Band Room Bash

by Candice Speare Prentice

  I didn’t like the look on the detective’s face. Corporal Fletcher appeared, and when I tried to smile at him, my mouth wouldn’t work. I took a deep breath, and my vision turned to spots. I began to slide out of the chair.

  “Oh, hey!” The corporal rushed forward and grabbed me under the arms.

  Next thing I knew, I was laid out on the floor, and Detective Scott was kneeling next to me with his finger on my pulse. “Fletcher, get the paramedics.”

  “Yes sir.” The corporal walked down the hall, talking into the mike on his shoulder.

  My mind felt muddled. “No ambulance,” I whispered.

  “Yes, an ambulance,” Detective Scott said.

  “I don’t want to go to the emergency room.” I spoke louder and tried to clear my vision. “You don’t understand, Detective Scott. They know me by name there.” I felt the baby kick. I forced myself to relax and take deep breaths.

  Detective Scott stared at me, eyebrows in a deep V. “Would you please just do something without arguing? Just this once?”

  Since I had just slid out of the chair, I decided to agree. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” His eyes widened. “Just like that? Okay?”

  “Yes. Okay.” I took another deep breath and felt the fog in my head lifting. Maybe I just needed to remember to breathe. “How is Sherry?”

  “Fine.” The way he answered told me he was annoyed with her.

  I met his gaze straight on, or tried to. “Don’t blame her, Detective. Neither of us was investigating. I was here to find Carla to deliver advertising commitments. Sherry was just walking with me. She’s a good girl, you know, but she’s very vulnerable right now.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again. “I know.”

  I decided to let the topic drop. There was only so much I could do for either of them, and now wasn’t the time for an in-depth conversation. I took more deep breaths and began feeling a bit better.

  “I’m going to need to question you, but it can wait until later on,” he said.

  “It wasn’t just an accident then?” I asked. “Was Marvin attacked? Like hit? I didn’t see any blood or anything.”

  Detective Scott stared at me, and I could almost see the cogs in his brain working. “I don’t think so.”

  I felt a brief sense of relief. “I was afraid Coach Smith had come in and bashed Marvin over the head.” Then I realized what the detective had said. “What do you mean, ‘I don’t think so’? Do you think someone did something to Marvin? Like, he ate something funny?” I began to panic, thinking about Tommy and the doughnuts. “He probably had a heart attack. I know that—”

  “You need to calm down.” Detective Scott patted my arm.

  “I hate it when people say that to me.” I struggled to sit up.

  In a gentle manner that belied his irritated scowl, Detective Scott reached an arm around my shoulders, helped me sit up, then propped me against the wall.

  Corporal Fletcher joined us again, and the detective stood.

  I looked up at both of them. “Do you think this has anything to do with Georgia?”

  “Stop talking,” Detective Scott ordered.

  “Yes, but what happened to Marvin? If he wasn’t bashed in the head, then was he poisoned? Coach was out on bail.” I looked up and down the hall, expecting to see Carla marching around giving orders. “Where is Carla?”

  “On her way back,” he said. “She’d gone home.”

  “What about Connie? She was here, too, you know.”

  Detective Scott exchanged glances with Corporal Fletcher, whose forehead was creased with worry lines.

  “We’re not going to discuss this right now. I’ll come by your house later.” The detective motioned to another deputy. “Watch her until the paramedics get here.” He crooked a finger at the corporal. “Fletcher, come with me. I’m afraid this is my fault, although I told Marvin not to come here.”

  Linda Faye King, the emergency room nurse, was wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Well, we haven’t seen you in quite some time. I figured you were trying to be careful, since you’re pregnant and all, but here you are.”

  The implication, of course, was that I was still as foolish as ever, even risking my baby’s well-being by doing stupid things.

  “I’m just a little dizzy is all,” I said, not hiding my irritation. “I think maybe I hold my breath when I get stressed. I’ve had a few tiny pings in my abdomen. Probably Braxton Hicks.”

  “Lots of people have false labor pains, but we’ll see.” She pursed her lips and pumped up the cuff. “Dizziness can be a sign of lots of things. Like the placenta could be detaching, and the baby could die.”

  Fear gripped my stomach as the cuff tightened on my arm.

  She watched the gauge then made a notation on my chart. “Your blood pressure is fine. That’s a good sign. We had a lady in here last week who lost her baby. Poor thing. Stillbirth. Imagine.”

  I was going to throw up.

  “The lady’s mother was already in here with some sort of heart palpitations. Those coincidences happen a lot—like Nettie Winters and her niece a couple weeks ago.” Linda Faye efficiently folded up her blood pressure cuff. “I mean, can you believe that? All in one family? On the same day?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.” And I wasn’t sure she should be telling me all this information about other people.

  “Connie was in here, too—the same day as Nettie. Heart pounding.”

  I had another wave of dizziness.

  “And here we go again,” Linda Faye continued. “You and Marvin Slade here at the same time. Then the police were here, too, and—”

  The curtain to the room was swept aside by Bill Starling, our general practitioner and regular physician at the hospital. Linda Faye shut up like someone had slapped her.

