Dying to Teach (27 page)

“I kinda went all around it for a while. Then I thought, what the heck, if it’s out in the open, maybe they can find her killer because of what I know… So, I told them.” He grinned. “Man, were they surprised.”

Yes, she could imagine their excitement getting such a juicy new bone to chew on. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see cops all over the school today.”

After Evan’s momentous information, they must’ve been disappointed in the results of her question session. The juiciest thing she’d given them was that Gwen zealously guarded the fact that she smoked cigarettes.

Last year Kiana had researched police procedure for social studies class and learned a lot. Like if a case isn’t solved in the first forty-eight hours, the best clues go cold. She’d also learned how they went about solving a murder case. They made a list of the dead person’s circle of close friends because nine times out of ten, one of them was the killer. They talked extensively to this group. From that group they were able to make what they called a second circle of associates. Kiana assumed the cops had exhausted that first set of relationships and had proceeded to the second circle—in this case, the students.

Evan threw himself forward, burying his head in his hands. His voice was muffled but she had no trouble understanding when he said, “I know they think I did it.”

Kiana hadn’t wanted anyone to know—not even him—that she’d been questioned, but she couldn’t let him go on thinking he’d been singled out. She laid a hand on his back. “Evan, if they suspect you, then they suspect me too. They took me there just after dinner.”

Slowly, the information hit him and he sat up straight. Instead of being relieved he looked more distraught. “They probably think we worked as a team.”

Suddenly, over at the stage, there was a loud crack. Kiana shot to her feet as the frame the crew was erecting wobbled. It seemed like time slowed to a turtle-crawl as the construction swayed back and forth. She sent up a quick prayer that it wouldn’t fall—and that if it did, nobody would be hurt.

“Watch out!” somebody yelled and the crew scattered. Just in time.

The long four by four inch beam rocked off its uprights and tumbled to the ground with a horrific crash. Several men cursed.

When nothing else looked about to fall, they went back to examine the mess. One of the men kicked at the rafter that had fallen. Then all faces peered from it to the uprights that had once held the huge beam in place. They were talking but from where she was, Kiana couldn’t hear what they said.

She and Evan sprinted through the gate. She pushed between two men but couldn’t see what was going on because two others were kneeling beside the frame.

One cursed and said, “What the hell happened here?”

Kiana stepped over the long piece of wood and knelt too. Somebody said she should get out before she got hurt. He stood to take her arm—that’s when she could see that the huge piece of wood had broken. She started to shout at the men for their ineptness but realized, as they had, that the thick board had been sawn almost all the way through.

“Oh no.” She felt her arm being grasped and went with the pressure, standing up to see Evan at her side. “He’s at it again.”

“Who’s at it again?” somebody asked.

Evan reminded them of the reason they were having the performance outdoors. “Can you guys get this fixed in time?”

“Sure. No problem kid.”

“And we’ll also keep watch on it 24/7 till the show,” someone else said, to which the others chimed in their agreement.

“Thanks.”

“Somebody should report this,” the foreman said.

“We will,” Evan offered. “Right away.” He laid an arm on Kiana’s shoulder and urged her away.

“Oh Evan, who’s doing this? Who wants the drama program to fail that badly?”

“I don’t know but we’re going to find out. I promise.”

Somberly she followed him back to the bike. They got on and motored around the field to the front parking lot and went into the school. They found Mr. Reynolds and Mrs. Deacon seated at the table in his outdoor office. Mrs. Deacon knew right off there’d been trouble. She shot to her feet and hurried toward them. Kiana let Evan explain what happened.

Mrs. Deacon remained standing beside Kiana. Did she look so bad she needed support? Probably she did. This whole thing was making her wonder if it’d be better to just let the program die, and transfer to Carlson North. The drama program there wasn’t as advanced. The teacher not as easy to get along with, but she could suffer it out till May. She would do anything for even a partial scholarship.

