by June Shaw
She fell silent. What was it about teens? Did you have to tug every response out of some and stare down others to make them shut up? When God decided to create teenagers, He’d surely grinned, presenting us adults with major puzzles. I had to figure out this one.
“Kat, I met Miss Hernandez.”
Her shoulders drooped. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you in the bathroom. You would have asked me about her. And I probably would’ve cried.”
I wrapped my arms around Kat, and she held on, her back trembling. Pain for her squeezed through my heart. Too much distress inside this young person. I yearned to pull it all out and toss it away. Why would a question have caused her such pain? Had she become too sensitive, or too attached to that teacher? We let each other go, and I sat beside Kat on the sofa, with Nancy’s face surrounding us. “Did something happen between you and Miss Hernandez today?” I asked.
Distress remained in Kat’s face. “I didn’t see her, but I couldn’t concentrate in my classes. Somebody passed me a note. It said the police were arresting her.”
I clutched Kat’s hand. “Was it true?”
“I don’t know.”
“I met Miss Hernandez right after noon recess. When did you get the note?”
“During the period after that. Later on, I asked some friends, but none of them had an afternoon class in her hall. Nobody saw her.”
I grabbed my cell phone, called Information, and connected with the police station. “Can you tell me if Marisa Hernandez was arrested today?” I asked the friendly sounding man who answered.
“Sorry, I can’t give out that information.”
“But it’s important. My granddaughter’s her best friend.”
Kat made a weak grin, and the man repeated that he couldn’t help me. I hung up, told Kat what he’d said, and watched her grin wilt. “Is there anybody else I could call?” I asked. “An administrator? Another teacher?”
“No. If it’s not true, I don’t want to start another rumor.”
“But who’d start a rumor like that?”
She folded her hands on her lap. “The boy I broke up with was in that class.”
“John Winston? I met him.”
“You meet everybody, Gram.” She almost smiled.
“Would John make up a lie just to taunt you?”
“He wasn’t very happy when I quit dating him.”
“Can’t blame him for that,” I said, tweaking Kat’s nose. “So we probably won’t know the truth about Miss Hernandez until tomorrow. I’ll be at school to find out if she shows up. Will you?”
Kat stood. “Let’s get something to drink.”
We walked to the kitchen, and I said, “Your dad’s late. Any chance he went out with the guys after work?”
Kat smirked. She poured glasses of iced tea and we sat sipping our beverages, staring out the bay window, watching evening descend on Roger’s flowers.
“Do you know a boy called Sledge?” I said. “He and I butted heads today.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“And I spoke to Roxy. She seems dangerous.” I looked at Kat. “Are you smoking?”
She grinned and shook her head. “Why would you think that?”
“You came into the girls’ restroom with Roxy. She only came in there to smoke.”
“I was just walking behind her. But you’re right. Roxy could be dangerous.”
I mentally patted my back. I knew killers when I saw them. I’d seen many on television.
“Roxy hasn’t been at our school long,” Kat said. “I don’t remember where she came from. But the first time I saw her, I walked in the bathroom and it was really crowded. Somebody shoved me in a corner. It was Roxy, drawing a knife on me.”
My heart jumped to my throat. “A knife?”
“Just a tiny pocketknife.”
“A knife is a knife, no matter how big. Knives cut. They can kill.”
“I know. When Roxy did that, I tried to shove my spine into the wall.”
“And then what happened?” I asked, pulse racing.
Kat sipped her tea. “Nothing. Roxy closed the knife, put out her hand, and introduced herself. I shook her hand and she left. Ever since then, we’ve been cool.”
I was cool. Students said it. But my relationship with people didn’t involve knives. “How cool are you with her now?”
“We’re not close friends, not enemies. We usually grin at each other.”
Having Roxy grin at Kat didn’t console me much. Another fearful thought came. “You wouldn’t happen to have a class with Miss Gird? A tiny woman, follows a coach, face gets all red when she’s mad.”
“Yes, I know. And I do.”
