by June Shaw
“The cops keep on asking us, ‘Who’d you see? Where were you when it happened? Right before that? Then afterward?’” Roxy stared at me. “Man, you’d think this was the great inquisition.”
I was pleased that she knew such a word. “They’re asking all the students?”
“Some of us, some people in the office. Teachers.” With a grim face, she peered at the flowers as though needing something positive to hold onto. “I gotta go.”
“Roxy, are there any teachers that you believe could have done it?”
I watched the rear of her head, mentally begging her not to say Miss Hernandez.
“Have you checked out Ms. Jeansonne?”
“Abby Jeansonne?”
“And while you’re at it, we have a really mean coach.” Roxy vacuumed herself through the door with a grim warning, “I didn’t say nothing.”
The flowers faded as I stared out at them. Maybe my mind was painting a less-than-lovely scene. Abby, my friendly neighbor with bangs. Did she keep them long to hide her eyes so they wouldn’t reveal a deadly nature? She’d wanted to make certain I knew about a murder here. I knew some killers wanted lots of recognition. And a school this size must have many coaches. But the one who appeared ready to thrash people stood out in my mind. Of the faculty members Roxy mentioned, I’d give my vote to Coach Millet.
A few students milled outside. I wandered around them, hoping to hear snatches of conversation. If Roxy knew something, surely other kids did, too. I peered at flowers the wind shook and pretended to ignore students, my hearing cranked to high gear. I glanced at the door in case Kat came out. The teens all drifted back inside, and I was left alone. Disappointed not to learn anything new, I was pleased a moment later when the bell rang.
I scuttled inside the building. Some students rushed, while others lounged around, stalling. Most moved to other halls so that the central corridor became maneuverable. An extra-tall, slender woman with blond hair and a shapely denim dress walked a distance ahead of me. “Hi, Miss Hernandez,” I called, trotting to catch up. She didn’t glance back, so I yelled, “Miss Hernandez. Marisa.”
Neither name brought a response. I paused to ask a nearby student, “That is Miss Hernandez, isn’t it?” I pointed ahead and saw the woman turn. I had never seen her before.
The boy that I’d asked continued to stare at his arm, where I had just tapped. His face rose toward mine. Sledge. Total hatred formed his grimace. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.
My eyes widened. “Did that hurt you?” I tapped him again.
Sledge smoldered. He hissed, and his big shoulders spread even wider. In that moment, I knew: This boy-man could knock me to the ground and pummel me until I was dead.
My mouth zapped dry. I took steps away, praying Sledge wouldn’t follow. He might be carrying a weapon, and I was certain he could use it. I turned the corner and reached a corridor filled with people. At least if Sledge stalked me here, I might find help.
My glance at surrounding students revealed many that I’d had in yesterday’s classes. I doubted whether any of them would come to my aid. A detective emerged from a room, and I breathed easier. The unhappy youth with him was Sledge’s buddy who had said I mustn’t have heard about what happened between Sledge and the dead man. The young muscular cop scanned the hall. His gaze stopped at Sledge, now leaning against a wall near me, his mean gaze fixing on the cop. The detective wagged a finger to call Sledge, who unglued his back from the wall and followed.
I surmised that they had probably called Sledge’s friend in for questioning because of what I’d told the administrators. And now they would question Sledge. Great. Teenagers closed in around Sledge’s friend, and I slowed down to listen.
“Those damn cops,” the boy said. “We all know who’s got keys to get back in this place.”
My steps faltered. The sole of my shoe squeaked, and the teens all rolled their heads toward me. They muttered and scattered. I strode to the science hall, considering what I’d gathered thus far today. Anne Little had dubbed herself keeper of the school keys, but today Cynthia Petre had given me my keys. John Winston said he didn’t start the rumor that worried Kat, but had he lied? Now that I’d witnessed his anger, I could more easily imagine him as someone who would. The idea of Sledge shoving a person over a balcony rail became conceivable. He would be strong enough. And he could’ve been here after school hours—almost anyone could have stayed and hidden, it seemed to me, without other persons knowing.
