“Exactly.” Ashley lifted her chin.
“What’s your vision for the studio?” I scooted out a bar stool and plopped down.
She clasped her hands. “All types of classes for adults and teens, and summer workshops for kids.”
“Where will the classes be?” I asked.
“The building next to Pizza Heaven. It’s a great location—right in the heart of town and across from the public parking lot.”
“Should you start by teaching classes at night when most people can come anyway? Then when you get enough clients, you could quit your job?” Brandi knit her brows.
Brandi’s suggestion—as usual—was full of wisdom, and I agreed with her conservative approach.
Ashley waved a hand. “Hon, I’ll be fine.” She put the baking dish in a cabinet and then faced us. “Enough about me.” She motioned toward the living room. “Let’s get comfy, because I’m dying to hear how things are going with Cal and Jon.”
We moved to the living room, and Norman followed.
Brandi flopped on the couch as if she were a teenager. “Jon and I are done.” She’d been dating the lawyer and triathlete for a couple of months after I’d suggested they meet. Going out with him had been her first major step back into the dating world.
“What? Why?” Now it was Ashley’s turn to frown. She flipped a switch on her gas fireplace, and the flames flickered to life. When she returned to the couch, Norman hopped into her lap.
“No chemistry.” Brandi crossed her arms. “Besides, if we’re making excuses about why we can’t date, I pick softball—practices start in a few weeks.”
She coached the varsity team.
“You use that every year,” I said. “You’ve got to come up with something more creative.”
“If God wants me to have another husband, he’ll bring someone.” She flattened her lips and gave us her best teacher look.
“All right, hon. If you say so.” Ashley stroked Norman’s head and turned to me. “And you?”
“Things with Cal are going well.”
His unwillingness to spend time with my friends loomed in my mind, and in our entire time of dating we’d never once talked about marriage. If Vanessa and Curtis were already engaged, then shouldn’t Cal and I have at least discussed the possibility? Or was I expecting too much too soon and looking for trouble where it didn’t exist?
“But…?” Ashley studied me.
“Nothing. We enjoy each other’s company.” I picked a hangnail. I did not want to be discussing this right now.
“Do you love him?” Brandi asked.
I bit off the hangnail. “Yes.” The word came out with more confidence than I felt in that particular moment. “But we haven’t told each other.”
“Why not?” Ashley asked.
“I don’t know.” I scowled and fought the irritation rising in my chest. Why did I have to participate in this over-analysis of my relationship? “Remember how long it took Cal to kiss me? He likes to make sure things are right before he makes a move.” I squirmed and pushed up my sweater sleeves. Why had she turned on that blasted fireplace?
“Good point,” Ashley said. “I won’t read anything into the lack of I love yous.”
“Brian and I didn’t tell each other ‘I love you’ until after we were engaged.” Brandi’s soothing tone should’ve comforted me, but it felt patronizing.
“Could you please turn off the fireplace? I’m dying over here.” I fanned myself.
Brandi and Ashley exchanged glances.
“Sure, hon.” Ashley set her cat on the couch, got up, and flipped the switch. When she sat back down, she picked up two fleece blankets from a basket by the couch and offered one to Brandi.
Brandi took the blanket and spread it over her legs. “Georgia, are you getting sick?” Concern flickered in her eyes.
“I’m not sick!” I shrieked. Tears stung my nose and eyes, and Norman shot off the couch and ran for cover. “I’m overwhelmed. Beverly was like a grandma to me. I could always go to her for advice and wisdom, and now she’s gone, and we don’t have any answers just like when Daddy died.” A sob interrupted. “How much is one person supposed to take? None of this is fair! Do you think I wanted to lose my daddy when I was twenty-one? I still need him. I still need Beverly. How can God keep taking away people I love and letting their killers go free? He’s supposed to care about justice. And don’t you dare tell me I need to talk to my counselor because I’ve been there, done that, and it’s not helping!”
