"Like the one that ran you off the road?" Emily gulped. She hadn't been as subtle as she had thought. "No, Ms. Taylor, I drove a white S-10 pickup." And with that, he dumped the remains of his salad in the trash and swept out the door. Emily glared after him, chomping on her pizza.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon went quickly, but Emily was more focused on her conversation with Barnes than on mythology. She was gratified that the students were enjoying the new unit, but she was irritated at her strikeout with that slimy toad, Barnes. The fact that he knew what kind of vehicle had run her off the road was disconcerting. Of course, that information was sure to have been in the news, but the fact that he threw it in her face seemed intentional. Did he mean it as a threat? More than ever, Emily was convinced that Barnes had something to do with Jim's death.
By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Emily was exhausted. Her arm throbbed, and she was ready to head home to her pain pills and soft bed. She hadn't seen Tad since that morning, but now she needed to find him for a ride. She was locking her classroom door when Principal Matthews stopped by to check on her. She reassured him that she was fine and ready to be back at school. Even that short interlude added to the pain in her arm. She pushed through the door into the teachers' lounge and was relieved to see Tad there, nursing a cold soda. Without a word, he popped a top for her, and she collapsed onto the couch. Swinging a chair around to straddle, Tad studied her as he drank deep on his soda. "You look pale," he said with a frown.
"I'm okay," she responded between gulps, "just tired. It was a good day. Really," she reiterated at his raised eyebrows. "But my arm is a little sore. I'm ready for my pain pills, so I was hoping you were ready to head out."
"Let me gather my stuff." Tad stood and swung the chair back around. As he shoved it under the table, he said, with his back still to her, "I heard you were having a serious conversation with Barnes at lunch. There might even have been reports that you ran him out of the room."
Emily tossed her head defiantly. "Since when did you succumb to listening to the gossip mill?" she asked Tad's back.
"Since you almost got yourself killed," he said loudly, spinning to face her. Emily was taken aback at the fierceness in his look. She grabbed one of the couch pillows and hugged it to her in an unconscious gesture of comfort. Tad pushed a lock of hair off of his forehead and sank down on the tabletop. "I'm worried about you, Pit," he said more softly. Emily nodded. She wasn't sure what to say. The silence between them stretched, and she eventually glanced askance at Tad to gauge his temperament. He was staring so intently at her that the saliva in her mouth dried up, sticking her tongue to the roof of her mouth as effectively as a peanut butter sandwich.
When Tad only continued to stare, she hugged the pillow tighter and asked, "What?" Her voice sounded harsh and strident in the silence, but Tad said nothing. In one smooth move, he lunged forward and ripped the pillow out of her arms. Emily let out an exclamation of surprise and half stood, instinctively reaching to grab the pillow back. Tad held it out of her reach, examining it closely under the fluorescent lights. Emily settled back on the couch, miffed at his childish behavior. At her sniff, Tad whirled toward her and shoved the pillow under her nose.
She reared back. "What is your deal?" she asked, irritated to the extreme.
"Look!" he said. Emily looked around. She didn't see anything out of the norm. They were the only two people in the lounge, and everything seemed to be in place.
Tad shook his head and wiggled the pillow. "No. Look," he said more forcefully.
Emily examined the pillow closely. The brown-and-orange floral motif was as repugnant as ever, but beyond that, she had no idea what she was looking for. She looked at Tad in exasperation. "Yep. Ugly as ever. So what gives?"
Tad tapped a finger to a particularly putrid brown flower. "What do you see?"
"World's ugliest couch pillow?"
Tad huffed out a breath that stirred the hair on his forehead. "No," he said patiently.
Emily's confusion must have shown in her eyes. Tad eased down beside her and pointed at the same ugly flower. "Em, look closer. What do you see?"
Emily began to seriously wonder if Tad had cracked from lack of sleep and worry over her, but she looked. And this time, she saw what Tad was pointing at. "Is that…is that…" Her brain recoiled, and her mouth refused to form the words.