So, what was stopping her from transferring? Why stay here and deal with this? Any moment now, somebody might get hurt, and all because she wouldn’t let this drop. An image flashed into her head—of the meeting with the school board. She, Evan and Gwen had stood before them, with the rest of the crew overflowing the front row of the auditorium. “The kids need this program,” Gwen had said. “Look at the success we’ve had. Our shows have brought in money to buy new curtains, paint for the green room, costumes—”

“Yes,” the superintendent had said, “all things
for
the department. If the program expires, those things won’t be needed any more. It’s all a trade-off. We’re losing nothing.”

Gwen had stepped forward and set her feet in a stance Kiana called her bulldog pose—reserved for moments like this. “
Except
children’s education. Has the reason we’re all here escaped you? And, let me remind you that this school’s drama program
also
provided new basketball hoops—” Someone in the group started to speak and Gwen had pointed a finger at him— “
and
three tables for the cafeteria. These kids,” Gwen had half-turned and pointed at Kiana, “these kids could be on the streets or in front of video games, yet they work tirelessly to make this program
work
.”

Gwen had pointed at her, and only her. At the time, Kiana thought it was a generic gesture meant to include everyone. Till now. Till this moment Kiana believed Gwen was trying to keep the program going for the sake of the program. But she was doing it for Kiana—to keep her dream alive.

So, where did that leave Kiana? In a mad dash effort to save her own future? Would it be worth it without Gwen’s passionate encouragement? Sure. Life was there for the taking. She had to make it work, had to make Gwen’s faith in her come to fruition. Which didn’t answer the original question—to transfer or not? If she left, Evan would be alone to either make the program a success or quit altogether.

Evan nudged her with his elbow and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Kiana nodded, her eyes on the principal.

“You’re crying.”

Kiana shook her head. “No I’m not.”

Evan shot a glare at the principal. Mr. Reynolds frowned as though he had no clue what might be Evan’s problem.
For several seconds there was absolute silence. Finally, Mrs. Deacon tapped them both on the arm. Even wrenched his attention from her to the principal. He drew in a breath and presented an emotional description of the events in the football field.

How could she desert somebody as passionate and dedicated to life?

Maybe he could transfer too.

The scraping of a chair on the bricks made her look up. “If you’d all excuse me,” Mr. Reynolds said, “I’m going out to have a talk with the crew.”

“Mr. Reynolds,” Evan said, “they said they’d keep a constant guard out there. They said nobody else would get to it.”

“Very good. Very good.” He shook hands with Evan, squeezed Kiana’s arm, said he’d see them later, and left.

“Come on, let’s get to the auditorium,” Mrs. Deacon said.

“I’ll see you there,” Evan said. “I have to move my motorcycle to the other end of the building.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Kiana told Mrs. Deacon. Maybe she could find out how dinner at the Philmores went and whether she’d learned why they invited her.

“I’ll bring in your things, Kiana,” Evan said.

“Thanks. See you in a few.”

Mr. Reynolds had excused Kiana and Evan from classes again today. They planned to spend the morning preparing the boy’s locker room for the onslaught of actors and actresses at the final bell. The locker rooms were closer to the field, meaning there would be less delay between scenes. Less chance for the crowd to get itchy, especially if the show didn’t go well. Therefore, much transporting had to be done between the auditorium and the locker room.

The show had to go well. Had to be a success, not only for her future, but for its reputation. She’d literally begged for financial support from local business owners, promised a great show as she peppered the audience with potential donors for both performances. Things
had
to be perfect.

“Sorry I was so late this morning,” Mrs. Deacon said.

“Late?”

She hesitated and Kiana waited for a lengthy explanation but all she said was, “Running late.”

“Did Mr. Reynolds yell at you? He always yells at us.”

“No he…” Then Mrs. Deacon realized Kiana was kidding and they shared a smile.

“I hope you weren’t sick or anything.”

“Sick. No.”

Nothing else was forthcoming. Something was up. How to find out what it was?

Mrs. Deacon held the door for her to go into the green room where three large cardboard boxes sat on the table. In the corner was a wheeled cart holding a couple more boxes. “You can use these for the things we’ll need tonight,” Mrs. Deacon said. “Try to think of everything so we don’t have to send a gopher back and forth. I’ll be out to help in a few minutes, I have to make a phone call.”

