1 Per Cent Murders

by T W Morse

  “Are you ’kay? We were so worried!” Sarah, the tall overly thin blonde says, followed by, “Oh my gosh, you poor girl!”

  “We got your message, but we’re so worried!” is said by Isabella, the short thicker-set girl. Both adore Hannah, but Hannah is finding less and less time to spend with them. This is mainly because she’s working for her parents, has fewer interests with the girls, and of course, she’s hanging with me, which made me enemy number one in Sarah’s and Isabella’s eyes.

  “I’m okay,” Hannah dryly says as both the girls block me from retaking Hannah’s hand.

  “We heard you found the body — EWW!” Sarah says, loud enough for the entire hallway to hear. In turn, whispers from kids around us grow as they point toward us.

  “How gross!” Isabella adds. The girls play off each other, trying to bring Hannah back into the mix that they know she is falling out of.

  “Who knew this was going to be your big news? We heard you and Ulysses are an item now,” Sarah says, giggling while leaning into Hannah, grasping her arm. Hannah is having a hard time getting a word in, and I think of how often I’m in that situation with her.

  “We can talk more at lunch. Ulysses and I have to get upstairs to geometry,” Hannah says, quickly grabbing my hand and escorting us down the hall and up the large winding staircase. Hannah’s face looks relieved to get out of that circus. But we both quickly remember we are going out of the frying pan and into the fire, in this case back to Mr. O’Leary’s class.

  We take our seats and start to watch the morning Manatee Live. It is a somber one. Deputy Diaz and Principal Barron are on the show to speak about Saturday’s murder. In most of the classes, people look at me and Hannah with curiosity and murmur to each other. Mr. O’Leary, who had been sitting quietly behind his desk, has to use his loud voice to tell them, “Be quiet!”

  Both Diaz and O’Leary urge, “Anyone at Mangrove High with information about the murder, please come forward.” They also reassure everyone of our safety and how the police think this is an isolated incident. It is pretty much the same message we all got on our cell phones this morning in an “alert now” message. All I can think of is Conrad’s empty chair next me. I hope he is okay and can come back to school soon.

  The rest of Mr. O’Leary’s class goes remarkably smooth. He barely looks at me, or even acknowledges my existence, but — I’m okay with that. This was the case for the entire class, all the way to the bell. But why? I mean, last time I saw O’Leary, he threw me out. Hannah is surprised too, which we discuss as we walk to Dad’s U.S. history class.

  “Maybe he thinks people are onto him as the murderer,” I wonder out loud to Hannah.

  “Maybe he’s trying to be civil with all this stuff goin’ on,” she says, sounding more sensible.

  As we approach Dad’s classroom, we both wave as he is greeting students at the door, looking dressed more to play golf than to teach us U.S. history. He sees us and ushers us into his class, closing the door while leaving everyone else out in the hallway.

  Before the bell rings, he quickly relays the carpool findings, that the Gallant house was owned by the government for nearly thirty years and just now went up for sale. Also Mr. O’Leary doesn’t have an alibi for Saturday night, but most frustrating, he thinks I’m the mysterious hole digger.

  “I thought your text about being invisible in his class was about him kicking me out of class on Friday!”

  “That must’ve been why he was not his usual annoying self,” Hannah adds. I frown at Hannah, thinking this took O’Leary’s hatred for me to an all-time high. Hannah also tells Dad her idea that the W in GG&W could stand for Wright.

  “That makes sense, and it was right in front of our eyes the whole time. Good work!”

  Hannah beams like she got an A in a test.

  Before letting his students in, Dad asks, “Did you find out anything more about that law firm?”

  “No, but we were thinking about checking the law library at the university before Hannah’s shift at Penny U.”

  We hear the bell and Dad lets in his students for an additional lecture on Breed’s and Bunker hills.

  The rest of the day goes by excruciatingly slow. Especially after lunch; I don’t see Hannah for the rest of the day. All I can think of is the investigation and the connection with the law firm GG&W. Common sense tells us one G stood for Gallant. That was easy, the law firm he worked for, it fit. The W, pointed out by Hannah, could be Wright; that would help to bridge the connection between Gallant and Wright, but where does Barron come into play?

