with you. I wasn’t drilling with Alex—”
His eyes turned mocking. “You’re kidding.”
“But he was here, and what’s more, I’ve found something that might be very important to solving Austin’s murder.”
Lenny rubbed his forehead at the sound of the word.
“Murder?” said Beamer.
I looked around the parking lot and spotted what I assumed was his car. “Can we go somewhere where I can show you? Perhaps your car?”
Beamer looked from Lenny to me. For a moment, I thought he was deciding which of us to handcuff first. But then he pointed toward his car. “This way.”
We walked in front of him all the way to his brown sedan.
He unlocked the door with the click of a button. “In the front, both of you.”
Thankfully, it didn’t have bucket seats. Still, the middle seat was uncomfortable at best, and I had a hard time locating the seatbelt.
Beamer slid into the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t see the strap—”
“Are we going somewhere?” he said.
Lenny shook his head.
“Well, yes,” I said. “I’d like to gain some distance from the theater—just in case we’re being watched. Would you mind going for a little drive?”
Beamer stared at me then glanced at Lenny. Lenny fastened his seatbelt.
“You know the problem with you academics?” said Beamer, starting the car. “You don’t live in the real world. You live in some
sort of fantasy land.”
“We hear that a lot,” I said as we turned out of the parking lot. “I suppose there’s some truth in it, too.”
Beamer pulled down a side street and turned off the lights. He left the car running. “So what’s this evidence? Let me hear it.”
“I can do better than that. I can let you hold it,” I said. “But you have to promise that you won’t take Lenny and me down to the station.”
“I can’t promise you anything until I see the evidence.”
I unzipped my coat and gave him the gloves. “I found these stuffed underneath a mattress in the theater. I believe they’re the ones Austin was wearing the day he was murdered.”
Beamer turned them over carefully in his hands. “How would you know that? How would you know unless you had something to do with the murder?”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “So you did know about the gloves.”
“Of course I knew about the gloves,” said Beamer, his eyes narrowing into a glare.
“How?” asked Lenny.
“You first,” said Beamer, grabbing a plastic bag from the side of his door.
“Dan said he was certain Austin was wearing gloves because they were missing from the theater,” I explained.
He raised his eyebrows. “And how did you know we didn’t already have them?”
I looked at Lenny, then back at Beamer. I didn’t want to admit to our call to the coroner. “You and Sophie kept coming around, looking for a piece of clothing.”
This explanation must have seemed plausible to Beamer because he didn’t ask any more questions. I continued. “I, like you, wondered if they might be stashed somewhere in the theater, so tonight, when everybody left, Lenny and I went in to take a look. Little did we know that Alex, the work-a-maniac, would be hard at it.”
Beamer put the gloves in the bag and zipped it shut. He took out a package of Handi Wipes, wiped his own hands carefully and gave us each one as well. “And what did Alex say when he saw you?”