"Yes." Tad gave a definite nod. "That is blood." Emily felt all of her own blood rush to her head as Tad pushed her head between her knees. "Breathe," he commanded her. "We don't have time for you to pass out right now. I need to get this to Detective Welks."
Emily raised her head enough to watch Tad grab a trash bag out of the cabinet over the sink and bag the pillow. Feeling a bit steadier, she pushed to her feet. "If you're going to see Detective Gangly-Arms, so am I." When Tad started to shake his head, Emily added, "After all, you're my ride."
Tad rolled his eyes but grabbed her bag and the pillow. "Come on, then. Let me grab my keys and we'll head out. Don't say anything. We don't want to tip anyone off unnecessarily." He didn't name names, but as Tad gathered his keys and locked his classroom door, Emily found herself staring down the hallway at Barnes's classroom. Was she staring at the door of a room that housed a murderer?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Detective Gangly-Arms led Emily and Tad back to a desk in the far corner of a busy, cluttered room. He studiously took notes while Tad pointed out the blood stain on the couch pillow and explained how they had accidentally discovered it. Emily bounced on the edge of her seat, gnawing at a ragged fingernail. Could this discovery be significant in proving Helen's innocence? She was afraid to ask, to burst this bubble of hope that was welling inside her. As if sensing her unasked question, Gangly-Arms addressed his next comment to her. "Ms. Taylor"—his expression was grave—"did you see this pillow or any other out-of-place object near Mr. Layton's body at the time of discovery?"
Emily strained to recall details of the scene, but her memories were clouded by the stark terror that filled her at the sight of Jim's lifeless body. "No, not that I can remember. I'm sorry," she added.
Gangly-Arms nodded in understanding. "It's okay. It was a long shot anyway. Whoever murdered Mr. Layton was very careful to cover his or her tracks."
"So have you found the murder weapon?" Tad asked, scooting forward in his own chair.
"If you mean, have we found the item used to strike a blow to the back of Mr. Layton's head, then the answer is no. If you mean, have we found the item used to murder him, then it would appear you have been the one to do that."
Emily turned wide eyes on Tad and could see by the expression on his face that he was as clueless as she. "Excuse me?" Tad asked the detective.
For the first time, Emily could see the weariness and frustration etched in the young detective's face, but the firmness of his jaw and the clenched fists at the end of his incredibly long arms showed his determination to figure out exactly what had happened to Jim. He looked them each in the eye, weighing his words with care. "The coroner's report on Mr. Layton came through earlier this afternoon. It turns out that while Mr. Layton obviously sustained a debilitating blow to the back of his head, the actual cause of his death was asphyxiation." Emily's heart dropped and her hand unconsciously flew to her throat, her own breaths feeling tight and shallow in her grief-filled chest. Hitting someone over the head in a fit of anger and causing his death was horrible, but somehow, the thought of holding something over someone's face until he took his final breath seemed even more hideous, more personal, more…everything. The thought that she had been hugging to her chest the very pillow that might have smothered Jim's last breath caused revulsion to well up within her, choking her. She was dimly aware of Tad rubbing comforting circles on her upper back, and she concentrated her whole being on that feeling, that tangible touch of understanding. Slowly, her breathing became more normal, and she was once again able to tune in to the conversation. She sent Tad a gratef
ul smile, and he gave her a small nod in return. Gangly-Arms was explaining, somewhat shamefacedly, that they had not yet determined the item used to asphyxiate Jim. The thought had initially been that the killer took the item with him or her to dispose of it elsewhere. But now, with the discovery of the pillow, it seemed the murder weapon had been hiding in plain sight the whole time. He assured them both that the blood on the pillow would be tested for a match to Jim's as soon as possible.
Emily's mind played a black-and-white film wherein Barnes smothered a stricken Jim with the ugly couch pillow. Emily truly believed that Barnes was the culprit, but the highlight reel in her mind pointed out a salient fact that could halt the rolling film. Jim was a large, strong man. Barnes was a scrawny, slimy toad. There would be no way that Barnes could overpower Jim and smother him with a pillow. Jim could have swatted Barnes away like the flies he likely dined upon. She clenched the edge of the detective's desk as she eagerly asked, "How much strength would it require for someone to asphyxiate a man of Jim's size?" Her knuckles turned white as she waited for the detective to consider her question.