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
Brandi and Ashley sandwiched me in a hug, and when I looked up, both of my friends had tears welling in their eyes.
“May I pray for you?” Brandi whispered.
I nodded.
“Lord, my heart aches for Georgia, and I believe yours does too. Please comfort my friend and her family. Beverly’s family too. Bring the truth to light. Serve justice. God, please fix this.” She took a deep breath. “Please work for good.” Her voice broke.
“Lord, give Georgia wisdom in her relationship with Cal,” Ashley said. “Help us to support her in whatever way she needs. Amen.”
Everything in me wanted to believe God would come through and answer my friends’ prayers, but my past experiences made it hard for me to trust. How long would I have to wait for answers?
If I were a betting woman, I’d have put money on forever.
Chapter Ten
“Do you have any more questions for Miss Winston?” Brandi asked the hundred or so eighth graders gathered in the school auditorium on Monday morning while I stood next to her and gripped the wooden podium.
Though Brandi had offered to let me off the hook after my meltdown the night before, I’d gone ahead and survived my career-day presentation. I showed two video clips that I’d taken while harvesting corn and soybeans last fall and talked about a typical day in the life of a farmer during each season. Now, it was almost time for me to retreat to the safety of my seat in the front row with the other guest speakers. I fidgeted with the guest ID badge hanging around my neck.
A skinny boy wearing a hoodie shot his hand in the air.
“Parker?”
“Miss Winston, will you go out with me? You can pick me up and take me to McDonald’s. I’m low budget.”
A few of the boys snickered and nudged him—one gave him a high-five—and a few of the girls gaped at him. One or two girls ducked their heads in shame by proxy.
My face burned. “I don’t think—”
“Parker, that’s not appropriate, and Miss Winston is spoken for.” Brandi didn’t flinch. “Let’s give her a round of applause for sharing with us today.”
How did she do this on a daily basis?
They obeyed, and there were even a few cheers. I hurried to my seat as the bell dinged and the students rushed out for lunch.
“Guests, please join us in the teacher workroom for sandwiches, salads, and desserts from Velda’s,” Brandi said. “Thanks again for being here today.”
One of the other teachers led the way as we marched down the halls of Wildcat Springs Junior-Senior High School, and memories flooded back. The school even smelled the same. A mix of grease from the cafeteria, cleaning supplies, and the slightest hint of hog manure from the farm up the road. Brandi and I fell in behind the others as we passed the blue and gray lockers that’d been given a fresh coat of paint since my graduation.
“Did I do okay?”
“You were great. Even I learned a few things about farming.” She studied me. “How are you doing today?”
“Better. Being here gave me something positive to focus on, so thank you.”
“Glad I could help.”
We passed the library entrance and rounded a corner into the senior hallway, where Hamlet and Mallory stood next to a water fountain.
“I thought he was running the coffee shop today,” I muttered and ducked behind Brandi in hopes of taking the junior hallway to the teachers’ lounge.
Mal
lory smiled and toasted her disposable coffee cup before turning and clicking across the terrazzo floor in her heels. Hamlet was making deliveries? Why?
He turned toward us before we could escape around the corner.
“Georgia Rae!” Hamlet raced toward us. “How was career day?” He wore a dark gray sweater vest.
“Brandi says I did fine.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you were a hit with the boys.”
“She was,” Brandi said. “She even got—”
“Why aren’t you at the coffee shop?” I blurted.
Hamlet didn’t need to know I’d been fresh meat for ornery eighth grade boys.
He cleared his throat. “I…just…had to stop in to discuss an upcoming acting gig with Mrs. Morris.” His cheeks turned pink, and he glanced back and forth between us before looking at the clock. “Your lunch time is waning, so I’ll let you eat.” He darted around us.
Weird.
“We’ll see you around, Hamlet,” Brandi called. “We’d love to have you come back to our Bible study group. I’m hosting a week from Sunday.”
