by June Shaw
Forget Legs, I thought, grinning. Gil’s here, holding my hand. “I’m only in town until the graduation,” I told him. “I’ll take Kat downtown for some shopping, maybe catch a play or a concert. I have a condo on Tyndale.”
“Those are nice. Good location.”
“And not too far from Kat and Roger’s house.”
My granddaughter’s name drew a fresh smile from Gil. “I’d love to see Kat graduate. Cealie, I know you didn’t want our relationship to continue, but would you be my escort?”
I felt like the last girl to be asked to the prom. Now I had another major reason to want to see Kat’s graduation. I’d absolutely have to see about that death at her school.
Reason set in, offsetting what felt like the headiness of new romance. I didn’t want to fall in love with this man again. No, I didn’t love him any longer. I didn’t. “We’ll see,” I said.
Gil leaned back in his chair. “How’s Roger getting along?”
“Not much improvement. He still won’t see a therapist. I think he needs new interests, something to get him excited.”
“Has he dated?”
“Dated? I doubt it. Kat would’ve told me.” I drew in a breath. “But now Kat has a problem. She might not graduate.”
“Not graduate? Why?”
I shook my head, still unable to believe it myself.
“What happened?” Gil said. “Can we help her with something?”
I explained and he remained intent, holding on to every word I said. “And I don’t know,” I completed, “maybe she’s scared to go back there. You know horrible things take place at some schools.”
Gil’s pensive eyes told me he was mulling.
A fellow with oversized eyeglasses stood at the microphone and began a joke for the joke-telling contest.
Gil stared at me. “So what do you think?”
“I think I have to do something. Roger’s no help to her, and I can’t have Kat not going to classes. She can’t give up when she’s so close. That girl has got to walk across a stage and get her diploma.”
Gil gripped his chin like he did when in deep thought.
“Of course,” I said, “since the man’s funeral is tomorrow, he died recently, so I imagine Kat only missed a day or two of classes.”
Customers clapped politely while the man on stage spoke too quietly, finishing his joke. A woman scooted up to take his place. Her body was round, her thin hair frizzed. She started her joke with much animation, making people chuckle.
Gil’s focus remained inside, and I waited for him to decipher how he’d assist me. I glanced at my entrée. Crab lumps poked out beneath a toasted coating. Flecks of roasted peelings decorated my potato. Saliva filled my mouth.
Belly-laughter erupted from people at tables. The jokester woman rushed back to her seat, and the MC asked if anyone else had a joke to tell. No one stood. By audience applause, the MC declared the plump woman a winner. He said she’d get her meal gratis, and she yelped.
Gil drew nearer, his mouth close to mine. I withheld the urge to press my lips there. The jokes always made me cheerful. And having Gil help me consider Kat’s dilemma allowed me to be in a lighter mood.
He wasn’t smiling. Gil waited until whistles of approval for the winner quieted and then asked, “What does Kat want?”
My smile faded. “What do you mean, what does she want? She wants to graduate, of course.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“No, she said she might not. But that’s just because her idol teacher is suspected of murder. Once that’s cleared up, everything will be okay.”
“Who was murdered?”
“A custodian. Or he might have only fallen.”
Gil grinned. “I see.”
He glanced toward his table near the wall, where Legs was staring at us. Her look told me, “Get your eyes off my man!” I knew the look. I’d used it often when I was with him. Gil checked the date on his watch. “That doesn’t give the police many days to solve the mystery, if there is one. I imagine graduation is getting close.”
“It is. So I need to hurry and do something.”
He gave the laugh I usually liked, but not at the moment. “From what you’ve told me, Kat might have sensitive issues with a teacher friend to deal with. She might want some help with that, or she might not.”
“Oh, she certainly needs help,” I said, nodding.
“And the other trouble,” he said, his gaze making direct contact with mine. “You have no business getting mixed up in what might have been a murder. Let professionals investigate that situation.”
Protests struggled along my tongue. “But I have to do something,” I said.