  I contemplate this as I wait outside for Hannah. Droves of students continue to look at me when they pass by, whispering to each other. Several classmates ask me crazy questions, like Paul in science, “Did the body smell?” or Rick in Lit class, “How much blood was there?” I had to put up with these lame-o’s all day.

  My concentration comes to full attention as I see Hannah walk through the front doors. Her slender body is accentuated by her tight black leggings. Her black skull Goonies T-shirt says everything about her personality. She is also wearing her thick black glasses. She usually chooses to wear contacts, but today she preferred the glasses. Hannah releases her ponytail, whipping her brown hair down, while waving at me. She looks like she just came out of shampoo commercial. My heart literally skips a beat.

  “You okay?” she says as she grabs my arm.

  “Yup. I’m fine, why do you ask?”

  “You look like someone kicked you in the gut. Nobody kicked you in the gut — right? I’d kick their butts if they did!” Hannah threatens very seriously; people around us are lucky she hasn’t started spouting off Spanish words or karate moves.

  “I’m fine! I just saw you and couldn’t catch my breath. That’s all.”

  “You are so sweet, Ulysses Adair!” And she kisses me quickly on the lips.

  We walk back to Penny University to get our bikes, so we can ride to the law library at Gulf University.

  “My shift is from four to seven. Remember, on school nights fourteen-year olds can’t work past 7 p.m., so I have to start my shift earlier.”

  “The law library is only a ten-minute bike ride, so we should have plenty of time.”

  As we start out on our bikes, I realize that this is the first afternoon that hasn’t looked like rain for weeks. The balmy breeze feels good as we pass the rows of palm trees and oversized homes to the small private school campus known as Gulf University, which has a small law school and an even smaller law library.

  We ride in silence most of the way to make good time, but Hannah quickly breaks the silence.

  “We’ll ride over to your place after my shift? My parents were thinking about asking you if you wanted a job.”

  “A job?” I ask dumbfounded.

  “Sure, you’re there all the time anyway, helping us all out; we may as well pay you. Those were my dad’s exact words. You know, busing tables, taking out the trash.”

  “That would be lit!”

  “It would be awesome working together,” Hannah adds. “Check with your dad first, though.” As she said this, we arrive at the small campus.

  The law library is a concrete, beige stucco building with red Spanish tiles on the roof. If it didn’t have the sign saying Gulf University Law Library, I would've thought it was just another mega-sized Somerset home.

  After locking our bikes, we stroll in, finding rows of thick green and tan leather-bound books. Several wooden tables, lined with chairs, finish off the room. The library is just one large open room, sparsely decorated with just a few paintings of contributors and deans hanging, stuck in time, on the walls. A bank of computers hugs the corner, while an old woman sits behind a checkout desk. Several college students with headphones and yellow legal pads sit like silent monks, flipping through immense law volumes.

  “Where do we even start?” I whisper to Hannah, feeling a little intimidated. I can tell she was too because she took a step back toward the door to retreat. I stop h
er and grasp her hand. “Why don’t we ask the little old lady behind the checkout desk?” I suggest in a whisper.

  Hannah nods in agreement.

  The woman’s tag read Ruth, and she was definitely pushing eighty; her age spots were getting age spots. “Can I help you two young people?” I hate being called “young people.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We are doing a research project on a local law firm and need to find more information.”

  She leers at Hannah and then looks back at me with a smile, which is disconcerting. “You can try. We have a database of law firms in the state.”

  “Can it look nationally?” Hannah asks.

  Ruth leers again at Hannah and answers her but addresses only me. “The database does have that feature.”

  “Great! We are looking for a law firm named GG&W.”

  “No names?” Ruth asks with an increasing negative tone.

  “No names. Will that be okay?” Hannah asks.

  Once again Ruth answers Hannah’s question but looks directly at me, avoiding Hannah completely. I notice this is starting to irritate Hannah because she sways from side to side and her jaw starts to clench.

  “We can try,” Ruth says with little confidence. We also ask her to try Wright, first name Donald; and Gallant, first name Toby or Tobias, as possible partner names in the acronym.