“That’d be wonderful. Good day, ladies.” He waved but didn’t slow his breakneck pace and nearly collided with a student turning the corner.
I bit back all my smart aleck comments begging for release. Instead, I followed Brandi into the teachers’ lounge without a word. The room with a kitchenette, die cut machine, and a beat-up sofa was just like I remembered it from the few times I’d been sent there on errands for the teachers who’d trusted me. Like the rest of the school, it smelled as it always had—like stale coffee and mildew.
We filled our plates with sandwiches, chips, veggies, and sugar cookies, and since there was no room left at the tables, we took our food upstairs to Brandi’s classroom.
On the cement-block wall above her desk, she’d painted a quote from George Washington. “Perseverance and spirit have done wonders in all ages.” At the side of the room, a large whiteboard held the week’s agenda and assignments. Student desks held binders and iPads, and a few stray pencils littered the carpeted floor.
“With all the drama we were discussing last night, I forgot to tell you I followed the lead you gave me about Beverly.” I crunched on a carrot.
Brandi rolled her eyes. “I never should’ve told you about that, and I shouldn’t have suggested Beverly was talking to Wanda.” She put her plate on her desk and motioned toward her chair. “Have a seat.”
“Relax. I didn’t put myself in any danger.” I dropped into the comfy chair. “I asked Hamlet if I could look at the coffee shop’s security camera footage that points out at the street.”
“I’m sure he was happy to help.” Brandi dragged an empty student desk next to hers, reached for a canister of wipes, and sanitized the desktop before grabbing her plate and her water mug from her desk.
The edge in her tone made me drop my turkey sandwich. “Wait. Do you have a thing for Hamlet? Is that why he was so flustered?”
She stared at me. “Not only is he eleven years younger than me, we’re second cousins, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Bobbi Sue and Brandi’s mom were first cousins. “I’d completely forgotten.” I scanned my memory to recall if I’d put my foot in my mouth where Hamlet was concerned, and while I couldn’t think of anything, I’d better watch it. So many people in this town being related to each other was another good reason not to talk badly about anyone—ever.
“It seems to me, a certain farmer is the reason Hamlet was flustered. If you weren’t dating—”
“It’d still be a huge no. He’s sweet, but if we got married and had kids, our poor offspring would be a twenty out of ten on the Social Awkwardness Meter.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I see you’ve given it some thought.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but a disturbing mental picture of a lanky, sweater-vest-clad young man sitting in a combine cab harvesting corn twenty-five years in the future sidetracked me. “Not really. Just a casual observation.”
“If you say so.” She spread her napkin in her lap. “What’d you and your new sidekick find on the coffee shop’s security footage?”
“A car exactly like Wanda’s passed by after you overheard Beverly yelling at the mystery person.”
“She could’ve been driving by—or it could’ve been someone else’s car.”
“I know. And the mystery person isn’t necessarily the killer.” I fished a homemade potato chip out of the bag. “Fiona Sylvan was the only other volunteer scheduled to work that day, but she was allegedly back at her salon when the conversation happened.” I popped the chip in my mouth.
“What else have you uncovered?”
“Jack Schultz had an affair with Fiona. What if Beverly found out and was trying to get him to come clean with Denise? I didn’t see his truck on the security footage, but he could’ve left the museum through the Pearl Street exit.”
“True.” Brandi stabbed a forkful of pasta salad. “Jack’s here today, you know.”
“Why isn’t he on bereavement leave?” Beverly’s visitation was tonight, but maybe he’d been banned because of his problems with Denise.
“I wondered the same thing. He was supposed to pick up our food at Velda’s during his prep time, so I went to his room to see if his sub would cover my class while I went out to get the food. But Jack was there and told me teaching is easier than dealing with family drama.” Brandi wadded her sandwich wrapper. “He eats the next lunch. If you want to pretend you’re getting another cookie, you could happen to run into him in the teachers’ lounge in about ten minutes.”
“Two things.” I dragged a carrot through some ranch dip. “One. You confuse me. You simultaneously encourage and discourage my investigating.”
