Band Room Bash

by Candice Speare Prentice

  “So?”

  “Well, I did wonder if he was planting something or hiding something.”

  “Mmm,” Detective Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Anything else?”

  I flipped to the page in my notebook that I’d just filled out. “I was at the dry cleaners just a few minutes ago. Connie had a bunch of costumes there to be cleaned. Marvin went to get them on Wednesday. That was the day before he looked in Connie’s unit.”

  The detective stopped moving. “And?”

  “The girl who works there said she had pulled some papers out of the pockets of a few of the costumes. She handed them to him. He got upset. Then he took all the costumes and left.”

  Detective Scott leaned forward. “What kind of papers?”

  “She said some bills and some receipts and things like that.”

  He tapped his pen harder. “Trish, you shouldn’t be—”

  “I didn’t purposely try to dig up this information. I went to the dry cleaners to ask them to advertise in the play program.” I flipped through my notes. “Were you aware that people are saying Coach Smith helped football players cheat so they could stay on the team? And there are rumors that he used steroids.” I bit my lip for a second. “In fact, some bagger kid at the Shopper’s Super Saver insinuated that the coach was giving the players something.”

  Detective Scott cleared his throat. I met his gaze, but his eyes were shuttered. “What kid told you this?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know his name. Spiky hair, piercings, tattoos, smoker, says ‘dude’ all the time, and looks and acts like he’s done his own share of drugs.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s all.” I stuffed my steno pad back in my purse. “I’m trying not to get into trouble.”

  “Right.” His sarcastic tone left little doubt of his opinion on that matter. He got up, walked around his desk, and stood by the door to his office. “Trish, I do appreciate the fact that you came to talk to me. That’s good.”

  “But? I can hear a but in there.”

  He sighed again. “But I’m worried. This isn’t a game.”

  “I’m not playing a game.”

  “Maybe you don’t think you are, just like my daughter doesn’t think she is.”

  I hiked my purse strap higher on my shoulder. “May I give you a piece of advice about your daughter, Detective?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  I glared at him. “Yes, you can. Just say no.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose; then he looked at me again. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  “Yes, it was.” I debated saying anything at all, since he’d irritated me once again, but then I remembered the bitter tone in Sherry’s voice when she talked about her father. “One thing I have experience with is being a parent to a teenager. It’s not like sleuthing. It’s something I really understand.”

  “So go ahead.” He leaned against the door frame. “I might be able to use some advice.”

  His admission surprised me, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked vulnerable.

  “Sherry is angry right now. What she could use is some unconditional love from you. Do some fun things together, Detective. Spend time with her, but don’t spend that time nagging her or lecturing her.” I took a deep breath. “Have you ever listened to her laugh? She’s got a wonderful laugh.”

  He swallowed and blinked hard.

  I smiled. “In order for a parent to really make an impact, a kid has to know how much they care. Communication with understanding is the key, even when the kid doesn’t act like they’re listening.” I walked out the door, then I stopped and glanced at him over my shoulder. “That goes for adults, too, by the way. You can’t expect people to read your mind about all the things you don’t say. Have a good weekend, Detective Scott.”

  My mother’s farm kitchen smelled of roasting meat, boiling potatoes, and green beans cooked in ham stock, making me feel homey.

  “I hope you’re feeling better now,” my mother said to me as she handed me a baking sheet for rolls. “I found out some things to help you solve this mystery, but I don’t want to be blamed for killing my grandchild by putting you into shock.”

  “If finding Georgia didn’t put me into shock, I doubt what you have to say will.” I placed refrigerator roll dough that Ma had made earlier on the baking sheet.

  “You can never tell,” she said. “Could be something simple added to everything else, like building blocks. One last block on top of the pile and the whole thing falls to pieces all over the place.”

  “Well then, be gentle with your blocks.” I rinsed off my hands and put the rolls in the oven.

  “Don’t be smart with me, missy,” she said.

  “Sorry. But you can tell me.”

  Ma put her hands on her hips. “Well, if you pass out, don’t blame me.”

  Sounds of the television came from the family room where the men were assembled. Men didn’t work in the kitchen at my mother’s house.

  Ma put tea bags in a pitcher and poured boiling hot sugar water over them. “Gail was talking to her hairdresser, whose daughter, Twila, is the principal’s new secretary at the school.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She must have been the poor person Carla had called and barked at the day I’d been in her office.

  “Well,” Ma continued, “seems Twila comes home mad most days. That Bickford woman is impossible to work for.”

  “I can imagine. She comes across like a dictator.”

  “Hitler. Everything has to be her way. No one can have any thoughts but her.” Ma turned and stared at me. “Thing is, that Carla was all buddy-buddy with Georgia, but not at the end.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. They had a big fight the day before Georgia up and got herself killed.”

  “What about?”

  Ma shook her head. “Who knows? But Twila says Georgia tore out of Carla’s office like she’d stumbled onto a yellow jacket nest.”