Gil clasped my hand. “Cealie, you like to control situations. You’re really good at some things, but—”
“I’m good at leaving,” I said, shoving myself to my feet and turning. I left Gil’s restaurant. Let him go back to his new girlfriend, I told myself, driving away.
My shoulders tightened. Sure, let him.
I’d solve Kat’s troubles by myself.
Chapter 3
I hurled myself into the condo and slammed the door, then realized I hadn’t paid my restaurant bill. Hadn’t even offered. A smirk registered on my lips. Good. Let Gil do it. I hadn’t eaten any of his food anyway, except for a few greens and a cracker.
“What does he mean?” I asked Minnie, my new cactus, in the kitchen. “I do not try to control!” I planted the palms of my hands apart on the counter and bent over the pink-headed plant as though waiting for her to give me a sassy response.
Minnie was smart and didn’t answer.
I took deep breaths to squash my angry thoughts. Still hungry, I filled a plastic glass with water and gulped it. Minnie’s prickly head tilted a little, so I filled another glass and dumped it on her. I flung the glass at a trash can.
“That man!” I yelled, slinging myself across the den. “No wonder I left him. How dare he tell me not to get involved in Kat’s problems!” I paced through rooms, fuming, and made ugly comments about Gil to Minnie. I touched her prickers. Not stiff. I considered purchasing another cactus, one with really hard thorns, and setting it down on Gil’s chair.
After a while I felt better. Much calmer. Who cared what Gil thought? I knew Katherine and was certainly aware of what she needed. She needed graduation. Cap and gown, the whole bit. I’d do something. And I could do it without Gil Thurman’s assistance.
What was he telling that young woman with long legs at his table? That I was only an old friend visiting in town?
Old. Me?
I swiped a dry towel across the stovetop. My anger venting produced more sheen on its flat black surface but did nothing to brighten my mood. I tossed the towel. Trying to think, I circled through rooms that looked pretty to me yesterday but not today. I dropped to a chair in the den and powered up my laptop. I could surf into cyberspace to get my mind off worries. First I’d check e-mail. I slapped that button.
Hey Cealie, a subject line said.
I clicked that one. Somebody knew me, and I could use a cheerful message.
Are you still in San Francisco? I’ve been trying to find you and hope you still have the same e-mail address I came across. What’s been happening? I miss you, Cuz. Hey, I have a big problem. Please write or call. Luv, Stevie.
Groan. I didn’t need another relative’s problem to solve. My cousin Stevie hadn’t contacted me in years. She used to yank my pigtails when we were small and took great pleasure in watching me cry and then calling me crybaby. Stevie now thought she was psychic, but I knew she only told people all the ridiculous thoughts that popped into her ditzy head.
I hit the delete button and switched off the power. Let Stevie conjure my image to find out where I was.
“I’m sorry,” I said, again in the kitchen with Minnie cactus. “My dilemma isn’t your fault, and I don’t need to take out my frustrations on you.” She seemed to accept my apology. Her head looked a little pinker, her two-inc
h-high stem straighter. I told her goodnight and turned off the light. I’d recently purchased her when a wave of nostalgia swept through me and held on, making me feel a need for a living companion. Animals wouldn’t be great for all my travels, but plants lived. I knew next to nothing about real plants, and the only thing I knew about cactuses was that cactuses and cacti were both correct plurals, with dictionaries seeming to prefer cactuses.
I preferred cacti.
And I knew these plants didn’t require much upkeep. Perfect. At the nursery Minnie’s pinkish head with matching topknots captured my attention. And she didn’t prick. Now I was trying to make her my friend, but I’d need to be much kinder.
In my bedroom I kicked off my mules, reconsidering Legs. Surely she’d been wearing spiky heels with ankle straps. I shrugged out of my wrinkled pantsuit. It was supposed to be that way. A woman must have designed the fabric, and she had been wise. How many wrinkles she must have fussed with in her own garments. I liked my outfit—until I saw that woman with Gil. Her black skirt probably only wrinkled where its skimpy bottom creased underneath her.