“Are you all right?” Kiana asked.

“Sure, why?”

“You seem distracted.”

Mrs. Deacon smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for caring. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Kiana watched Mrs. Deacon unlock her office and go inside. What a pretty skirt she had on. Short but not too short. Nice material that swayed when she walked. And a pretty—probably expensive—sweater in a nice color, not one she’d wear—kind of a gray/blue.

The office door had no sooner clicked shut when there came a terrible thump, a grating sound and a groan from the other side. Kiana ran to the door. “Mrs. Deacon, is everything all right?”

There was no answer. She called again and tapped lightly on the door. Still no answer. Kiana turned the knob and eased the door open a couple of inches. The room was dark as night. Kiana pushed to open the door all the way but it wouldn’t go more than six inches. There was resistance, something hard and solid.

“Mrs. Deacon?”

No answer. Kiana’s adrenaline went into warp drive. She found the wall switch and flicked it. Nothing. She moved it up and down several times. No light. What the heck was going on? And what was that smell? It was warm and kind of…metallic. Blood!

Kiana jiggled the door, making it thunk against whatever was keeping it from opening. It met solid resistance. Thank goodness, not soft resistance, like Mrs. Deacon’s body. What to do? Not enough light came from behind her to see into the office. And Kiana couldn’t get the door open enough to go in.

Repeatedly calling Mrs. Deacon’s name, Kiana put pressure on the door. Whatever held it shut was heavy, but little by little it moved across the floor. Little by little the door opened. Eight inches. Ten. Room enough to squeeze through.

Light filtered in, but it was still dark. Very dark. The blood smell was stronger. Something terrible was wrong with her teacher. No, this couldn’t be happening again.

Kiana crouched and patted the floor. “Mrs. Deacon?” Kiana moved to the right, groping and touching, yet holding back for fear of dousing herself in blood. Where was Mrs. Deacon?

Kiana shuffled a bit further to the right. All at once something heavy crashed down on the back of her neck. And her own lights went out.

TWENTY-NINE

Pressure on her left eye brought Angie alert. From inches away, a pair of chocolate brown eyes with huge irises peered into hers. They blinked once, hovered a second, then moved away. Pressure on her eyelid released. After another second, her right lid was stretched open and the same brown hoverer zoomed in close. When the lid was released Angie blinked a few times to bring the surroundings into focus: gauges and belts, cabinets and, up close, a husky woman in blue polyester. The room shifted and rolled left. Then it leveled out and zoomed forward. That’s when she realized she was in an ambulance and belted to a stretcher. Her head felt thick, like somebody had crammed all the orifices with cotton batting.

“What happened?” she managed to ask through cotton-clogged lips.

“Lie still, you have quite a gash on the back of your head. What’s your name?”

“Angie. Angelina Deacon.”

The face, female wearing a hormone mustache—god, she hoped that never happened to her—came close. “What color are my eyes?”

“Brown.”

The face backed away. A darkly tanned hand appeared. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two. What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Angie closed her eyes and saw a snake wrapped in red silk peering up at her from a small, dark space. She blinked the slithery image away. Another took its place: a pile of clothes burning with laser-like intensity on a long narrow table. Angie shook her head to dislodge that scene and pain shot from her brain to her toes. She squeezed her eyes tight, until the pain subsided. Then she remembered. “I went in the office and—” She’d stepped in for some privacy to call Jarvis and tell him about the snake in her hotel room when she bumped her head on something. No, that wasn’t right, something struck her. “How bad am I hurt?”

The woman lifted Angie’s right arm and wound a blood pressure cuff around it. “At the very least you have a slight concussion. They’ll do a CT scan to look for further damage. We found a baseball bat beside you on the floor. For right now, I’d say you were very lucky. Another good thing: they caught the girl who did it.”

“Girl?”

The EMT braced herself against the stretcher as the ambulance took a right turn. “I didn’t catch her name. She’s in another ambulance. Looks like you were able to get in a lick of your own before you lost consciousness.”