I spied a woman coming to the science hall and wondered where she was heading because I couldn’t imagine anyone going to teach looking like that. She was a runt of a person with orange-red hair teased up like an Afro, although she was Caucasian. Her hairdo, even back in the seventies, would’ve been too extreme. Her face appeared flushed, as though she’d just run a marathon. A suspicious-looking creature if I ever saw one.
I had to stare. Anyone who looked like that wouldn’t get embarrassed—she flaunted her differences. I peered directly at her face. She had unashamed big brown eyes and an attractive slender nose. She wore a navy blue suit, and on her shoulders, gold buttons. “Oh, damn,” I shouted. “I have duty hair!”
Someone snickered. A girl was the last straggler except me. She looked away and went into a classroom, and I returned my attention to the mirror. It was long and wavy like those I used to see in fairs. This one was tinted pink, with a computer-generated sign above: Let Science Straighten You Out.
Okay, so much for my complexion. But the hair—that bush had to go. I ironed my hair down with my hands, straightened, and entered my room.
Every youth was seated. Flustered as I was from seeing myself, I attempted a smile. No use. I called roll and handed out worksheets. Teens went right to work. My stomach gurgled. I pressed a hand on it, urging quiet, and recalled Gil’s invitation to lunch. His cooks’ tasty food. His firm body. I grabbed my handset out of my purse and stepped toward the hall. “How about dinner?” I’d ask him. I’d suggest mid-afternoon.
I tossed my phone back in. Gil would have plans for this special day, with his evening mapped out. Legs was surely included, probably until morning. Or they might be living together. A freckled boy’s hand shot up, and I snapped, “Yes?”
“Are you coming back again?”
“No!”
I thought he’d say great, but his eyes saddened. His lips formed a pout. Giving him a thankful smile, I touched his paper, asking what had baffled me all day. “Why is everyone so intent on doing this? Nobody’s complaining, and everybody is taking this work seriously.”
“We’re seniors, and this is practice for our exam next week. We want to graduate, you know.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“And Miss Fleet told us a sub was coming. She said if we want to pass her exam, we’d better practice. This is tough.”
I glanced at his worksheet with letters of the alphabet in various assemblages. “I couldn’t do that,” I admitted, to which he grinned. “Tell me something,” I said, “do you have class with Ms. Jeansonne?” He shook his head, and I asked, “How about Coach Millet?”
“I don’t have him either. Why?” He stared at me with innocent baby blues.
“Just wondering if you knew them well.” I patted his shoulder and left him to practice. What could I have told him? That Roxy suggested one of those teachers might be connected to a killing? Would I ask if he’d seen them do anything vicious?
I returned to Miss Fleet’s chair. This babysitting with honor students wasn’t a chore. If I had known how different they were from so many of the horrible kids I’d had yesterday, I would have brought something to read. A novel. Maybe cookbooks. But they would put me to sleep.
Scanning the group, I wished Kat were here. I still had no idea whether she was at school today. The only sounds in the room were an occasional cough, one sneeze—to which three people muttered “Bless you”—and erasures. I didn’t want to interrupt their intent study with more questions. The quiet lulled me into w
ishing I could nap. I stood, stretched, and rearranged pages of the seating charts. I fingered the roll book. Yanking it open, I skimmed names from the upcoming group.
Gunther, Katherine.
Kat would be in my next class!
Chapter 11
I was so excited to find my granddaughter’s name on the roster that I almost shouted, until I looked at my hushed students. I closed the roll book. “Yes, ma’am?” a tiny girl said, peering up from a front desk.
Obviously I’d made a little squeal. “Nothing,” I said. “Go on, good luck. I can’t help, you know. Miss Fleet…” She gave a nod. Of course if she believed her teacher had told me not to assist her, I couldn’t help that. Not really.
Kat had escaped my notice all day, but I’d been on duty. She would really laugh when I told her about my duty hair. My mirth fled. Miss Hernandez had called her own coiffeur that yesterday. Had Kat been around her today? That’s all Kat really needed, for her guru to notice her again. When Kat came in next hour, I’d be able to tell by her demeanor whether she had spoken with Miss Hernandez.