I lay in bed, deliberation not letting me sleep. What did Gil mean, I tried to control? I’d help Kat, even if she hadn’t asked. I’d promised Nancy. The diploma. Then the wedding. Whether Kat liked it or not, she’d have babies.
* * *
In the morning the image of Gil’s sexy new girlfriend stuck in my brain, so I dressed in a more revealing outfit than the matronly one I’d worn yesterday. I phoned for directions and drove through streets, confused. Gil’s comments made me almost depressed, and I loathed depression.
“I want information about substitute teaching,” I told the woman seated behind the front counter at the school board office. She looked older than I was and wore whitish makeup and a tan buttoned blouse. She gaped at my bosom. If I were shy, I’d have covered myself. My sexy clothes felt out of place in this dark-paneled environment, making me recall that most teachers dressed conservatively. Why hadn’t I used my brains instead of my emotions to select an outfit for this mission?
Two men wearing suits strode out from the offices behind her. They walked beside the counter and gave me admiring stares.
“I taught briefly. That was quite some time ago,” I told the receptionist, “but I’ve been a professional woman for years.”
Her eyes lingered on my little clothes, letting me know what profession she thought I was in. After much hesitation, she said, “You’ll have to talk to someone in Personnel to see if you qualify for a certificate. Our schools always need subs.” She peered at the cleavage I’d shoved up above my chamois-colored sweater.
“And I know what school I’d like to go to,” I said.
Her gaze located my face. “Then you might talk to an administrator there, too. But the board will be doing a background check on you.”
Did she also think I used drugs? I met with a snobbish man in Personnel, let him copy the transcript I’d brought to show Kat, filled out his papers, and paid a fee. He gave me a letter and told me a certificate would arrive in the mail.
Reconsidering my purpose for the day, I swung back around to the condo and changed into something more school-like, a high-cut periwinkle dress. The stiletto red heels came off. I grabbed tan pumps from a box on a pantry shelf, slipped them on, and went out, making a quick stop near the airport at Dickers Rent-to-Own.
“You decided to buy this beauty?” Rick Dickers asked, his plastered salesman’s smile growing. “Your rental time’s not up yet, but I can’t blame you for wanting to keep her.” He patted the hood of the PT Cruiser I’d driven. Done deal, sale made, his pats said.
“Nope, she’s not quite right, although I do like her sassy rump.” I’d chosen this model because its odd shape seemed a cross between an old Volkswagen and a gangster’s car. Driving it gave me a sense of being naughty. I’d thought Kat would enjoy that image, but she hadn’t been in a laughing mood.
Now that I was going to her school, I wanted my vehicle, like my clothes, to make a professional statement. I always liked to rent cars from large lots like this—with new and used vehicles—whenever I could find them because I’d have so many choices. I wanted a different car now but didn’t want to take long to decide which one. I had a purpose. A mission. I skimmed the massive lot. “I want that one,” I said, pointing.
The owner’s eyes flashed. “The Lexus?”
“Yep.”
In two scoots he’d departed and returned with the keys. I had him rush to change the paperwork, and then I paid the larger fee.
The car’s leather-scented seat caressed my hips and back. The Lexus drove better than the similar ones I’d owned. A temptation struck to buy this lovely piece of machinery, but I remembered I wanted nothing that would chain me down. I’d been anchored by possessions too long. Who wanted to squander time deciding which tires would be better than others—which you had to do when you owned a car? I was free to do my own thing now. Whenever I flew to new destinations, I didn’t want to lug around an automobile.
I pulled into the paved parking lot in front of Sidmore High School. I would check out the school’s atmosphere, see if there was any truth to what Kat was hearing. Was her mentor a suspect?
Pounding in my chest made me pause. What if someone in that chunky building ahead of me really had killed the custodian? Hell, I was chicken. I wanted nothing to do with murder. I stood outside the Lexus, apprehension making me light-headed.
