by Helen Gray
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s another reason nothing was ever proven. Payments could never be tied directly to him. The kids paid their own bills—in cash.”
While Toni was mulling that over, Mickey continued. “My junior high son says he heard that Coach Campbell hosted secret beer bashes for his players.”
This was getting worse. “How long was he on staff at your school?”
“One full year, during which he had an astonishing win record. He was fired in the middle of his second year. The assistant coach was put in charge for the rest of the basketball season, and the school did everything they could to keep the story quiet.” She reeled off the information in a brisk manner.
“If he was fired for cheating, did the school have to accept any penalties, like forfeiting wins or being put on probation?”
Mickey’s head moved back and forth. “Like I said, he never got convicted of cheating in sports. But he did with women. The word got around that he was having an affair with one of our school secretaries. Yeah, I know,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “That kind of thing doesn’t always get a guy fired anymore. But along with the talk of the sports cheating, the board decided to get rid of him while they had the means. I figure they were afraid of the consequences you just mentioned if the stories were ever proven. His wife had had enough. This time she left him.”
“Is the secretary still employed at the school?”
“She’s still there, and she works summers, but if you’re thinking of going right to the school to see her, I doubt you’ll catch her. She gets off at three, so she’ll have already gone home.” She grinned. “I assume you want to know her address.”
Toni grinned back. “I may as well. I’m intrigued with the case, and I have some free time.”
“Her name is Joyce Franklin, and she lives in the University Park apartments. I don’t know the number. If you’ll wait just a minute I’ll get it for you. It should be on our emergency call list.” She bounced up and went inside the house.
A minute later she returned and handed Toni a piece of paper. “Here’s the complete address and her phone number, just in case you should need it. She’s a single parent. Her son, Corey, is in college now, but he was in high school when Jesse was here. In fact, the kid played on his team.”
Toni pushed to her feet. “I appreciate you taking time to talk to me.”
“I enjoyed meeting you, and I hope you figure it out. I don’t know what more I could possibly tell you, but if you think of anything else you want to ask, call me. I’d like to help Grant if I can.”
*
It was four o’clock by the time Toni found Joyce Franklin’s apartment and rang the doorbell. The woman who opened the door was petite, about five-two, around a hundred ten pounds. Her hair was bleached a white blonde and pulled to the back of her neck with a pink scarf. Her eyes were light brown, with dark shadows around them. They regarded Toni warily.
“Hello, I’m Toni Donovan. I’m looking into the death of Jesse Campbell. May I come in and talk to you?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I talk to you?”
“Why not? I’m just trying to figure out who killed him. Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She gave Toni another once over, then sighed and backed up. “Come in,” she said with less than graciousness, opening the door wider.
The apartment was utilitarian and fairly neat, but it was by no means luxurious. It appeared to be a haven created by a single working woman. The furniture was simple but clean, with few frills or ornamentation. The white walls had a few pictures on them, but they were landscapes, not family photos. There was, however, a framed picture of a dark haired young man above the television. He looked familiar.
Toni walked to the sofa, being careful of her toe, and sat. “When was the last time you saw Jesse?” she asked as Joyce took a chair facing her.
“Who says I ever saw him?” she retorted sharply, her eyes bleak.
“The word is that you had an affair with him while he was employed at Kickapoo.”
Joyce’s face registered surprise that Toni knew such a thing, but it quickly turned to anger. “So what if I did. It’s no one’s business but mine.”
“And Jesse’s,” Toni added. “And he’s dead.”
The woman’s face crumpled, and tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled. “Why are you here asking me these questions?”
Toni took a deep breath, knowing that only honesty was going to get her anywhere. “It was my family who found his body. Maybe it’s crazy, but that makes me feel some sort of responsibility to find out what happened. Wouldn’t you like to know who killed him?”
A hand went over her mouth as the tears spilled over. Unable to speak, she just bobbed her head in affirmation.
“Had you seen him recently?”
The direction of her head movement changed. “I hadn’t seen him in several months,” she finally managed to say.
But you wanted to, Toni heard in her voice and manner. He dumped you, and you’re still heartbroken. She reined in her emotions and spoke more compassionately. “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”
The woman’s shoulders shook, and she grabbed for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Why would anyone kill him?” she sobbed.
“That’s what I want to find out.”
Joyce wiped her eyes and composed herself. “He was the first person I had felt anything for since my husband was killed in a motorcycle wreck when my son was two.”
“You were lonely, and he was friendly to you. One thing led to another. Right?”
She nodded miserably. “I never intended to get involved with him. But he was funny and flattering, and I fell for him.”
“You knew he was married?”
“And felt awful about it,” she said, nodding and swiping at her eyes.
Toni found herself feeling a little sorry for the woman. Widowed young, she had been lonely and vulnerable. It didn’t excuse anything, but it provided insight. “Do you know if he was involved in anything questionable?”
Joyce looked up from wiping her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not quite sure. I guess what I mean is, was all his time spent at the school and home—and with you? Or did he have involvements and friends away from school and coaching? What were his leisure activities?”
“Women,” she said bitterly.
Chapter 11
Toni studied Joyce’s desolate expression. “You know you weren’t the first affair then?”