I clutched the roll book. I could check out Kat’s grades. The blush I felt rising came from guilt. I shouldn’t be doing this, but flipped the pages to the next period.
“Where do we put our papers when we finish?” a boy asked.
I shut the roll book and told him. I meandered down rows, smiling. Kat was coming soon.
Class ended, and I stood at the door, bidding students goodbye. I awaited the next group when a reddish mop of hair flipped out from a doorway. Abby Jeansonne stalked out of her room, half-smiling, and came toward me. I shuddered, recalling what Roxy suggested. “How’s it going?” Abby asked.
“Oh, fine.” My voice had pitched high. I forced it low, shifting to get more space between us. “How about you?”
“Anything’s good on a Friday.”
“Fridays are nice,” I said, not sharing that I’d long ago decided God was surely a woman, and She had done well to include many Fridays in a year. I watched for Kat, eyeing students heading for my room, and found myself trying to withdraw from Abby. I forced my body to stand still. She wouldn’t harm me. She did have an odor, like something scientific that might have come out of a stained lab tube.
“Did you get your absentee list today?” Abby asked.
“I don’t think so.”
She glanced behind my open door. “Nope, you didn’t get one either.” Nonchalantly, she sauntered away, and I told myself Roxy was wrong. This woman couldn’t physically hurt anyone. My gosh, she was a teacher.
Abby passed up her room, which I noticed no students had entered. Some were coming into mine, so I knew this wasn’t a lunch break. Thank goodness. Then I might have duty again. And more duty hair. Abby’s mass of hair suddenly whipped to one side as if someone had grasped it and tossed it over. Her head swerved back one hundred eighty degrees. Both of her eyes were uncovered by bangs. Those eyes narrowed, hard and threatening, exactly like those of a vicious cougar on Hannah’s office wall. Abby could have also had a long tail to swing at me.
My knees wobbled.
“Hey, teach,” a girl said. I glanced down and found someone even shorter than me. She was cute, cocoa-colored, confident. I told her hello, and while other teens filed in, she remained close. “I had to run back for my P.E. clothes after lunch, and I saw you staring in that mirror. You looked funny.”
I didn’t feel funny at the moment. I swallowed, glancing toward Abby Jeansonne. The rear of her skirt whipped around the corner.
“The mirror’s convex,” the girl said. “There’s another one that’s all squiggly.”
“Glad I didn’t see that one,” I said, and she giggled. I scanned the empty corridor. “Do you know Kat Gunther? Did you see her?”
The self-assured girl strolled into my room, saying, “Kat’s not here today.”
My voice dulled when I called roll. I wrote absent behind Kat’s name, and when my stomach grumbled, ordered it to shut up. I was here again, but Kat wasn’t. All of my efforts at keeping her at school had failed. Minutes into class, I thought of grades. I felt like a criminal but didn’t care now. I reopened the roll book.
All of Kat’s test grades were A, except for the last one. She’d made a C. Was that after Marisa Hernandez became a suspect? A quick addition and division told me Kat had an A average. In chemistry, wow! I put the roll book away and went to the desk of the nice girl. “If students here miss final exams, what happens to their grades?” I asked.
“Without a medical excuse, we’d make F. Exams count for one-third of our grades.”
So if Kat didn’t take her chemistry exam, her A average would drop to B, or possibly lower. Her averages in every other class would fall, too. A 3.0 average wouldn’t be bad, but wouldn’t earn any of the scholarships her parents had hoped she’d receive. Kat’s concerns about Miss Hernandez would soon end, but suppose Kat waited until it was too late? What if, during these last few days of her senior year, she ruined all of the grades she had worked for twelve long years to earn? Why did she pick as a mother-image a woman who’d become a suspect in a man’s death?
Why hadn’t she turned to me?
My spirit dulled even more. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own business and life, Kat’s problem might not exist. She might be another carefree senior, excitedly looking forward to graduation. I plopped back on the teacher’s chair, struggling with grandmother guilt. Was I responsible for Kat’s situation? The first time I’d met John Winston, he looked proud to be a senior. Had I overstepped my boundaries by questioning him?