  Ruth tries all the letters backward and forward. Even adding Wright and Gallant, she is unable to find any law firm with those letters. Or the men’s first and last names.

  “There is nothing about the men either! No court cases they worked on? They were attorneys; shouldn’t they be in your database?” Hannah inquires impatiently.

  “Miss, if it’s not in this computer, then those two names never tried a case. I cannot find a law firm, or any cases, related to the names and acronym you gave me. Have a good day.” Again she answers Hannah while looking at me.

  We walk out and back to our bikes, feeling discouraged. “Why was she so rude to you?” I ask Hannah.

  “Because I’m Latina,” Hannah says somberly.

  “What?!” I exclaim in a loud voice. “I’m going back in and giving her a piece of my mind!”

  “You will not, Ulysses Adair! I’m used to it and pissed! Papi always says we should be proud but also rise above their prejudices.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn't realize; I never think of you as any different.”

  “I know, Ulysses, because you were brought up to be compassionate and considerate of others!” Hannah quickly changes the subject. “Sooo, we’re back at square one with GG&W?”

  “It looks that way, time wasted! I’m sorry,” I add.

  “Hopefully Mr. Nelson finds out something with his investigation,” Hannah adds as I frown back at her, and we hurriedly bike back for her shift.

  CHAPTER 27

  - LOGAN -

  PINEAPPLE EXPO MARKERS + MURDER BOARD = DEAD ENDS

  B ob and I wait for Ulysses and Hannah in my living room, propping up a whiteboard and an easel I snagged from school.

  Bob is sniffing markers. “You got to try this one; it smells like pineapple!” He is wearing an orange tracksuit, so he must have been feeling tropical.

  I yank it out of his hand like a parent with a toddler. “Let’s focus, Bob!”

  I start to print pictures. The first picture came from today's obituary of Mr. Donald Wright, the victim. Next, I print pictures from our school website of Principal Thomas Barron and Silas O’Leary, writing “suspects” in the pineapple-smelling Expo marker under each picture. Bob hands me printouts of Terry and Jack from the newspaper. I put their pictures off to the side, label them “Connected?” and draw an arrow to Donald Wright’s picture.

  The kids burst in, making Ortiz bark. They come in to the living room out of breath, telling us of their fools’ errand to the law library. They look dejected.

  “Maybe it’s not a real law firm,” I add. I write the acronym GG&W on the whiteboard, drawing arrows to Wright, Barron and then to a pinned picture of the Gallants. Under the acronym, I put a question mark for “G = Gallant and W= Wright,” and “law firm.”

  Hannah draws a picture of a masked man. She is quite the artist. She then drew lines to the Gallants and O’Leary, adding a little house between the Gallant picture and O’Leary’s name, then labeling it “Gallant house” and in parenthesis “federally owned.”

  We all stand back from the board and stare at it for a long time, our faces blank. “This is definitely easier on TV,” Ulysses says.

  Bob lets out an “Mmm...” and then, “Anyone hungry?”

  It is eight, so I order a couple of pizzas from Somerset House of Pizza, while we sit and stare at the board.

  “Oh, I never shared what I found!” Bob says enthusiastically. We all turn to him sitting in one of my club chairs. “See, you guys thought I wouldn’t find anything; y'all don’t have any faith, but I did.”

  “Spill it, Bob!” I demand.

  “Why didn’t you share with us sooner?” Ulysses asks.

  “Um — I forgot,” Bob says sheepishly. “Alright, so I interviewed my players; they didn’t know nothin’ about Terry and Jack using drugs or how someone could get into their lockers. Nobody knew nothin’,” Bob reiterates, now more energetic and sharing with his usual animated arm gestures. He moves to the edge of the chair, leaning closer to us, “I put my feelers around, to my students.”

  “Your feelers?” Hannah asks.

  “Let me tell you somethin’, I know Mangrove, the students, and how they operate.” Both Ulysses and Hannah roll their eyes at each other while I signal him to hurry up. “Well, the students, they knew nothin’.”

  “So, your feelers failed?” I said.

  “Mmm,” Bob grunts, “Yeah, until I spoke with Pedro.”