Uh-oh. “Did you ever see her hurt anyone?”
Kat laughed. “Only a boy that she heard yelling filthy stuff in the hall one day. Miss Gird slammed him against a locker.”
I knew it. More ideas popped up. “Kat, why does it seem that so few people at the school miss Grant Labruzzo?”
She shrugged. “He hadn’t worked there long, so most people probably didn’t even know him.”
I mulled on these new insights. Another previous worry returned. “Did you know a substitute teacher named Jayne Ackers?”
Kat moved off to the refrigerator. “She’s tall and blond, looks kind of like Miss Hernandez. Gram, I have to fix dinner. You can stay, but please let’s quit talking about school.”
Obviously she didn’t know Jayne Ackers had been shot. And since Kat had enough concerns, I chose not to tell her now. “I ate.”
“Already? Where?”
“At Cajun Delights.”
Kat’s face brightened. “Oh, with Mr. Gil.”
“The food was good.”
Kat eyed me, her grin suggesting she didn’t believe I’d only enjoyed the meal. I quickly changed topics. “I’ll really need somebody to pick out things that I could give a special young lady as a graduation gift.”
“Gram…”
“And then I could hide them. The graduate could pretend to be surprised at what’s inside all the gift wrap.”
“Graduation gifts are for people who graduate.”
“Yes.”
Kat narrowed her eyes. “Don’t push me.”
I wanted to push. I wanted life normal, and this child happily finishing high school. She and I exchanged a brief kiss at the front door. I drove away wanting to dash back in there and pin Kat down. Would she come back to Sidmore High? If I had to be there, then she should be. She was the reason I’d be putting myself in that position, even knowing what I currently knew about students.
A picture flashed into mind. I was holding Nancy’s cool hand, giving the assurance that I’d take her place. All of the worry wrinkles on Nancy’s forehead smoothed out.
Deathbed promises. Were they all so difficult to keep?
In the condo I kicked off my pumps and listened to my feet plat-platting across the floor. I strode through rooms, reminding myself of a caged tiger I’d once watched in a zoo. The majestic creature’s space was so small that I’d wanted to set him free. Not a good idea with a ferocious animal, I’d determined. I left his area when golden fur from his shoulder rubbed off against the bars.
I was starting to feel as he must have. Too many concerns. Too little space in which to take care of them. And alone, just like that tiger? I didn’t have to be. My decision.
To remind myself of choices, I walked to the stove, grabbed a towel, and buffed. “There,” I said to nearby Minnie, but really to me. “I can still cook on one of these. Or not.” In the den I ran the towel across an end table. “And I can keep dusting furniture like I used to.” I crumpled the towel. “Or let someone else earn a living doing it.” I draped back across the leather recliner’s arms and stared at the chandelier, its teardrops glistening. Kat could probably be salutatorian of her class if she tried. And she might get offered a nice scholarship to a major university. But her bright future and her worries tugged at each other. On which side would she fall?
I slammed down my fists and drew myself up. Kat would not fail!
I envisioned all those mean students from Sidmore High School and knew—tomorrow I’d be the teacher from hell.
Chapter 9
I strutted through my den feeling newly empowered. I knew what to expect from high school students now. And I knew what I’d do with them.
I needed to calm down. The clock rang early on school days. By now the police had my information about Sledge and were probably discovering what happened between him and the dead man. Maybe the brute was already behind bars. Then Marisa Hernandez would no longer be a suspect. Kat could resume life as before, attending final classes, confiding in her mentor.
I relaxed. I wanted to read something that would put me to sleep, which excluded my latest Kinsey newsletter. In the kitchen I told Minnie hi and opened the dishwasher. The bottom shelf, holding my multicolored cookbooks, rolled out. Since I never planned to bother these appliances with lots of soiled dishes, I’d found the dishwasher a perfect place for storing my books. And a kitchen pantry shelf, without tons of food and often located near the back door, usually became a great space on which to place boxes of my shoes.