My thoughts were shut down by an emergency system’s wail. The continuous high-pitched alarm shot me to my feet. I jumped about, looking for an invader I’d have to protect these children from. They bustled out the door, leaving open books on their desks, most of the students laughing. “What’s going on?” I asked a boy walking past.
“Just the fire alarm. Some kid’s always pulling it.”
I swooped out of the room with him. Throngs of people headed for exit doors. Adults directed traffic in the main corridor. “Should I stay here?” I called to a gaunt woman. “I’m subbing.”
“Where’s your class?” she shouted. “You have to stay with them.”
My class? I peered at the multitude. No students looked familiar. Where the hell was my class?
I sank into the tidal wave of kids shoving out through the doors. On the landing, Hannah Hendrick was speaking to the two policemen I’d seen around. She looked flustered, and I didn’t blame her. I’d be furious if some prankster was always disrupting the whole school like this. “It didn’t come from the office?” the older detective asked her.
Anne Little and Coach Millet stopped to listen, and Hannah shook her head. She scanned those of us leaving. I hoped she wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t following people who looked like my students. Where were they? I scanned a sea of people hustling down the steps and gathering around cars on the parking lot. One clump of teens resembled those who’d last been with me. I headed toward them when I caught another part of the conversation. “…so we’ll dust, but whoever did it probably wrapped his hand with a coat or something.”
“Don’t they always?” Anne Little asked the detective, and Coach Millet made a grumpy sound.
I paused on a stair, pointing to direct traffic. Big teens who poured past ignored me. A snippet of the detective’s words let me know firemen and more police officers were on their way, but they probably wouldn’t find whoever pulled the alarm. “So we’ll be leaving,” he said. “We finished questioning students and teachers.”
“And your findings?” Hannah said.
The detective shook his head, and Anne Little told him, “We know you can’t tell us everything yet.”
A shift of my bent head let me peer beneath the arm I was raising slightly. Anyone might think I was inspecting for deodorant. The officer made a barely perceptible nod exactly like Roger’s. What would my son think if he knew I was teaching here? An
d snooping? I already knew what Gil thought.
Since everyone else had vacated the stairs, I needed to move down. A cluster of teachers, Marisa Hernandez among them, urged students to get farther from the building. Most kids looked glad to obey. Boys were dashing toward what resembled a field house. Coach Millet yelled and turned them away.
I neared Marisa and told her hello. Her copper-brown eyes scanned me, her expression changing to one of recognition. “Oh, hi.” She lowered her face toward mine. “Not a nice way for you to spend the afternoon, is it?”
I peered up. Clear pure blue sky. “At least it’s not raining,” I said, pleased that the mail truck wouldn’t be leaking again.
“It’s really not fun being stuck out here in the middle of a downpour.”
I couldn’t fathom that. If a child pulled a fire alarm during a thunderstorm, I would find that kid and—
“It’s a shame we can’t find out who does it,” Marisa said.
“They never know?” I asked. She shook her head, and I noticed that in the wind Marisa’s tresses, like mine, once more began to resemble “duty hair.” Except her hair was blond. Mine was—whatever color I chose to make it. That thought made me cheerful. This had been my first day to experience duty, and also to participate in what I’d thought might be a fire drill here but wasn’t. Pranksters. I’d never have to be caught in the midst of them again.
And some people here, I thought, skimming a plethora of faces, could be much more. I spied John Winston in one group, Sledge with his buddies in another. Some of these youths and teachers might be thieves. Or killers. We were down on the grass, but I felt the wide-open space surrounding me close in. My gaze ran up. The woman whose arm brushed on mine might have committed a fresh murder.
“Are you cold?” Marisa asked.
“No.” I forced my voice bigger. “Why?”
She smiled, her hair whipping about her denim-clad shoulders. “You have goose skin.” Marisa touched my forearm. New bumps sprouted, and she grinned. I didn’t think it was so funny.