  “The custodian?” I ask.

  “You know that’s right! Dude’s been there since day one. Pedro knows when anything is out of order; dude knows when light bulbs are out before they go — you get me?”

  “Yeah, we get you; what did you find out, Bob?” Just then the doorbell rings, and Ortiz howls and growls, running to the door ready to protect us from the terrible pizza man. I tip the delivery man, put the pizzas on the coffee table, and we all dive in, still looking for Bob to finish. “So?”

  “Well, Pedro informed me that only two people got the codes to the lockers.” Bob takes a large slice of pepperoni pizza, curving the slice in one hand before shoving it in his mouth. He starts to talk with a partially full mouth, “Only two people have the combination to any school locker. The student gets it on day one, the only other person is...” Bob chews his slice, adding more dramatic effect, which I know he loves. He then takes a huge swig of the beer he has been nursing. “According to Pedro, who says he can’t open the lockers, the only other person with all the students’ combinations is ...” Bob pauses again. We all sigh in unison. “Okay, okay. The assistant principal! Mary Clifton — my ex.”

  “She’s not your ex! One date does not mean you were an item!” I explain to Bob, slightly frustrated.

  Bob finishes by adding, “I’m counting her as an ex! Anyway, Pedro said they keep the combos in a three-ring binder in the safe in the assistant principal’s offices. They only take it out to get combos when kids forget them.”

  Ulysses stood up to the board. “So if Terry and Jack are telling the truth, the only other person that could get in their lockers is Assistant Principal Clifton?” As he said this, he wrote her name on the board and drew an arrow to Jack and Terry.

  “She can’t be the murderer. She was in the gymnasium in full view of everyone the entire time. Why would a new assistant principal want to frame two seniors on her first week, or at all?” Hannah says, standing up and going over to the board with Ulysses.

  Ortiz takes advantage of their distraction, popping his head up on the coffee table to lick the grease and cheese from one of the partially empty boxes before I shoo him away.

  “You make an excellent point. She does act str
ange, but that is not a reason to kill Mr. Wright either. She has the perfect alibi, too, and what would be her motive?”

  “I don’t know, but she digs me,” Bob adds, smiling and taking another piece of pizza.

  “I feel that we’re missing something right in front of our faces,” I say, staring at the board. “I know there is a connection somewhere.” I look over at the time. “This war room is over for tonight. It’s ten o'clock on a school night.”

  “Tomorrow’s the wake for Mr. Wright. That will be a good time to find some clues, maybe his connection with Principal Barron and the Gallants,” Hannah says doggedly.

  “We haven’t seen Conrad either; I hope he’s doing okay,” Ulysses adds.

  “I haven’t had the chance to tell you yet: Bob says Conrad has to move back to New York with his mom.” With this news, Hannah puts her head on Ulysses’ shoulder.

  CHAPTER 28

  - ULYSSES-

  WAKE, WAKE, DON’T TELL ME

  “W

  hat’s the big dealio? I’ve worn clothes other than tracksuits,” Mr. Nelson says as we all give him weird looks while Dad drives us toward the wake at Mr. Wright’s beach home. We all laugh at how well Mr. Nelson suits up. Dad and I have rarely seen him not wearing his trademark tracksuits. Dad and I wear simple ties, but Hannah is wearing a long black slinky dress, almost too sensual for a wake.

  Mr. Wright’s beach house is a white stone Art Deco block sitting on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico. It sits sterile and cold, perfect for a wake, I think. We all pile out of the little car, struggling to smooth out wrinkles and not look like we’ve just woken up. A dozen other cars are jamming the side streets and double parked by their gated driveway. I can see Conrad and his mother greeting visitors as we walk up their expansive driveway.

  “Wow! Mmm, mmm!” Mr. Nelson utters to Dad when he sees Conrad’s mother. He told me she was a runway model, sometimes showing me pictures, but somewhere in the back of my mind I thought he was lying — not anymore. As we approach Conrad and his mom, Bob shoves in front of Dad, sticking out his hand and straightening his tie. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Mr. Nelson casually says with Conrad’s mother’s hand in his, “Miss?”