I fingered the orange cookbook from Georgia, the tan one from Toledo, the white one from Denver. I selected The Best Dishes of Montana. Whatever people ate in Montana might not let me stay awake long.
Lying in bed, I read their recipes for hors d’oeuvres. The first six doused me with sleep.
Morning brought me into my closet, where I picked through widely spaced items. A few women teachers at Sidmore High had worn knitted droopy pants and matching tops with pictures. I didn’t want to wear that and had nothing resembling it anyway. Pushing aside my already wrinkled pantsuit, I bypassed my slut clothes and considered an ecru linen jacket with off-white slacks and a silk blouse. My mind’s eye embroidered the outfit Marisa Hernandez wore, the classic knit dress with no bra. I envisioned the tailored suits worn by Hannah Hendrick and Anne Little and then decided on a compromise.
After a brisk shower I blew my hair dry, noting its roots wanting of more natural burnt sienna. Today I didn’t have time to find a hairdresser. I brushed my waves and strode through the condo, sans clothing. Gil had taught me to feel comfortable in the skin God gave me, even if much of it now pimpled with cellulite, and other parts sagged toward my waist.
Yesterday’s dinner at Gil’s restaurant had been early, my growling belly reminded me. I swallowed cranberry juice and spied Minnie’s head drooping. If this juice drenched humans with vitamins, how much better must it be for plants? Pleased with my inventiveness, I coated Minnie’s soil with the wine-colored liquid. “You should feel perkier within minutes,” I said and tossed my cup in the trash, smiling as I considered what the cafeteria might serve. Today I could find it. And today I knew how little time there would be for eating. I’d get to those pans of food in time for my noon feeding.
My outfit consisted of a suit. Navy—a no-nonsense, power color. Pads built up my shoulders. Epaulettes with gold buttons gave me the air of belonging to the military. I straightened, enjoying the authority I saw in the mirror.
Since I also liked Marisa Hernandez’s idea of having no underwear even when standing before those bloodthirsty people, I wore no panties. Instead, I drew on sheer pantyhose. Beneath them I normally wore briefs. Not today. “You have a great day,” I told Minnie, “because I will. I’ll make those teens sorry they ever messed with me.” Minnie didn’t look stronger, but maybe that would take a few hours. I grabbed my navy pumps from the pantry and slipped them on. I was ready.
A thought made a jolt of concern strike my stomach. Had Kat avoided school because she was scared to attend? After all, a man had died there. Sidmore High must have been a frightening place even before his death. Someone had keyed my Lexus the first time I went, when nobody there even knew me. Now Sledge and a few others must hate me. And some, like Roxy, knew Kat was my grandchild. I needed to make certain Miss Hernandez was at school. But suppose she had spent the night and morning in jail?
My head spun with dilemmas as I slipped my shoulder bag up above my arm. The phone inside it played da-dunt da-dunt da-dunt. I kicked my feet to the cheery tune and expecting Kat, I answered, “Hi, sweetie.”
“Hello, sweetheart.”
My belly balled up. “Gil? You’re up early.”
“So are you. I wanted to ask you something this morning.”
Anticipation bit in my chest. He’d question why I was going out at this hour. I wouldn’t tell him about my subbing brainstorm.
He said, “How can you tell if a person is a Cajun?”
I smiled. This had to be from the restaurant’s joke contest. “I guess by the person’s name. Or maybe by the accent.” I crossed to the door and paused, spending a moment to feel close contact with Gil.
“Wrong answer.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“A Cajun is someone who lets his black coffee cool off and then discovers that it’s jelled.” Gil made a hefty laugh.
“Cute,” I said.
“And did you hear about the fire that broke out at Boudreaux’s place?”
My absolute favorite. A Boudreaux and Thibodaux joke. “No, what happened?”
“Boudreaux’s buddy Thibodaux phoned the fire station and said they needed the firemen to come out. The fireman asked for the best way to reach his house. Thibodaux thought a minute and said, ‘Don’t y’all still have those big red fire trucks?’”
