Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1) (13 page)

I TIGHTEN THE LUG NUTS on the Chevrolet Sonic. When I stand up, I notice Trevor standing on the other side of the car. Trevor is the weird kid that every class has. His slick blond hair seems to be glued to his forehead and his skin is so pale that white shirts seem less vibrant against it. He's skinny enough that when he leans against the car, I can clearly see the bones in his elbow.

"Hey," I say.

He sets down three cases of shotgun shells in front of me.

"I brought shotshells, buckshots, and slugs," he says. "I wasn't sure what you needed."

"Not the shotshells," I say. He takes the case away and puts it back in his bag. I take out one of the buckshot rounds.

"Those are the kind the police use," Trevor says.

"What would you use?" I ask. "The buckshot or the slugs?"

"I like the buckshot rounds," he says. "But it depends on what you're shooting."

"Bear," I say.

"Buckshot, then," he says, taking the slugs and sliding them into his bag. "For the record…so you don't think I'm a dumbass…I know that you're lying."

"About what?" I ask, standing straight.

"Shooting bears," he says. "You wouldn't have been asking for unregistered guns before if you were shooting animals."

"Maybe I'm just doing it for sport and I don't want to pay for tags."

"Bullshit. Who are you killing?"

A door creaks. I open the Chevrolet Sonic's door and throw the bullets in. I slam the door shut as Albert walks over toward us.

"What's goin' on?" He barely glances at Trevor, but indicates toward him with his thumb. "What's this kid doin' here? I didn't think you guys hung out anymore."

"We don't," I say. "He was just asking about what kind of engine he should get for this old Cadillac he has."

"We don't sell engines," Albert says to Trevor.

"I know," Trevor says. He yanks his bag up over his shoulder. "I was just getting Deke's opinion. I gotta go. My dad wants me to cut up some wood for the fireplace. We never seem to have enough before winter comes. I'll see you later, Deke."

I give him a halfhearted salute as he walks away. I pick up the wrench and put it back into the toolbox

"I don't like you hangin' around that kid, Deke," Albert says. "That kid is bad news. I'm surprised he isn't serving life in prison yet."

"He's not that bad, Albert," I say. "He just likes grungy clothes and loud music."

"He's a troublemaker," Albert says. "You know you can't associate with those folks if you want to join the military."

"I know. I won't let anything get in the way of joining, Albert. The only reason I wouldn't go is if you needed me here."

"Nonsense," he says. "I got along fine before you came around, and I'll get along fine when you leave."

I nod, shoving my hands into my pockets. I just need him to leave, so that I can hide the bullets better. He stares at me as if trying to read my thoughts.

"Deacon," he says. "You need to stop worrying about me. You're going to drive yourself crazy."

I shrug, but he's already walking away. I watch his rounded shoulders as they disappear into his office. I open the car door, take the bullets, wrap them in my sweater, and walk out of the garage. Crazy doesn't seem like such a bad thing. It feels a lot like freedom.

~~~~~

THE U.S. ARMED FORCES Recruiting Station has the seals for the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines on the front of the building. When I walk in, there's three military officers in their combat uniforms. Two are talking to each other while a third one eats a burrito out of a Styrofoam box.

"Hey," the third one says, setting down his burrito. "Are you interested in joining the military?"

I nod. There's a large display with eight photos on it. The words "FUTURE SOLDIERS" is displayed on top. I imagine my father and brother would come in here just to see my photo on this board. I pick up a pamphlet about the Army.

"Any questions?" the third soldier asks. I glance at him. The front of his uniform states U.S. Army.

"Yeah," I say. "Once I sign up, how soon does basic training begin?"

"Well, first you need to qualify by taking the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, also known as the ASVAB, and you would need to take a physical. If you pass both of those tests, you pick your job and swear in. After that, we just need to know when you're available to leave for basic training. You look like a high school kid, so we would need to know what day you graduate."

I nod. I'm not sure if Albert is prepared to take care of himself yet. There are still a few other companies he's competing against, and I'm not sure if the two that I already scared are shutting down. I can't leave him without knowing he has job security, but as soon as he does, I'm going to follow in the footsteps of my father and brother.

"What else do I need before I can join?"

"Well, you need a government issued ID—for most people that's their driver's license, your Social Security card, high school diploma or GED, birth certificate, your medical history, and if you have broken the law…we need to know. Even traffic tickets. And don't assume you can't get in if you have a misdemeanor or felony. A commander could grant a waiver or make any legal issues you have disappear. But we would need to know about it first."

"What if I'm a serial killer?" I ask with a small smile. The term rolls of my tongue in a strange way because I know it's what I would be considered, but it's not how I see myself. I'm defending my own like a good soldier would. I hope, at the very least, my tone makes it sound like I'm kidding.

"Well, then, I'd know you were good with a gun," the soldier says. He picks up his burrito again and takes a large bite. I pick up a pamphlet for the Navy and Marines, too. I'm not too interested in the Air Force—I've never been a fan of planes.

The man sets his burrito back down and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Can I ask why you're interested in joining? It might help you decide which branch to sign up for."

"My father and my brother both served," I say. "And I just want my life to matter. When I die, I don't want to wonder if I made a difference in the world. I want to know I did something for those I care about."

The soldier nods. "That's honorable. It's a good reason. Hmm. Well, the Army is the ground force and the largest branch in the military. The Air Force does air support during missions, obviously. The Army and the Air Force tend to work together. The Navy is our sea force, but they also support the Air Force in the skies by providing them with the planes and a sea runway. The Navy works with the Marines, who are also mainly a ground force. The Marines are different from the Army, though, because they are trained to attack from the water and gain control of beachhead. After the Marines have done that, the Army takes over and the Marines leave."

"Do you like the Army?" I ask.

"I like serving my country."

I nod. I slide the pamphlets into my bag.

"Not going to sign up yet?" he asks.

"I'll be back," I tell him. "I just need time to decide."

"Just remember the military isn't like a job," he says. "You can't quit when it gets tough."

"I'm not a quitter," I say. I slip out the door. I need to ensure that Albert will be fine when I'm gone and that his business will not fail because of big corporations that couldn't care less about Murray. Albert is all I have left in this world, and I will not fail him.

I am not a quitter.