  Right then, Abbie’s shadow appeared at the back door. I had a sense of déjà vu. From the time we became friends in kindergarten, Abbie loved coming to my house. She was raised by her grandmother, a very rigid woman who demanded more perfectionism than any kid was capable of. The woman had held grudges like kittens, bringing them out daily for feeding and petting. My mother might have a sharp tongue and be a master of manipulation, but at least I was allowed to be a kid.

  Hi.” Abbie stepped into the kitchen, and I gave her a big hug. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Glad you could make it,” my mother said to her. “Put your pocketbook down and cut the pork roast, please. You always do it best. The platter is right there.”

  Abbie obeyed. I checked on the rolls.

  “You working on another book?” Ma asked Abbie.

  “Yes.” She sliced through the meat with a firm hand.

  “Some crime thing?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Ma pointed at the beans, and I took the hint, turning off the heat.

  “Well, you need to be careful with all that kind of thing,” Ma said. “Crime and cops and things.”

  Abbie glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, that sheriff person was asking about you.”

  Abbie’s body went stiff. I glanced at my mother.

  “Detective Scott?” I asked.

  “No, no,” Ma said. “Not that one. He says he knows you, Trish. He’s shorter, rounder. Looks like Santa Claus.”

  “That’s Corporal Fletcher,” I said.

  My mother nodded. “That’s the one. He’s a pervert.”

  I choked and laughed at the same time, and it turned into a coughing fit. When I finally recovered, I stared at my mother in disbelief. “Corporal Fletcher? Ma, there’s no way. He’s a really nice guy. Why would you think that?”

  She pursed her lips. “He was asking after Abbie. Did I know her? Was she available?”

  “He asked you that?” I couldn’t believe he
would be so blunt.

  My mother snorted. “Well, not in so many words, but I can read between the lines.” She clucked her tongue and turned an indignant glance on Abbie. “He’s married. Gail said he’s got four kids and two grandkids. You, young lady, need to be aware he’s got his eye on you. Hard to believe, isn’t it? He should be upholding the law, and here he is, an old married man, looking at you with lust in his heart.”

  I started laughing.

  “It isn’t funny.” Ma’s nostrils flared in indignation.

  “I think you misunderstood,” I said. “He wasn’t asking for himself. He was asking for Detective Scott.”

  Abbie glared at me over her shoulder then turned back to the roast, slapping slices of pork on the platter as if she were swatting flies.

  “How do you know that?” my mother demanded.

  “Trust me,” I said. “I know.”

  Sammie bounced into the kitchen. “I’m starving. When are we going to eat?”

  “Let’s talk about this after dinner,” I suggested.

  Abbie didn’t say a word and avoided my glances while we carried food to the table.

  After we were all seated and the food had been blessed and passed around, Ma inhaled dramatically. “I heard more about that new housing development someone’s building,” she said. “I don’t know what things are coming to.” She jabbed at a piece of pork roast on her plate.

  “Can’t say I’m real keen about a change like that, either,” Daddy said.

  Max glanced at me. “Change is inevitable.”

  I laughed. “Well, maybe Daddy can sell the farm and make a million.”

  My mother’s head jerked in my direction. “Trish, how could you say that? I can’t imagine. . .why—”

  “I’m sure Trish was joking.” Daddy’s narrowed eyes gleamed a warning at me.

  “Well, I should hope so.” Ma glowered at me. “This farm will be sold over my dead body.”

  “Come on, Ma. Don’t take everything so seriously.” I hadn’t expected such a strong reaction.

  She grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes and slopped some onto her plate. “Well, it’s just that so many people are selling out. What’s going to become of us? And what about my grandchildren? What if one of them wants to be a farmer?” The tone of her voice rose a notch. “What if all the farmers sell out?” Her voice broke from emotion.

  “No one is going to sell the farm,” Daddy said and lifted an eyebrow at me, which meant he wanted me to apologize.

  “I’m sorry, Ma,” I said obediently.

  “Well, I should hope so.” She huffed to herself for a few minutes while we all ate in silence. Everyone except Abbie. She was eating very little. Worse than anything else, she wouldn’t look at me.

  We were almost done eating when Charlie piped up. “Tommy might go to jail. And then I would go to a private boarding school to make sure I don’t end up as bad as him.”

  Where in the world would Charlie get that idea? My mother-in-law?

  Karen laughed. “You in private boarding school? They wouldn’t take you.”

  “Tommy has love notes from a girl,” Sammie chimed in.

  The tips of Tommy’s ears turned red. “This is so not fair. I have no privacy at all.”

  Charlie crossed his eyes. “Tommy and Sherry sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s—”

  “Charlie, stop it.” Max’s stern, green-eyed gaze was enough to make Charlie back off.

  Ma tsk-tsked. “I think it’s amazing how much influence you have over those children, Trish. Charlie acts just like you did, all rough and ready to fight.” Her expression grew speculative. “Tommy, do you have a girlfriend?”

  Tommy mumbled something and stuffed a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

  Max tactfully changed the topic, and my mother dropped it for the moment, but I knew I’d hear more. After supper she began whipping through the dishes in her usual efficient manner. I cleaned the counters. Abbie was drying pots and still hadn’t spoken to me.

  “So, is Tommy in love?” Ma asked. “I was a little worried about him. He hasn’t had any real interest in girls.”