How good it felt to be laughing in the morning.
“They came from the contest last night,” Gil said. “If you’d stayed longer, you would have heard them.”
A cold rag could have been slapped down between us. Both our voices changed, no smiles left in them. “I’m sure it was nice,” I said. Of course Legs had remained. “Thanks for sharing the jokes with me.”
“Any time.”
“I’m sorry, but I really have to run.” No, don’t say run. “There’s something I’m doing.” He’d probably think I was ready to take a shower.
“I’ll let you go. But we didn’t get to talk much yesterday. Would you like to have lunch?”
“Lunch?” Oh goodness, getting to sit in the cafeteria would take almost too long for the little break allowed for the meal. Surely there wasn’t time to drive to the restaurant, eat, and return for afternoon classes. “Sorry again, I can’t make it.”
“Well maybe some other time.”
“Maybe. Thanks for the invitation.” We said goodbye and clicked off. Damn, I’d have to eat cafeteria food, and if memory served, those meals weren’t anything to anticipate. And I’d have delightful company: the students. I snarled and then went out the door.
Driving up to the school, I parked my avocado mail truck without worrying. I swung my epaulette-clad shoulders through the humid air and walked inside the building. Someone had removed Grant Labruzzo’s picture from the office window. Nobody seemed to have mourned him for long.
In the office I boldly projected myself into that sacred space, behind the counter. Staff members lolled about, yawning and gathering coffee in mugs with written sentiments. I didn’t see Marisa Hernandez, but I had arrived early. Anne Little bent over and searched in a file drawer. Again she wore a suit, carnation pink silk, and almost dead center on its skirt rear was what appeared to be an ink stain. Schools did that to you, I surmised, recalling the purple stains on my teachers’ blouses and hands after they ran off our papers. I had enjoyed the smell of those tests taken right off the old ditto machines. But that ink might ruin Anne Little’s lovely suit.
Secretary Cynthia Petre was wearing her hair down. Today it looked rich and full.
She appeared more attractive than she had before, except for her brown top with a maroon skirt. A mid-sized calendar stood on her desk. Days had been crossed off with huge red X’s, the countdown to summer vacation. I noticed that today was May third. Ever since I’d begun creating my new life, I seldom paid attention to calendars. Such a great feeling, freeing myself from most time constraints.
“Good morning!” I announced.
Two women groaned, and Anne Little glanced up but gave no response. Cynthia Petre waved to call me. “I have your keys,” she said, her braces flashing.
I knew what keys. Did they pass from hand to hand, not returning to the person who had told me she was in charge of them and hiring us subs?
Cynthia Petre handed me a key. “For the classroom. It’s number 115 down the science hall.” Great, I could find that. “And this one’s for the bathroom,” she said, giving me another.
Anne Little frowned as she approached me. “Mrs. Gunther, yesterday I saw you going in the girls’ restroom. The faculty ladies’ room is down the cafeteria hall. Do you know where that is?”
“Absolutely.”
“Or if you’re around here, you can use the one for the office.” She pointed to a door directly to the rear. Ah, I’d moved up. I was privy to the administrative toilet.
Hannah passed through that rear hall, and Mrs. Little trotted off after her, saying, “Can you believe it? Tom Reynolds just called in sick.”
“I don’t give a damn what you were doing!” a man shouted behind me. “You shouldn’t have been around there.” Coach Millet clenched a tall boy’s arm, almost dragging him, and flung a furious gaze across the secretaries. “Where’s Anne Little?”
“Back there.” Cynthia Petre nodded toward the rear hall, and Coach tugged the boy toward where the administrators had disappeared.
Chills scooted across my back. A killer at this school? One might be out in the hall and peering in here. Or one could be right in this private area. Was Kat here today? I wanted her to be, yet felt a strange fear for her if she was. Hurry up, end of school.
Cynthia Petre obviously read questions in my face. “That kid might have been smoking weed,” she said, explaining Coach’s behavior. “Probably out in back of the stadium. That’s where a lot of them go.”