"In all actuality, it probably wouldn't have required much strength at all to smother Mr. Layton. The blow to the back of the head likely rendered him unconscious. The murderer would only need enough strength to strike the back of his head and then roll him over." Gangly-Arms sounded regretful, but Emily was elated at the thought that she was one step closer to proving Barnes's guilt and exonerating Helen.
She was about to expound on her theory about the smarmy Barnes, when Tad interrupted. "What about the lack of history for Jim Layton? I did some looking online, but before he showed up in Peculiar Bluffs, Iowa, the man's life was a closed book. How does a person in this day and age manage to exist for so long without leaving some kind of electronic footprint?"
"Interesting that you should ask," Gangly-Arms answered, leaning back in his desk chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "After running his prints, we determined that Mr. Layton's actual name was Jim Olsen. Does that ring any bells for you?" When both Tad and Emily shook their heads, he continued. "I can't imagine why he changed his name. The guy had no criminal record. We've traced him back to a school in Ithaca, New York, where he taught before moving to Iowa. We know that he had a brother, but the principal at the school that we spoke to was new to the district and couldn't provide us with any further information. This lead developed just this morning, so we are still in the process of ferreting out information. If you hear or remember anything about a Jim Olsen, please be sure and contact me. I hope to locate the brother by the end of the day." Gangly-Arms stared at his relatively clutter-free desktop, and Emily figured he was not looking forward to breaking such sad news to Jim's brother. Assuring him that they would contact him with any further information, Emily and Tad left the hustle and bustle of the station and stepped back out into the weak October sunlight. Emily wrapped her arm around her middle, aching all over again for Jim's senseless death and Helen's disappearance. Where could Helen be?
Tad slipped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked lightly, tucking an errant strand of her chestnut bob behind her ear.
"I was wondering where Helen could possibly be," she answered, not meeting his eyes.
"And?" Tad prompted.
"And…" she drew the word out. "I was also contemplating how to best prove that Barnes is the one behind all of this."
Tad released her shoulders, along with a pent-up breath of frustration. "Pit, I think you have blinders on. However, since you seem hell bent on proving his guilt, I wish you would stay with your parents until this is all over. I would stay tonight, but I have a Mathletes' practice this evening that will probably run long, as we're gearing up for a competition. I'd hate to wake you by getting back late. Want me to call your parents?"
Emily shook her head. She was ready for some peace and quiet. "I'll be fine, Tad. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She made sure her voice sounded more convinced then she felt. Time away from Tad would allow her to think more clearly. Tad looked skeptical, but he nodded.
Back in the car, he said, "You know, I'm only a phone call away." It was not a question.
Emily gave him a small smile. "I do know. You have definitely proven what a great friend you are these past couple of days to put up with me. Thank you for everything."
"Well, that's what friends are for," Tad replied, never taking his eyes off the road. Was it Emily's imagination, or did Tad sound a little sardonic? She watched him carefully, but his profile revealed nothing. Before she could decide whether or not to say anything further, they were pulling into her drive.
Tad gathered his things and loaded them into his car. He made sure Emily was comfortably settled on the couch with a cold drink, her phone, and the remote control. He seemed to be stalling his departure, and Emily felt like she was treading on shaky ground. Tad was watching her closely, but her tongue was tangled in a knot. The silence swelled around them. Tad finally leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Before she could react, he was out the door. Emily tried to ignore the pang in her chest as she watched him drive away. She had gotten used to having him here, and suddenly the apartment seemed too quiet and too large without his presence. Determined to shake her morose mood, she stabbed a button, bringing the TV flickering to life. Then she called her mom.