She leaned back in the desk and crossed her arms. “Look, if Jack killed Beverly—and I’m not saying he did—I’d rather you talk to him here than tracking him down on your own—or at Beverly’s funeral.”
“Give me a little credit. I wouldn’t bother him during a funeral.” I huffed, though I had been known to ask questions after a funeral.
“Uh-huh. What’s the second thing?”
“Everyone will definitely believe I’m coming back to the teachers’ lounge for another cookie.”
Before the bell rang, I left Brandi’s classroom and headed to the teachers’ lounge, barely beating the stampede of hyped-up middle school students returning from lunch.
Safely inside the empty room, I moseyed over to the kitchenette counter, picked up a napkin and an iced sugar cookie, and sat at the long table in the center of the room. A few seconds later, Jack, who also taught health in addition to coaching football, wandered in.
“Career day?” Jack asked as soon as he saw me.
“Yep. How’s your family doing?”
Jack picked up two ham sandwiches. “Okay. I guess. I’m sure you’ve heard Denise and I are having trouble, but this whole tragedy is bringing us closer. Not looking forward to Beverly’s visitation and funeral.”
“There’ll be a lot of people for sure. Why didn’t you stay home and rest today?”
He sat across from me, and other teachers began filtering in, so he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “My football team didn’t have a winning season, and you know how that goes. I need to toe the line if I want to keep my job.”
Some people in our town took sports way too seriously and had no patience for a coach who had to rebuild a program with mediocre players. “Mrs. Morris wouldn’t understand needing time off?”
His eyes darkened, and he glanced over his shoulder. “She’s a workaholic, so she expects that out of the rest of us. Plus, I’m not one of her favorites.” He unwrapped a ham sandwich and squeezed his fist around the paper.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s the way it goes.” He tossed the wrapper aside and took an such an aggressive bite that I actually felt sorry for the poor little sandwich.
I waited for him to swallow. “I have a quick question.”
<
br /> He furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”
“I’m thinking about getting a gun and heard you might be able to help,” I whispered.
“Sure.” Jack released his culinary victim. “A lot of my female clients prefer a semi-automatic, but I sell a few revolvers to ladies now and then. That’s what Denise prefers. Smith & Wesson .38 Special. Got one for her for Christmas a few years back.” He shook his head. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
Denise owned a gun? My stomach flipped, but I tried not to react as I took the card. “Thank you.”
He glanced toward the other teachers getting food. “Wanda Morris brought in her first husband’s collection for me to sell not long ago. There are some nice options that might work for you.”
I forced a chuckle. “It’d be like keeping it in the family.”
“Sure would. Anyway. Give me a call if you’re interested. My business number’s in the phone book.” He took another vigorous bite.
“Will do.” I crumpled my napkin. “One more thing. Do you know if Beverly was worried or upset about anything before she died?”
He chewed and then swallowed. “You’re not on Team Interrupted Break-In, I see.”
That was an odd way to put it. “No. Are you?”
“I don’t know what to think.” He ripped the extra lettuce off his second sandwich and tossed it aside. “Beverly was upset when she found out Fiona Sylvan and I had an affair. She saw a text message on Fiona’s phone since they both volunteered at the museum.”
“Did Beverly confront you?”
“Yeah. Even though Fiona and I are through, Beverly told me I needed to tell Denise before someone else did.”
“When was this?”
“She stopped by the school to see me about two weeks ago.” He held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. That’d give me motive to silence Beverly. But I confessed to Denise right away. She kicked me out, and I’ve been living at an extended stay hotel in Richardville ever since.” He popped the top off the water bottle and took a swig. “I’ve heard the rumors that since I sell guns part time, I look like a suspect, but I have a solid alibi. I was at B.J.’s Sports Bar in Richardville watching a Purdue basketball game with some buddies until Denise called and told me Beverly had been shot.”
Deadly Heritage Page 9