  “Ma!”

  “Well, it’s not normal. Boys his age should be falling in love every week.” She grabbed the meat platter and sponged the grease from it. “Well, who is she? Someone I know?”

  I sighed. “She’s Detective Scott’s daughter.”

  Abbie pursed her lips and rubbed the lid of a pot so hard I thought she would break off the handle.

  “Oh my,” my mother said. “And Tommy is a murder suspect? That’s got to be awkward.” “He’s not a murder suspect,” I said.

  “That remains to be seen. How the family will live down a murder trial is beyond me.” Ma waved us toward the kitchen table. “Now you girls sit down and tell me exactly what’s going on with all these policemen. What does this Detective Scott want with Abbie?”

  I didn’t know how much to say in front of my mother for fear that Abbie’s potential love life would be a topic of conversation for the whole world to hear at Doris’s Doughnuts. But on the other hand, if I didn’t tell my mother something, she would speculate with Gail and April May about it for weeks in public.

  Abbie’s face looked like she’d been pickled.

  “Okay, Ma. You gotta keep this quiet.” I might as well ask a cow not to chew its cud.

  Ma was indignant. “I don’t gossip.”

  I’m always amazed at how out of touch people are with themselves. But that wasn’t important right now. What really bothered me was the glare coming from Abbie’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her.

  My mother crossed her arms. “Just spit it out.”

  “Corporal Fletcher is asking about Abbie because Detective Scott is interested in her. He wants me to help get the two of them together.”

  “This is so humiliating.” Abbie put her head in her hands.

  My mother frowned. “Now don’t you overreact. Nothing good ever comes from that. This Detective Scott, he’s the tall one with blond hair, right?”

  I nodded, thinking how ironic it was for my mother to tell someone not to overreact.

  He’s been coming into the store for years,” she said. “What is he? Not a just a deputy, right?”

  “Nope,” I said. “He’s a sergeant.”

  “He’s not married, is he?” Ma asked.

  “No, he’s not. He’s divorced.”

  Her breath hissed through her teeth. “How long ago?”

  “About twelve years,” Abbie said.

  “How do you know this?” Ma asked her.

  “Because he’s been helping me with my books.”

  “Then why in the world wouldn’t—”

  “They’ve known each other a lot longer than that,” I said.

  Abbie eyed me over her hands, and I knew I was in big trouble.

  “I see.” My mother watched Abbie with a speculative gaze. “Well, I do know he’s a good law enforcement officer. After all, he listened to Trish’s advice during that whole Jim Bob Jenkins murder fiasco.”

  “Ma, he didn’t listen—”

  She waved her hands in a dismissive motion. “You’re too modest, Trish. You solved that murder. And now you’re going to solve this one.” She leaned toward me. “I heard tell that Connie Gilbert, the principal, the coach, and that band teacher fellow have all been at the sheriff’s office.”

  Before I could say anything, Sammie ran into the kitchen and begged Ma to come play a game with her. My mother’s face brightened. She dried her hands and even left a wet pot in the drainer. Then she followed Sammie out of the room.

  Abbie put her dish towel down and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “Abs—”

  “I have to go. I have a book to write.” She snatched up her purse and headed for the back door.

  I followed. “I’m sorry.”

  The door banged shut behind us.

  She whirled around to face me, gravel crunching under her shoes. “Did yo
u agree to help fix me up with Eric?”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “I can’t believe it. You know how I feel.”

  “You’ve made it pretty clear.”

  “Of all people, you should understand.” She looked like she might cry.

  “I think I might understand better than you think.”

  “You’re not acting like it.” Abbie opened her car door.

  I took a deep breath. I was about to cross a line, risking my relationship with my best friend. “This is deeper than Detective Scott. Or your emotions.”

  She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.

  “Don’t you see?” I said. “You’re becoming your grandmother.”

  Abbie’s body stiffened, and she looked over her shoulder at me. “Did I just hear you right?”

  “Yes, you did.” My voice grew stronger. “Don’t you remember? You said you’d never be like her, yet here you are, living by yourself, withdrawing from people, and walking away from a potential relationship with a guy because you have a grudge.”

  “I. . .don’t. . .have. . .a. . .grudge.” She climbed into her car.

  “Yes, I think you do. For some reason, you’re mad at him over something in the past. Has he apologized to you?”

  “I won’t talk to him about it,” she whispered.

  That confirmed my suspicions. “Did he try?”

  “Yes.”

  I dug the toe of my shoe into the gravel. “Abbie, I know you might never speak to me again, but you’ve got to let it go. At least forgive him. There’s a reason that’s in the Bible. It’s emotionally healthy. If you don’t date him because he’s not your type, that’s one thing. But not because of something in the distant past. Look what grudges did to your grandmother. Remember her funeral? Who was there?”

  I waited for Abbie to say something, but she didn’t. She just jammed the key into the ignition.

  “Call me when you’re ready to talk.” I turned around and walked slowly to the house, hoping she would call my name, but she didn’t. The car door slammed, the engine started, and she sped out of the driveway.

  My eyes filled with tears. I hoped I hadn’t messed up my relationship with my best friend.