I started for the door, but she came back in before I could go out.
“You need something, honey?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Pen.” I waved the purple one and smiled. “I borrowed one from you because I left mine at home.”
“Help yourself,” she said, resuming her seat. I watched her sit down and start typing again, at once terrified and fascinated. How could you murder a child—or maybe three—in a week’s time, and just sit there and do spreadsheets?
I backed slowly toward the door, thinking if I could just get through it, I could run. I never took my eyes off Norma.
She stopped typing, her fingers hovering above the keys, but kept her eyes on the screen. Then she sighed.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
“Known what?” My voice broke between the words.
She turned slowly in her chair, a sweet smile on her face.
“Known it was me, honey.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a black-handled revolver.
I dashed out the door before she squeezed the trigger, the explosion behind me making me run harder for the front door. The heel of one lavender Manolo sandal skidded on the tile as I rounded the corner into the main hallway. I caught my balance, sprinting over the inlay of the eagle just inside the foyer.
I fell against the front doors, but they didn’t move. I jiggled the crash bar.
Locked.
“You don’t think I’m that stupid, do you?” Norma called from the other end of the hallway.
I heard the gun cock. Figuring that was a rhetorical question, I dove for the nearest hallway, the shot zinging off the metal of the doors behind me.
My legs burned as I fled, not the first damned clue where I was going. Dark classrooms lined both sides of the hall, and it split into a T at the end, with lockers and more classrooms going one way, and a single door the other. Glancing behind me, I took door number two, saying a fast prayer and promising to give up chocolate for a year if the door opened. It did. I shut it softly behind me, looking for a lock, but not seeing one. A bank of high windows let in just enough sunlight to show me I was in the band hall.
I scanned the room for a hiding place, settling on a row of cubbyholes in the far corner that housed large drum sets and tubas. I pulled the tuba on the far end free, climbed in, and pulled the instrument in behind me.
Curled into a ball with my knees up my nose, I listened for Norma and hoped my breathing wasn’t actually as loud as it sounded to me. How the bloody hell was I going to get out of this?
My phone! I wriggled an arm down my side into my pocket and got it free. It had full bars, but everyone I knew was two hours away.
Shit.
Wait. I’d called Tony on his cell phone to ask for a comment after the sheriff’s press conference.
When was that? Wednesday. I scrolled back through my recent calls until I found the one to a Mathews area code on Wednesday afternoon.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I punched talk as the door to the band hall opened. I dropped the phone into the curve of my lap, resting my forehead on my knees and trying to imitate a statue.
“Olly olly oxenfree.” Norma’s voice had taken on a manic edge. “Everyone out of hiding, now.”
It sounded like she was walking through the room flipping over chairs and music stands. “I know you’re in here, Nichelle,” she called. “You can’t hide forever. I managed to get TJ Okerson out of the way, for God’s sake. I didn’t spend a year planning all this so you could wreck it. Now just put on your big girl panties and come on out and face your fate.”
A drum set crashed to the floor a few feet away and I flinched. Turning as far to the side as I could, I watched Norma’s feet. When she got directly in front of my hiding place, I shoved the tuba with my right hand and foot, catching her off guard and knocking her over. She screamed—more indignation than pain, from the sound—and I heard the gun clatter against the cabinet across from us and fire. My Blackberry bounced to the coffee-brown carpet as I scrambled to my feet.
Norma lay sprawled across the floor, but still had her grip on the gun. She swung it upward, and I dodged behind the end of the cabinet, snatching a trumpet off a shelf. She grunted, getting to her feet, and I called my biggest question.
“Why?”
“Why? You didn’t get that with all the questions you asked me the other day?”
I replayed that conversation on fast forward.
“Eli.”
“My Eli. He’s such a good boy. So talented. He and Luke Bosley would have led the baseball team. But TJ came here and took everything he worked so hard for. Including his girlfriend. He’s been so sad. Poor Terry couldn’t figure out how to pull Eli out of his funk. A worried daddy is no good for romance.”