~~~~~

I ride my bike to Albert's shop. As I turn into the parking lot, I see Albert's Ford F-150, a Lancia Dedra, and a Buick Regal. The Buick Regal is not the kind of car that is usually left here to be fixed—usually the cars are clunkers and lemons. I peek into the Buick's window. The passenger side has a laptop on it and a folder with the FBI seal on it.

I have a feeling as if my stomach is turning inside out. I sneak around Cochrane's Repair Shop. As I duck my head under the window of Albert's office, I hear Albert yelling. I stop moving.

"The news mourns these animals like anyone gives a shit! You're tryin' to tell me that the FBI is involved? Don't you government workers have somethin' better to do? Aren't there actual problems in the world?" Albert demands. "First a Muslim couple and then some other city low-lifes? They were probably killed by their own kind! Why are you wasting time on them! Those Muslims killed by son and my grandson! And these city idiots are takin' all of the jobs! Who cares if they're dead?"

"So, Mr. Cochrane," a man's voice says. I peek into the window. The man is faced away from me, so all I see is his kempt black hair, broad back, and his black suit. He looks like a douchebag federal agent. "I'm just here to ask about your grandson, Deacon Cochrane—"

"What?" Albert snaps. "What do you want with Deke? He's a good American boy that hasn't done shit wrong, so you can take your badge and shove it up your ass."

"Mr. Cochrane, I'm just here because we believe that someone from Waycroft High's Senior English class may be involved with those murders," the agent says. "We want to question all of the students, but first we wanted to get permission with the student's guardians."

"You should question the foreigners first!" Albert growls. "They probably planned this whole thing! They want real Americans locked up, so they can take over the country…wait a minute…are you Hispanic?"

"No, sir, not that it matters."

"Of course it matters!" Albert shouts. "Those Mexicans are always cutting off each other's head. How am I sure that you're even an agent? Maybe you're just here to cut off my head and take over my shop!"

"Mr. Cochrane, please stay calm," the agent says. "Can I ask where you were two nights ago?"

"No…you look like you're a Muslim…they cut off each other's heads, too."

The agent crosses his arms over his chest. Every muscle in my body tenses. Something is going to happen. I try to see if there is a weapon on the FBI agent, but all I can see is his back.

"Mr. Cochrane, were you angry when all of these so-called foreigners moved into Murray?"

"Of course, I was! My son and my grandson didn't die so that they could come over here and change America!" Albert cracks his knuckles. "They need to work in their own stupid countries and their own damn cities."

"It must have made you especially angry because your business doesn't seem to be doing well."

"I bet those foreigners don't even know what a lug nut is!" Albert yells.

"Mr. Cochrane, why don't you come into the police station with me," the agent says. He puts his hand on Albert's arm. There is one thing you never do to Albert, especially if you're a stranger and he's agitated—touch him.

Albert swings his fist and it hits the agent in the jaw. The agent stumbles back and falls onto his ass. Albert shakes out his hand as if it hurts, but he still hits the agent with his other fist. The agent pushes himself back up and grabs Albert by the arm. He forces Albert against the wall and handcuffs him. Albert continues to flail as the agent pushes him toward the door. I run around the building, so I am out of sight when the agent and Albert come out into the parking lot.

Albert is placed into the back of the Buick, still screaming about foreigners and good Americans. The agent dials a number on his cell phone.

"Hey, this is Agent Rosenbloom," the agent says into his phone. "I am bringing a suspect in, but I need you to send one of your officers down to look for guns. The suspect is Albert Cochrane. Tell your officers to check his house and Cochrane's Repair Shop…Yep. Thanks."