But Kat needed me. She said the custodian’s funeral was today. Why did a custodian die at this school? And if he was murdered, who did it? How did the people in this place like my grandchild? Most important, I needed to discover how to get her back here again.
Trucks, cars, and Jeeps jammed together in a parking maze. Every child in the school must own a vehicle, and some might have brought two. I left the Lexus in the only spot I found, near the road. The lone soul outside, I sauntered toward the building that looked fairly new but not impressive. In cold institutional oyster gray, it stretched in a broad expanse, leaving little grass exposed. They should have left more space outside for growing things. Kids needed to see flowers and trees. The slightly darker section tacked on to the building’s extreme left must house the swimming pool. When it was added last year, Kat had enthused about her diving classes.
I hadn’t been in a school in years but had certain expectations. I expected order. Polite children, like Kat. Fairly pleasant, boring teachers. I expected many people to be out for the funeral.
I trotted up the stairs to the landing. Home of the Mighty Cougars was plastered above double doors, along with painted cougar paws, eyes, and whiskers. A sign with a slash across a pistol said No Weapons Allowed. I wondered how many people that note frightened.
I reached for the door just as someone inside shoved it out. Three large boys hustled through. The huskiest one slammed against my shoulder. “Oops,” he said, grinning while he glanced back at me. He wore a thick sports jacket that advertised some team, and he scrambled down the stairs with the other boys.
“An apology would be nicer than ‘Oops,’” I said.
“Right, Grandma.”
“If I were your grandma, I’d have taught you manners!”
The big guy stopped. With a slow turn of his head, he peered over his shoulder. The mean-eyed gaze he speared me with made my knees weak. The other boys hooted. They all turned away and headed for the parking lot. I still held my breath. This was what high school was like? What was I doing here?
I exhaled, drew in deep breaths, and stood straighter. Opening the heavy door, I expected to find mourning. The door hissed and slammed shut behind me.
I witnessed bedlam.
No wonder those rough boys rushed out the school. I’d entered during a riot. Screams bounced off the walls, and huge kids shoved each other. A bulky mesh bag flew across a mass of thugs. I shrank back, ready to dash out the door.
“Can I help you?” a quiet voice said. The young woman stood almost a head taller t
han I did, and her kind expression gave me hope. She didn’t look anxious about the riot. My gaze flitted to the students. Didn’t she realize what was happening?
She glanced toward where I looked. “It’s lunchtime,” she said wearily, readjusting the stack of papers in her arms. “Did you need the office? It’s right this way.”
I followed where she led, not letting my gaze stray from students. If this was how they acted for lunch break, what did they do during their actual riots?
And I wanted to make Kat come back here?
Grateful to find the office located away from sweaty teens and musty book odors, I entered a large room with two sides covered by plate-glass windows. Surely the glass was bulletproof, and this was the viewing area where guards stood to watch the inmates. Signs blocked a portion of these windows. One sign mentioned graduation, another, senior rings. I appreciated the long stick wrapped in lagoon blue and yellow that leaned inside one window. Probably used to beat down any rioter who attempted to come in.
Near the door I walked through, a newspaper obituary had been posted on the wall. My glance at the article showed me the youthful face of the custodian, Grant Labruzzo.
The woman I followed rushed off behind a counter that blocked most of the room. Three teen girls looking downcast sat near me. Pictures of past presidents hung on walls, along with school pennants. The counter held trophies and wire trays with tossed-in papers. The protected side of this room sported a few open doors. People in that area worked behind computers near a copy machine.
One man and a woman whom I supposed were teachers bustled past me. The man with shaggy hair, a bulldog expression, and wearing P.E. shorts yanked up a desk phone and barked at whoever was on the line. The woman, tiny with enormous black hair, complained to a calm man with skin so tan it looked roasted. No one paid attention to me.
“Excuse me. Um, excuse me,” I said louder.
A woman leaned out from behind her monitor. “Yes?”
I threw back my shoulders. “I need some information.”
She glanced to her side at others involved with their tasks. Appearing harried, she shoved up from her chair and came near.