“You killed TJ because you wanted to score with your ex-brother-in-law?” I couldn’t stop the scorn pouring through my lips. “Jesus, lady. Have you talked to Jerry Springer’s producers? You could have your own week.”
“Keep talking. It just helps me aim better,” she said. The gun hammer clicked back again and I tried to mentally count shots. One in the office. One in the hall, maybe two. And one into the cabinet. That left two or three bullets if she’d started with a fully-loaded gun.
She only needed one. She was six feet away.
I peeked out and she leveled the revolver and smiled. I reacted without thinking, hurling the trumpet at her head as hard as I could. It made a satisfying clang when it hit and she staggered backward and screamed, blood trickling over her left eye. Two points for the crime reporter.
The gun went flying, clattering into the dark reaches of the room behind her. She pressed a hand to her forehead and glared at me, turning for the gun. I stepped out and swung one foot up and around in a hooked side kick that caught her arm.
She lurched away and squealed, a welp of blood appearing on her skin from my heel.
“Why Sydney?”
“She dumped my Eli for that boy,” Norma spat. “She and that mother of hers. Always thinking they’re too good for everyone else.”
“I thought you said you were friends?”
“I said we were friends once. She married money. She’s too good for me, now.” The bitterness in her voice would’ve soured Eunice’s creme brulee.
“And Luke was in Eli’s way, too?” I guessed. “He was the easiest for you to get to with the Glucotrol, right?”
Norma shook her head, her glare softening. “I’ve known Luke since he was born. I would never hurt him. Annalynn over at the sheriff’s office told her momma this morning that Luke shot himself in the head with one of his daddy’s hunting rifles. God rest him. They put so much pressure on him. Word is, he left a note saying TJ and Sydney didn’t have any worries anymore, and that sounded nice. Poor boy.”
I didn’t have time to fully process that before she stepped forward. I raised my hands, widening my feet into a punching stance. She paused by the desk, her fingers closing on the handle of a pair of scissors lying on the blotter. Damn.
“You can’t make this look like a suicide,” I said.
“Probably not, but I can make it look like someone else was responsible. Assuming anyone finds you. My cousin Sherman was none too happy about you asking questions about his moonshine, you know.” She smiled. Just before she lunged.
I dodged to one side, but she swung fast and winged my upper arm, hacking a jagged gash in my skin with the scissors. I yelped and grabbed for the wound. “People will be here any minute,” I panted, kicking a chair into her knees and smiling when she tripped over it.
“Why? It’s Saturday.” She jumped back to her feet.
“The press conference.” I backed up another step.
“Is at the sheriff’s office. I called Lyle and told him it was here. Right before I mentioned how sweet you were, and what a nice guy he is. I knew he’d call and tell you. If the Glucotrol I slipped into your purse last night worked, he wouldn’t get you. If it didn’t, you’d come running. I was
right. I texted him that I was mistaken, and I’d sent you on your way. With Sherman to escort you.” She grinned a too-wide-eyed grin that belonged in a horror movie. “You’ve been far too nosy. All the other reporters left town when Zeke closed the Okerson file. Not you. So many questions. I figure it’s about time to make sure you never get this story to print.”
She lunged forward again, swinging the scissors wildly, and I stepped back, stumbling over one of the music stands she’d knocked over. Hitting the floor, I shrank away from the crazed glassiness in her eyes as she hunched down in preparation to tackle me.
Every movement seemed to be through Jell-O, my eyes registered the action so slowly.
I bent one knee and whipped my lavender Manolo off, flipping it around so the heel pointed toward her and locking my elbows.
She couldn’t stop herself.
I squinched my eyes shut.
She screamed, and something warm and wet trickled over my hand for an instant before she fell to the floor beside me, howling. I peeked through my lashes to find my stiletto buried up to the sole in the flesh between her chest and right shoulder. Ouch.
