“Oh, I’m pleased. Just surprised. You usually ignore everything I say. Good for you.” Ann nodded once. “So they told you not to worry and that it was probably nothing, right?” She took a bite of cereal and chewed rhythmically, as if they were discussing nothing more alarming than the weather.
Not that Rachel blamed her. Now that the kitchen was flooded with the soft yellow glow of a perfect Florida sunrise, even she had trouble taking her theory seriously.
Ann swallowed and wiped her mouth. “I mean, it’s good that you reported your concerns just to be on the safe side. But it’s the end of the school year. People have left anonymous gifts lying around for you before, right? So really, they could have come from anyone.”
The coffee maker gave a strong gurgle and emitted a whoosh of steam, signaling the end of the brewing cycle. Rachel reached for a mug and poured coffee to the brim. “The flowers and the book, yes. Maybe. But the little silver foot? And that note?” She shuddered. The race is on. In two limping steps, she reached the table and slid into a chair. She fortified herself with a blistering sip of coffee. “It was too personal.”
Ann stared at her. “It must be serious if you’re drinking your coffee pre-cream.”
“I’m too sore to walk to the fridge.” She half expected Ann to offer the soggy milk from the bottom of her cereal bowl, but to her surprise, Ann pushed back from the table, walked to the fridge, and returned with the cream and a spoon and set them on either side of Rachel’s steaming mug.
“Drink up,” Ann said. “You’ll have to put it away when you’re done. I’m off to work. Have fun at school. Just think. Tomorrow’s the last day.”
Rachel nodded limply.
Ann jammed her feet into her boots and turned to leave, then paused and turned back, one hand on the doorframe. “Hey, Rachel?”
Rachel looked up from her coffee. “Yes?”
“Try not to get killed.”
~*~
On this day-before-the-last-day, while the students toiled over their exams, Rachel waited for a call from the FBI. For the first time in her career, she spent an entire day with her cell phone in her hip pocket, ringer turned on.
She was half reminded of a line from Longfellow. Something about the mills of God grinding slowly. She figured that the same must apply to the justice system.
At lunch time, Lee came bearing coffee.
“It’s just from the teacher’s lounge,” he said, setting a steaming school mug down on her desk, “not the coffee shop. I didn’t have time to run out. But I figure it’s better than nothing.”
Rachel looked up to thank him.
“Whoa.” Lee rocked back on his heels.
“What?”
“You look terrible.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“Is everything all right?”
Rachel met his eyes. Behind the square glasses, she saw mingled amusement and concern. No use telling him the whole story just yet. He didn’t need another grown woman adding chaos to his life. Not until she was more certain that there was actually something to worry about. “Are we all set for the Arts Evening tonight?” she asked.
Lee’s gaze sharpened, scanning Rachel’s face. He nodded and pushed up his glasses with a knuckle. “As far as I know. I have the kids setting up art displays, and if your kids are ready, and if the PTA holds up their end…”
“Don’t worry. I sent an email last week about the cheese.”
He nodded again, looking preoccupied.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
He stared at the wall and frowned. “You didn’t answer my text last night.”
In all that had happened, she’d forgotten about the meddling. An unexpected weight settled in the pit of her stomach.
“Oh,” Rachel said, mentally scrambling. She was so tired. “About that—”
The short bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.
“Forget it.” Lee stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward the door. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, Lee. You’re right. It does matter, and I promise that we’ll talk about it. But not now.” She heard voices bouncing down the halls as the students returned from lunch. “Come see me after school. I’ll let you walk me to my car and carry some boxes and then you can yell at me for interfering in your personal life.”
“I can’t. I have somewhere to go right after.”
“All right. Then I guess I’ll see you tonight,” she said.
“I guess you will.”
The door closed swiftly behind him.
23
Later that afternoon, Rachel stood in the doorway of the spider shed, cell phone clamped to the side of her face. She took a deep breath and stepped inside, waiting for the spiders to leap upon her and wind her into a hideous, human-sized cocoon.
“What are you even doing out in the spider shed anyway?” Lynn asked through the phone.
“I’m looking for my cap and gown.” Rachel paused. “Which I must have packed at some point, because apparently I forgot all about having to wear my regalia to walk at graduation.” She sat on a stack of boxes and leaned forward to pry open a box labeled CLOTHES. Unfortunately, all the boxes containing clothes were marked in exactly the same way.
“So you’re saying that nobody called you at all?” Lynn asked. “I thought Detective Smith said the FBI was going to follow up.”
Rachel clutched her phone between her left ear and her shoulder as she reached out to shift some boxes aside. “All he said was that they’d call me if they thought they needed more information. I have Detective Smith’s number, and he told me to call him if anything else came up, but nothing has happened, so I don’t want to bother him.” A trickle of sweat ran down the right side of her face. Before she realized what was happening, she had slapped herself repeatedly with a flat palm, nearly dropping the phone.
“What was that?” Lynn asked.
“Nothing,” said Rachel. “I thought it was a spider.”
“Stop in for dinner tonight.” Lynn said. “I’d rather you not be alone in that big house.”