After reassuring her mom several times that she was truly feeling fine, her mom expressed extreme displeasure that Tad would no longer be staying with her. She wasn't sure if her mom was more worried about her well-being or in making some kind of match between her and Tad. Either way, she changed the subject and described their trip to the police station with the blood-stained pillow. Her mom punctuated her recital of the day's events with exclamations of shock and dismay. When Emily mentioned that Jim's real name had actually been Jim Olsen, her mom stopped her.
"Jim Olsen? That sounds familiar."
"Really?" Emily scooted up on the couch cushions, clutching the phone tighter.
"I can't recall off the top of my head. I'll give you a ring if something pops later, okay?" And at that, her mom was gone, presumably to ruminate on where she had heard that name before. Knowing her mom, she would probably call her in the middle of the night, or from the shower, when the elusive reference came flooding back. In the meantime, Emily next called to check on Gabby. Emily was thrilled that Gabby was up and about and able to talk to her herself.
"Gabby, I'm so very, very sorry. I can't ever apologize enough. I never should have gotten you involved. I'm sure Greg would like to kill me, but he's been very kind. Are you sure you're okay?" She would have continued, but Gabby cut off her flow of apologies with a soft laugh.
"Em, you didn't put me anywhere I didn't want to be. There's no way you could have known that a psychopath would try to run us off the road. Any news on that, by the way?"
"No," Emily reported, sipping at her soda. "But Tad and I did discover something interesting today." She filled Gabby in on the blood-stained pillow and the alternate name. Then she returned to her favorite topic: Barnes the Villain.
"So," she concluded, "I want to do some recon on Barnes. I was thinking a stakeout…" She trailed off, but Gabby pounced on her words.
"And you need a car," Gabby reasoned. "While I need out of this house before I go insane. I love Greg, but he's smothering me with all his care. I'll be there as soon as it's dark."
"Are you sure? Greg would be furious if he knew what we had planned."
"What Greg doesn't know can't hurt him, right? See you later." Gabby clicked off and Emily was reminded once again why they were best friends—a shared love of mysteries, ice cream, and impulsive, spontaneous acts.
* * *
A couple of hours later found Emily and Gabby parked down the block on the opposite side of the street from Barnes's little, white, ranch-style house. The outside was austere, definitely lacking in character. If Emily could have picked out the perfect h
ouse for the slimeball, this would be it. She slurped noisily at the fresh soda Gabby had come packing. As the darkness crept closer, Emily filled Gabby in on all the latest details, avoiding too much mention of Tad. She could feel Gabby's burning curiosity scorching the air around them, but she delved into a detailed evaluation of the latest Bachelor episodes to stave off any questions. Gabby knew her well enough not to push for details about her time with Tad, and Emily was grateful. Something was definitely developing or changing or something, but she wasn't yet ready to examine it too closely. Once she tore every moment, every look, every word between her and Tad apart and came to a decision about what she wanted, it would be time to act. And what if she was wrong? What if Tad still saw her as nothing more than a friend, the daughter of his mentor, and an occasional thorn in his side? Having drained her soda, she flipped off the plastic lid and crunched a piece of ice. The munching sound was deafening in the small space. Gabby started and gave a nervous laugh. She was scouring the floor behind her seat.
"What are you looking for?" Emily asked, thinking that with the detritus floating around Gabby's minivan, she could plausibly be mining for gold.
"The girls have a play set of binoculars around here somewhere that actually work, but all I'm coming up with is stale Cheerios."
"Binoculars. Good idea. Wish I'd thought of it." Emily made a mental note to pick a pair up from her dad. He was a keen bird watcher and kept several sets in his shop.
Gabby twisted her body back around, giving up the search. Instead she rummaged through her purse, coming up with a couple of granola bars. After devouring those, Gabby unearthed a bottle of teal-blue nail polish and gave Emily a quick manicure by flashlight, also found in Gabby's treasure chest of a purse, while they waited. Waving the nails on her uninjured arm in the air and pointlessly attempting to blow on the nails of her casted arm to help dry them, Emily checked the clock. "Okay," she finally admitted. "I have no idea what we're waiting for, and I'm starving. Maybe we should call it a night?"
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