  “Surprise, surprise.” Bill smirked. “Imagine seeing Trish Cunningham in the emergency room. I guess I’d better call your obstetrician.”

  Max appeared behind Bill. That’s when I started to cry.

  Two hours later, I sat on my bed, wearing one of Max’s old shirts over black leggings. Whenever I feel insecure, wearing something of his helps me, even now, when we were at odds. My favorite pink, cross-eyed bunny slippers lay on the floor, and I was wrapped up in my favorite afghan.

  The baby was fine. For that I was very grateful. But my doctor said I had to be careful now, especially because I’d been having minor contractions. I was also dehydrated and probably stressed. They’d given me fluids to get my metabolism back in order.

  I’d had some problems with dizziness at the beginning of my pregnancy, as well, so my present reaction wasn’t totally unexpected.

  “Honey? You awake?” Max walked into the bedroom carrying a cup of hot chocolate and my steno pad, my Bible study, and a pen. “I thought you’d like these.” He set everything down on the nightstand and stood next to the bed.

  “Thank you.” I reached for the hot chocolate and took a sip to avoid meeting his eyes.

  We hadn’t yet spoken about our argument earlier in the day, and we were awkward around each other, a little like acquaintances instead of husband and wife. Funny how unresolved issues between people can build walls, and the longer it goes on, the higher the walls become. But I suspected that his bringing my notebook was a form of apology. Besides, he probably thought I’d be writing down notes anyway, so he might as well accept it.

  “We need to talk, I guess.” I put the mug back on the nightstand.

  “Yes.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “But not now. Let’s do it later when we won’t be interrupted.”

  “All right.” Normally, I like to get things over with, but I was glad for the reprieve. I still felt too raw and hadn’t had time to sort things out in my head.

  His eyes watered. “Baby, just know that I love you more than anything in the world. If anything happened to you. . .Well, we’ll work all this out.”

  Tears came to my eyes. I leaned against hi
m, and he hugged me.

  Karen appeared at the bedroom door. “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Yes, honey.” I saw the worry in her eyes and felt bad. “Really, I’m just fine.”

  She smiled. “Good. Grandmom is here. She brought Charlie and Sammie home.” After a last glance at me, she turned and left.

  “I have to go see to the kids.” Max headed for the door, talking over his shoulder. “Your mother is making dinner.”

  “Do the little kids know what happened?”

  “I’m not sure if your mother told them or not. If not, I will.” Max stopped in the doorway and turned slowly to face me. “I want you to know that I’m going to try to stop the housing development project. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.”

  “Max—”

  “I didn’t bring it up to discuss it right now. But you’re more important to me than any business venture. That’s the least I can do.”

  As I watched him leave, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the project anymore. Yes, I felt betrayed by his lack of trust in me, but how much of that had I brought on myself by being grumpy?

  A few minutes later, buoyed by the warmth of the hot chocolate and the green and white afghan, I finally relaxed. The baby was pressed up against my ribs, making it hard to breathe, but I didn’t care. I was just grateful everything was okay.

  I picked up my Bible study book and opened it to the latest lesson. The main scripture was 1 John 3:18: “Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.” The words niggled at my brain. I knew there was something the Lord was trying to tell me, but the words grew blurry under my tired gaze. I set the book aside, rolled over on my side, and drifted to sleep, only to be awakened shortly by the sounds of my mother’s voice and my youngest children’s footsteps on the stairs.

  “Land sakes. Your mother is a magnet for trouble lately. But then she’s always been in trouble. Did I ever tell you kids about the time she was twelve, and she took Abbie for a ride in her granddaddy’s truck? Gonna herd cattle, was what she said later. I thought my heart would stop in my chest when I saw the two of them rolling by in the pasture, cattle scattering to the wind and. . .”

  I’d heard that story approximately ten thousand times. So had everyone else in the family. While she stood just inside the doorway, droning on and on, Sammie and Charlie burst into the room. Sammie caught herself just before she jumped on the bed. I hugged her and eyed Charlie over her head. His lips were in a thin line, and his body was tense.

  “I’m fine,” I mouthed at him. His body relaxed.

  When my mother was finally done with her narrative, she put her hands on her hips. “Well, missy, you managed not to kill my latest grandchild.”

  “The doctor said everything is fine.” I hoped she wouldn’t keep hounding me. I wasn’t up to sparring right now.

  She stared at me, eyelids blinking. In a flash of perception, I realized she had been worried sick about me and the baby. Because her tongue is so sharp, I tend to forget she’s vulnerable.

  “I’m sorry to worry you,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Well, I should be used to it. Now, you’re going to rest tonight. I’ll take care of everything here. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” She motioned to Charlie and Sammie. “Come on, kids. Let’s cook.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me, but I wasn’t thanking just her. I was also thanking the Lord. I had a lot to be grateful for, and lately I seemed to have forgotten that.

  I’d been ordered to be still and rest, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t think. I grabbed my clue notebook and pen from the nightstand.

  I had a lot of clues to write down.