“Don’t worry—I won’t be. I have to be at the school for the stupid Arts Evening. If I don’t die of heat stroke first.” She felt something tickle her arm. She leapt to the side and slapped at a hair dangling down over her arm. The phone made another bid for freedom. Rachel lurched forward to bobble it and in the process accidentally put most of her weight onto her right foot. Her right leg buckled, and she went down awkwardly, taking a stack of boxes with her. Fortunately, they contained only clothes; otherwise, she would have met an inglorious end.
“Rachel?” Lynn’s voice rose tinnily from the phone half-crushed under her torso. “Rachel! Are you OK? What happened?”
Rachel shifted to the side, picked up the phone, and pushed aside the boxes. “Nothing. I thought a spider was on my arm, so I freaked out and fell. This stupid ankle’s going to be the death of me. If the spiders don’t get me first—or the Memento Killer.”
“Don’t joke around,” Lynn said. “Those things are both terrible.”
“I don’t know if I’m actually joking,” Rachel said, panting.
“Whatever you do, get out of that shed before you die.” Lynn clucked. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t even know how to take care of yourself. I’m going to talk to Alex about adopting you.”
“I told you: I have to find my regalia for graduation.”
“But graduation’s not until—”
“Saturday.” Rachel stood up and arched her back to work out the kinks. “But I have fifty boxes to check between now and then, and it’s probably going to be in the last one I open, so I had to get an early start.”
“Bless your heart.”
“I know, right? I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I packed my regalia—”
“That’s not it.”
“It’s not?”
“Rachel.” For a moment Lynn sounded weary. Then she adopted the tone she sometimes used with Ethan when he was bein
g particularly obstinate. “You need to get out of the shed. I’m sending Alex over right now. He can find the right box for you. Alex!”
“No, Lynn, don’t worry about it—”
“Quiet, please,” Lynn said calmly before she bellowed for her husband again.
“Lynn, listen. I have to leave in ten minutes, so by the time he gets here, I’ll be gone.”
“And he can’t look through the boxes for your regalia without your presence?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You can barely walk. That shed is full of giant spiders and you shouldn’t be stumbling around in it.”
“Nobody should be stumbling around in it. Least of all Alex.”
“Alex can handle himself. Describe what you need him to find.”
“Well, it’s graduation regalia. So a long, black robe and a flat, square hat with tassels on the end.” Rachel sat on a pile of boxes near the door and gulped in the draft of slightly cooler air. She swiped at her sweaty forehead and slapped at another tickle on her arm. “Don’t come now. It’s too hot in here right now anyway,” she told Lynn. “I’ll just come back out later tonight.” She thought of being in the shed in the dark while a potential serial murderer watched from the tree line. She shuddered. “I mean tomorrow before work.”
“You most certainly will not. I don’t know where Alex is, but dinner’s almost ready, and then I’m loading him and Ethan in the car and we’re coming over there—”
“I already told you I won’t be here because I have to leave—”
“And we’re going to go through all your stuff—”
“There’s no light in here, so you really shouldn’t come over at night—”
“If we find it, we’ll leave it on the porch—”
“Where a tramp will steal it—”
“Rachel. Nobody’s going to steal it.”
Rachel limped out of the spider shed and shut the creaking doors before making her way across the lawn toward the house. The air, heavy with moisture, barely stirred.
“How’s the walking?” Lynn asked. “Better today?”
“I’m a little steadier, but honestly, canes are overrated.”
“I think they look sophisticated.”
“Not when I use one. I’m no Minerva McGonagall.”
“Nobody is.”
“I know. Imagine how convenient it would be to turn into a cat. That way if the Memento came after me, all I’d have to do was transfigure.”
“Don’t most serial killers get their start killing small neighborhood animals like cats anyway, though?”
“Good point.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying these things. You must be rubbing off on me.”
Rachel hopped up the shallow wooden steps onto the porch, eyes keen for the sight of the fourth memento. To her vast relief, the porch looked exactly the same as it had when she’d crutched out to the spider shed. “I really do have to go,” Rachel said. “I got all sweaty, and now I only have like five minutes to get cleaned up before I have to leave for the Arts Evening, where hopefully I can finish my fight with Lee.”
“That’s fine. Dinner’s just about ready anyway. Text me later. And promise that you’re not going back out into that shed by yourself.”
As quickly as she could, Rachel stripped out of her sweaty clothes and dressed for the evening. Wearing white sneakers with her professional teaching wardrobe had done nothing for Rachel’s ego, but due to atrophy from her months on crutches, her right leg wasn’t in the condition to handle more complicated footwear. In her defense, she felt that she had done her best to minimize the damage. She wore the longest skirt she had, hoping that if she stood still enough, the fabric would fall over the offending footwear in graceful black folds. Still, the sneakers were there, and Rachel knew it.
Knowing that Lee had planned to stay at school through the afternoon to grade projects, when she arrived at school, Rachel locked her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and hobbled down the darkened hallway toward the auditorium in search of him. The hall had been the focus of Lee’s art classes throughout the day, setting up their displays and posting their artists’ statements.