The agent hangs up and gets into the car. I watch him drive away with Albert still in the back.

The authorities believe Albert has been killing people. The rifle I used, Albert got in a trade
a few years ago by a customer who could not afford the work being done on his car. Albert put the gun aside with the intention of selling it, but frankly, forgot about it. I had been taking the rifle to use to practice marksmanship, and since Albert never saw it, he forgot about it. The Smith and Wesson was a gift from one of my father's friends after my father died. Neither could be connected to Albert until they searched his house.

I have three choices, none of which I like—go home and pretend I don't know what's going on; go home and turn myself in; or go home, hide the guns, and try to establish a clear case for Albert's not being involved in the killings. If I kill another person, I would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Albert is innocent. A serial killer can't murder while he's in the custody of the FBI.

And I have the perfect victim in mind.

~~~~~

TODAY IN MRS. SHEPHERD'S third-grade classroom, there were Styrofoam balls hanging from the ceiling. Each one represented a planet, except the largest yellow one that was supposed to be the sun. It was entrancing to walk among the solar system and incredible to believe that there was so much more to the universe than what I could see.

I lie in my bed, trying to fall asleep while planets revolve in my mind. All of the outer planets are much bigger than the inner planets, and they orbit the sun slower, but they spin faster. How strange. It's as if the bigger something gets, time changes into this inexplicable thing and you're always on the outside looking in.

I hear the window creak. I look toward it to see Tom slipping into the room. His feet slide in, and then he pulls himself the rest of the way through. When he notices me, he puts a finger to his lips.
Shh
. I lie my head back down on the pillow. It must be a teenager thing—sneaking out, smoking, dating a new girl every week. I don't get it. If Albert or Dad ever found out, they would be pissed. I imagine telling Dad when he comes home, but I'm not sure if I could betray Tom like this. We're not close, but he's still my brother.

"Deke," he whispers. "Get up. I got you something."

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. He throws something small onto my bed. I pick it up. It's a chocolate bar with a fancy label.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, already unwrapping it.

"Don't ask me and I won't lie," he says. He plops down on his bed. "How are you, little bro?"

"I learned about planets today," I say, eager to tell him everything I learned. I take a bite out of the chocolate. It tastes amazing. I savor the taste, but as I chew, Tom gets out his cell phone and begins to text someone. Probably his current girlfriend.

I barely hear a knock on the front door.

"What the hell?" Tom asks. "It's past midnight. Who's here now?"

I shrug, though I'm sure my opinion wasn't worth anything.

The person knocks louder.

"I'll get it before it wakes up Albert," he says. He leaves the room. I doubt a fire alarm could wake up Albert. I continue eating my chocolate. Minutes pass by. Even though I barely remember it, my thoughts return to that day I found out Mom was dead. There is that same eerie silence and the feeling that I could wait in the cold forever and no one would notice.

I stumble off my bed and peek out of the bedroom. There is a man wearing the black and blue Army Service Uniform with several ribbons and decorations on it. Tom is holding an American flag in his arms. I can't see his face, but the man's face is somber while Tom is standing up straighter than I've ever seen him stand.

"I'm sorry. I would have waited until morning, but I thought it was wrong for me to delay telling you," the man mumbles.

"I appreciate your consideration," Tom says, his voice sounding older than his thirteen years.

The man notices me and takes a step toward me. Tom puts his hand on the man's chest, stopping him.

"I'll tell him," Tom tells the man.

"Are you sure?" the man asks. "It's a difficult subject. Are you sure I can't talk to your grandfather?"

"He's not here," Tom lies. "You should go. Return to your family."

The man nods. "My deepest sympathies. It is truly the ultimate sacrifice. It will never be forgotten."

Tom shakes his hand. The man waves at me before leaving. Tom sets the flag on the counter. I don't need to ask him what happened. I've watched the news. I know what the presentation of the flag means.

I walk up to my brother.

"Do you want some chocolate?" I ask, setting the chocolate bar next to the flag.

"Goddammit, Deke," he snarls, grabbing the chocolate and throwing it in the trash can. "That could have smeared on the flag. Why the fuck can't you do anything right?"

He grabs the flag, pressing it against his chest, before he opens the front door and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

I stand in the kitchen, utterly alone.

Then, I hear a door open behind me. I turn to see Albert walking out of his bedroom, holding a pistol in his hands, raised to shoot. He lowers it when he sees me.

"What is all of the noise out here for?" he grumbles. "I thought you were a robber."

I shake my head. He walks over to me and pats me on the head.

"Let's go to bed, Deke," he says. "I was so busy in the garage that I never got to ask you about your day. What happened in school?"

"Nothing," I say, realizing that planets are so far away that they could never matter.

As Albert tucks me into bed, not even realizing that Tom is gone, I recognize that this is a pivotal moment. My brother took the American flag and a fierce sense of nationality. All I had was Albert.

~~~~~