I scrambled to my feet, snatching the other shoe up as a weapon and kicking the scissors away from her hand. She stared at her wound, shock plain on her face.
“You stabbed me with a shoe.”
“Technically, you impaled yourself on it trying to kill me.”
Her eyes widened. “You bitch!” she screeched, pushing herself up with her left elbow. “I’ll kill you!”
I backed toward my hiding cubby, spotting my phone on the floor and scooping it up just as I heard footfalls in the hallway.
“Nichelle!” Tony.
I cleared my throat, which didn’t want to work. “In the band hall.”
Turning my eyes back to Norma, who was frozen with terror, I smiled. “Fitting, I think. You go ahead and tell Mr. Okerson why his son deserved to die for being a good athlete. I’ll wait.”
Her face twisted into a mask of fury that didn’t resemble anything human, and she grabbed a music stand and slung it in my direction just as the door opened, framing Tony and Coach Morris. I jumped backward, the stand thwacking into my ankle and sending a wave of pain up to my hip that I ignored.
“Are you all right?” Tony crossed the room in a half-dozen long strides, worry creasing his forehead as his eyes locked on my arm. I looked down to see that my sweater sleeve was a bloody mess, the gash deeper than I thought.
“Maybe I should sit,” I said, slumping into a chair. “Somebody ought to tie Nutty McCrazy there up before she finds another weapon.”
Tony stood over Norma, rage, sorrow, and pity warring over the planes of his famous face as she howled incoherently.
He pulled one foot back, held it for a ten count, and then returned it to the floor. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”
“Start,” the harsh word came from Morris, who was backing away from his new girlfriend with disgust plain in his eyes and tone.
Her eyes flew to him, her scream cutting off. “No. Terry, this was all for you. You and Eli. So we’d be together. Haven’t I been good to you? Taken care of you? Helped you feel better? And Eli is so much happier.”
“You,” Morris floundered, his inability to process that flashing across his brow like a neon sign. “You murdered my favorite student so you could console your way into my bed? That’s…There’s not a word for what you are.” He looked at Tony. “I. I can’t. I’m so sorry, Mr. Okerson.”
Tony nodded, a tear falling from the corner of one eye.
Morris shrugged helplessly, then turned on his heel and fled. “I’ll get the sheriff,” he called over his shoulder. “I can’t sit here and look at her.”
Norma burst into tears.
“There’s a gun over there somewhere.” I waved.
Tony collected it and sat down next to me, holding the gun on Norma with a clear give-me-a-reason set to his jaw. He winced at my arm. “You all right?”
“I’ve lost more blood. And I even had a tetanus shot last summer. So I’ll live.” I held pressure on the gash. “Plus, I’ve got one hell of a story to send in when I get patched up. Unless the Post has bugged the school, it’s an exclusive, too.”
He flashed a half-smile. “I think you earned it. Thank you.”
“Happy to help.”
23.
Background check
Zeke brought the paramedics, offering me a grudging apology and refusing to look Tony in the eye as they extracted my sandal from Norma’s shoulder.
The tall, silver haired medic bent over Norma grinned. “I thought I’d seen it all, but this is a new one on me.” He offered my shoe to the sheriff. “You need this for evidence?”
“I don’t believe I’ll be prosecuting anyone over this,” Zeke said.
The medic turned to me. “You want it back?”
I stared mournfully, trying not to look too closely at the globs of…I didn’t want to know…that clung to the heel. “I love them, but I think they’re done,” I said. “Looks like I’ll just have to shop for another pair.”
Tony chuckled. “There’s a way to look on the bright side.”
A petite blonde medic examined my arm, asking me if I’d had a recent tetanus shot.
“I have,” I said.
“You’ll just need some stitches to close this up, then,” she said. “We’ll take you to the hospital in Gloucester.”
“Oh, yay. Needles.”
Tony grimaced. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m sorrier TJ did,” I said.