  Carla bullies Twila. Carla was buddy-buddy with Georgia but had a fight with her the day before Georgia was killed. Carla has a fiancé named Ronnie who gave her a watch. My four main suspects have all been at the sheriff ’s office for questioning. Is Marvin in love with Connie? Coach was arrested for giving drugs to kids. Georgia dated Coach a couple of times then dumped him. Receipt at Connie’s was from a pawn shop in Baltimore. Connie had a boyfriend named Aaron Bryant who was killed in Charlottesville the day before Georgia was murdered.

  As I tapped my pen on my bottom lip, my mind went back to Marvin. Maybe he had a heart attack. Shirl said he was talking to the pharmacist about heart medications.

  Nothing made sense to me.

  While I was staring at what I’d written, I saw motion at my bedroom door and looked up.

  Abbie was standing in the doorway.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Abbie didn’t move. I remembered when we were little, spending nights huddled together with a flashlight under the covers during weekend sleepovers. Whispering all the secrets that little girls keep. As we got older, giggling about boys and the other girls. In many ways, she knew me better than Max ever would.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” she asked.

  “You have to ask?” I could hardly breathe.

  She approached my bed slowly. “I wasn’t so sure you’d want to see me.”

  “Why would you think that?” I put my notebook on the bed beside me.

  “I figured you were mad at me. I haven’t returned your calls.”

  “I was afraid I’d driven you away.” I sniffled back tears. “I’ve got such a big mouth. I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  She held out her index finger, and I held out mine. We touched the tips. Our old sign of friendship. When we were little, we’d pricked our fingers, made them bleed, and held them together. Blood sisters.

  Abbie is rarely demonstrative, so that meant more than any words she could say. Relief poured over me. I hadn’t ruined one of the most important relationships of my life.

  “How come you didn’t answer the phone?”

  “Because I went away. I had to have time to think.”

  I sat back and wiped my nose with my bathrobe sleeve and pointed at the green upholstered chair next to the dresser. “If you can stay, grab that and pull it over here.”

  She did, shook her shoes off, and propped her legs on the bed.

  “Where’d you go?” I leaned back against the headboard.

  “To the beach. I sat on the balcony and watched the waves.” She sighed. “I concluded that you’re right. I’m turning into my grandmother.”

  I wiped my nose again on my sleeve. “Does that mean you’ll date Detective Scott?”

  She laughed as she snatched a box of tissues from the bed stand, took one for herself, then handed the rest to me. “I don’t know about that, but I am going to deal with some of the issues in my life.” She wiped her nose. “Now what’s up with you and Max?”

  I blew my nose then leaned back against the headboard. “How did you know something’s up?”

  “Because of the way he told me to come up and see you.”

  I explained our fight to her. When I was done I said, “Am I really that big of a grump?”

  She nodded slowly. “You’ve always been kind of prickly, but right now you are

  worse than you’ve ever been.”

  I felt so small. “I’m going to have to apologize to him. I hope he’ll be able to forgive me.”

  “You can’t take all the blame. He does have that Cunningham arrogance thing going on, and he should have told you these things despite your grumpiness.” She smiled. “But he adores you. You guys will get it straightened out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Trust me.”

  I sat forward and rubbed my aching back. Abbie helped me rearrange the pillow behind me. “That’s better,” I said. “Now will you tell me why you won’t date Detective Scott?”

  Abbie’s lips narrowed, and I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “All right, all right. I’ll tell you. Then I want to let it go for a while, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like him. Not at all. In fact, the opposite is true.”

  “O
kay. . .”

  “Eric was the one who told me that my husband was cheating on me. They worked together, you know.”

  I nodded.

  “When I couldn’t take it anymore, Eric tried to talk me into staying with the marriage. But enough was enough. My ex just couldn’t be faithful. When I walked out, Eric was mad. It was like a good ol’ boys’ club.” She paused and rubbed her eyes. “I thought he was my friend. I thought he’d support me.”

  “You felt like he was judging you?”

  “Yes. And then he ended up going through a divorce himself.”

  “Did he apologize?”

  “Yes, he did.” She swallowed. “I refused to forgive him. . . . At least I refused then.”

  “And now?”

  She took a deep breath and met my gaze with a quick smile. “Now I’m ready to do the right thing. Whatever it is that God wants me to do. Walking in God’s love instead of selfishness sometimes means doing the very thing we don’t want to do. In my case, that’s leaving the past behind.”

  Abbie’s words struck me like a physical blow.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked. “Your face is all scrunched up.”

  I shook my head. “No. You said exactly the right thing. That’s what the Lord has been trying to get through to me.” I snatched my Bible off the bed stand and opened it to 1 John 3:18.

  “Listen to this, Abs. ‘Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.’”

  She smiled. “That’s it, exactly.”

  She took the Bible from me, put it back on the nightstand, and picked up the notebook. “Now I want to hear about your mystery. Maybe I can help.”

  I grinned at her. Abbie had helped me solve Jim Bob Jensen’s murder by providing me with an essential piece of information she had gained from researching her crime novels. I was glad for her help.

  She flipped my notebook open. Her eyes widened, and she glanced up at me. “Wow. I’m impressed. This is much more detailed than your last list.”

  I felt absurdly pleased by her remark. “That means a lot coming from Ms. I-Outline-My-Books-in-Gory-Detail.”