It had obviously seen a visitation from the Parent-Teacher Association. Above the tables and displays of art, white twinkle lights twined with plastic ivy and white tulle draped the lockers, nearly obscuring them. In the harsh glare of fluorescent light, these adornments had the effect of leftover, half-rate prom decorations. With the overhead hall lights shut off, however, they cast a shimmer of magic. If only the hall didn’t smell vaguely of feet, the spell would have been complete.
“Lee?” Rachel called as she rounded the corner, “I know you’re in here somewhere—oh, hello.” She found herself confronted with a tall, handsome man standing a few feet from one of the displays. His hair, neatly styled, hugged a well-shaped head. A light rim of stubble bracketed a strong jaw and framed a set of full lips. His light blue dress shirt and black dress pants fitted him to perfection, complemented by a shiny set of wing-tips. He had obviously been giving one of the displays his full attention, but upon Rachel’s appearance, he turned and looked right at her with the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
A thrill worked its way up her spine. A tall, handsome man wearing wing-tips had fallen directly from heaven and somehow landed directly in front of her. She was so stunned that she forgot to be scared. He couldn’t be the Memento Killer—he was far too handsome.
Ted Bundy had been handsome.
Rachel tightened her grip on the cane and prepared to put her sneakers to good use should the need arise. Not that she thought it would. There was no way any self-respecting woman would ever run away from a man this gorgeous.
“There you are,” he said grumpily. “I’ve been looking for you. Are you actually trying to match-make me and Sharon Day?”
Rachel was shaken to her very core. “Lee?”
“What?” He turned halfway around to see what had so unsettled her, affording her a fuller view of his entire person.
She gaped at him. “You shaved!”
“Yes.”
“And changed your pants!
“OK, really—”
“And got a new dress shirt! And ironed it!”
“Calm down.”
“And I didn’t even know that you owned wing-tips.” Rachel hobbled forward excitedly, eyes skimming up and down. “And what’s up with your hair? Why does it look so dark? Did you dye it?”
“I always change my pants.” Lee said, staring at her oddly. Perhaps he had become alarmed at her great excitement over his shoes. Or perhaps he wondered why she seemed to have broken out in a cold sweat. “I’ve told you a million times, Miss Cooper. I own more than one pair of pants.”
“Then why haven’t you worn these before? They’re magnificent.”
Lee frowned. “They’re just pants.” He clicked his pen and turned back to the project he had been contemplating before Rachel’s arrival. “Stop staring. You’re making me uncomfortable. And not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve never worn them before because I just bought them last week. And no, I didn’t dye my hair. I just got it cut.”
“Why does it look so dark?” She peered up at him in the glow of the twinkle lights. She gasped. “Is there gel in it?”
“Pipe down.” His voice took on a tiny edge. “I’m trying to finish grading these projects before everybody gets here. And stop changing the subject. Why did you tell me that Sharon was looking for me? When I tracked her down to ask what she wanted, she nearly had a heart attack.”
Rachel scanned the displays. “How many do you have left to grade?”
“Most of them.”
“Most of—but you’ve been here grading all afternoon.”
“Have I?” Lee reached to run his fingers through his nonexistent beard. His hand stopped halfway to his chin, lost. He compromised by scratching at the stubble.
“Well, obviously not. I mean, you at least took ti
me to duck into a phone booth and change.”
Lee’s sharp eyes, now no longer obscured by a pair of clunky glasses, cut straight through her.
Stalling for time to collect herself, she looked around. “Is there somewhere I can sit down?”
“No,” Lee answered uncharitably. He scrawled a note on the top grading sheet on his clipboard before flipping it out of the way and starting in on a fresh one. “But there are plenty of seats in the auditorium. Feel free.”
“I want to talk to you.” Rachel frowned. Just not about Sharon Day. Not yet. Not until she had gotten herself pulled together. “And I also want to stare at you too, because, Lee…wow…”
Lee dropped the clipboard onto one of the tables, rubbed his eyes, and shoved his hands back through what remained of his hair. Normally this would have made the huge mass of it stand on end, leaving him resembling a grizzly bear. As it was, the closely-cropped hair merely looked interestingly ruffled, as if he had just stalked through stiff, bracing winds. Rachel fought a vision of him striding toward her across the moors, velvet cape billowing.
No. This wasn’t helpful. Focus.
“I knew this was a horrible idea.” Lee waved his hand in a vague gesture down the length of his torso.
“What, changing your pants?”
“Would you leave off with the pants?” He blew out a gust of air through flared nostrils and dropped his hands to his sides. “I really don’t have time for any of this.”
In that moment, he sounded exactly like the boy Rachel had taught—frustrated by life and vulnerable. Rachel limped forward and looked up into his face, scanning for clues. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, her voice quiet in the hush between them.
Lee looked down at her. “Nothing’s wrong, except that I have to grade all these projects within the next half hour, and I can’t do that if you’re just going to stand there talking at me.”
“I’ll help you.”
Lee slanted Rachel a look.
“Maybe I can’t do art, but I understand the general principles. For example,” Rachel tilted her head to the side, “I can tell that your beard was definitely not doing any favors to the line of your cheekbones.”
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