He nodded. “I called Grant. He’s on his way out here. I’ll tell him to come to the hospital?”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m a big girl.”
Parker was a good friend, but I wanted more than a friend right then. I couldn’t commit to Kyle because I had feelings for Joey. I couldn’t commit to Joey because he was a crime boss (well, that, and the fireworks that were Kyle’s kisses). Emily would have a field day. I reached for my phone and texted them both. “So, I nabbed the killer. It’s going to be a great story. Just a few stitches, and I’ll call you later. Thanks for your help.”
My Blackberry pinged back with “What? How many stitches?” from Joey and “Where are you?” from Kyle, one on top of the other.
“Don’t know yet. She got me with scissors,” I tapped back to Joey.
“I’m in good hands. Call you soon,” I told Kyle.
“Ready?” Tony asked, putting a hand under my elbow. “I told the medics I’d drive you. Didn’t figure you wanted to share the ambulance with Norma.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You know, you’re a nice guy. Why couldn’t you have played for the Cowboys?”
He laughed. “It’s all about money.”
“Or sex.” I cast a glance at Norma, strapped onto a stretcher and headed out the door with a silent stare on her face. “Almost always one of the two.”
I sent Bob a short report for the web on Norma’s arrest from the waiting room at the ER, where the triage nurse was less than impressed with my wound. Tony sat with me for half an hour, despite my objections. Parker ran in just before they called me back, and between his million-dollar grin and Tony’s superstar status, the poor nurse trying to enforce the “family only” visitor policy didn’t stand a chance.
“Just put him down as my brother,” I told her as she blushed and stammered about the rules.
She smiled gratefully and nodded, leading me to a treatment room. Parker followed, and Tony hugged me gently before he left.
“Thank you. If there’s ever anything I can do,” he said.
“Do you know Troy Aikman?” I asked, only half-joking.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“We’ll talk,” I said.
He waved as he walked out into the sunshine.
“So, can you write a story without sustaining mortal injuries?” Parker asked. “Bob is never going to let me hear the end of this.”
“You? How many lectures do you think I’ll get?” I pulled out my phone and checked my email. “See?” I asked, flipping the screen around to show off the “Excellent work. Now stop trying to get yourself killed,” in my email.
Parker chuckled. “Thanks for helping them.”
“Happy to.” I took a deep breath, remembering Randy helping me learn to roller skate and smiling.
The stitches didn’t even hurt as much, and the needles looked less scary. I wondered if I was becoming an old pro and didn’t want to think about what that meant, so I dismissed it. Parker took me back to the school to get my car.
“I’m headed to Tony’s,” he said. “You want to come? Mel’s already there. I left her with Ashton on my way to the hospital.” His tight smile made me wonder what was going on there, but I didn’t have the energy to ask right then. It couldn’t be too serious if she’d tagged along to the Okerson’s. I hoped.
“I’d love to, but I have work to do and sleep to catch up on,” I said, ignoring the fifteenth text from either Joey or Kyle that had buzzed my Blackberry in the past hour. I also had men to juggle. “Give them my best. Maybe next time. Especially if Troy can come hang out.”
“He’s a good guy,” Parker said with a wink.
“Sure, rub it in, Mr. Celebrity.” I grinned and waved as I climbed into the car.
I went back through my Mathews family tree file and found that Norma’s uncle owned the auto body shop, and the tripleX white lightning still. A visit from Kyle, who showed up in the newsroom and refused to leave ’til he could escort me home, netted me the rest of the story.
“The ABC police have been working a sting on the three big stills in Mathews for over a year, like the agent said last night,” he said, pulling Mel’s chair into my cubicle. “I called him this morning to tell him what you’re writing about, and the busts will all go down this weekend. They’ve got two sales fronts, three businesses that are serving it, plus manufacturing and interstate commerce cases. It’s a huge bust.”
Small Town Spin Page 26