“Or the last.” She squared her shoulders. “But you want to know the worst? It didn’t really matter. He was smooth, and he made me feel good.”
“Do you think his ex-wife could have killed him?”
Her brow furrowed. “I can understand how his messing around could have made her that mad, but she didn’t seem hot tempered or mean. She taught in the elementary school and went home after classes rather than sticking around after school every day like Jesse did. I mean he always had practices and games and stuff going on.”
Stuff like cozying up to the secretary. Or to students.
“What about the principal at Ozark? He and Jesse were close friends until…”
“Until Jesse took up with his wife,” she interrupted in a flat tone.
“Had he promised to leave his wife for you?”
Joyce shook her head. “He said he had to stay with her to look after his young children.”
Toni took that to mean he never intended to leave his wife for anyone. He had just been enjoying a self-absorbed lifestyle that included home and hearth—and women on the side.
“Do you think his wife knew about the relationship between you and Jesse?”
Joyce hesitated. “I’m not sure. She never called me or looked me up. We worked in separate buildings, so we never ran into one another.”
“But she left Jesse after he lost his job at Kickapoo. That sounds like she probably knew.”
Joyce’s lower lip trembled, and she raked a hand through her whitened hair. “She probably did. She also knew he would have trouble finding another job.”
Toni couldn’t help thinking that the wife had done exactly what she would have done. It was bad enough to know he had cheated on her again, even after she had nearly left him before and warned him what would happen. The shame, as well as the financial situation, would have been enough to warrant kicking him out—or worse.
“Do you think she could have killed him?”
The idea seemed to jolt Joyce’s lethargy. Her eyes rounded. Then, after a few moments of thought, she shook her head. “I doubt it. If she was going to do it, why wait so long? And why stab him at the park? She could have done it much quicker and easier.”
Good points. “What about the principal at Ozark? This time Jesse broke up the marriage of an old friend.”
“I don’t know the guy.”
This wasn’t getting her anywhere. Joyce was obviously not a deep thinker, and she didn’t seem all that interested in identifying a killer. She was cocooned in her own pain. Toni stood. “I should be going. Thank you for your time.”
As she started for the door, footsteps approached from another room, and a young man sauntered through a doorway. He was good looking in a sulky kind of way. He wore low slung jeans and a black tee shirt with lettering on the front that said ‘And your point is…’ About five-ten, muscular and tanned, he had an angular face and a few light freckles. But it was the spiky dark hair with the bleached tips that sparked a memory. Thinking fast, Toni recognized him as one of the card playing young men she had seen in the student union the day before. Then she remembered hearing that Joyce’s son was a student at OTC. She glanced again at the picture on the wall over the television. It was a younger image of him, with no highlighting in his dark hair.
“Hey, Mom, where are my new swim trunks?” His voice sounded younger than his age, which she guessed to be in the early twenties.
Pausing just inside the room, he plucked a couple of pieces from an M & M bag and popped them into his mouth. His gaze swept over Toni with no sign of recognition.
“They’re in the bottom drawer of your dresser, along with the rest of your swim wear.” Joyce gave him a look of parental exasperation. “If you would ever put things away, you might be able to find them.”
She turned back to Toni. “This is my son, Corey. He’s a student at OTC.” She looked back at Corey. “This is Mrs.…uh…”
“Donovan,” Toni supplied.
Corey popped another M & M in his mouth and stepped toward her. “Nice to meet you,” he said, giving her a cursory handshake and a half smile.
He turned back to his mother. “I’m due at work in thirty minutes and my gas tank’s almost empty. I don’t get paid until tomorrow. Can you help me out?”
Joyce’s mouth tightened a bit, but she went to her purse on the coffee table and dug out her wallet. She took a ten from it and handed it to him. “I expect it back tomorrow night.” Her tone implied she didn’t always get it back.
“Sure,” he said easily, stuffing the bill in his pocket. “Have to go make some tuition now,” he said as he headed for the door. But when he got there he paused, ran back up the hall, and returned with a pair of swim trunks.
“You’re going to work, not swimming,” Joyce objected.
“Pool party afterward,” he called, going out the door.
Joyce sighed as the door closed behind him. “He’s a good boy, but it’s hard to be firm with him.”
“Did he attend Kickapoo while Jesse was coaching there?” Toni asked, knowing he had, but wanting to keep the conversation going.
Joyce nodded. “He was a junior when Jesse took over, a senior when he…left.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t been easy raising a boy alone. Did he play sports?”
“Oh, yes. I always encouraged him because I felt that sports teach kids teamwork and sportsmanship. And Jesse was very good with him.” Her demeanor underwent a quick return to sadness at the mention of Jesse.
Toni changed her mind about furthering the conversation. It was a waste of time.
*
That evening, after helping her mother-in-law clean up from their meal, Toni took a shower. She was just belting her robe over her nightgown when her cell phone began to ring in the bedroom. She started to it and put too much weight on her foot. She gritted her teeth and hobbled on. “Hello.”
“Toni! Do you have the television on?” Kara Yates practically yelled into her ear.
“No, I’ve been in the shower.”
“Quick. Turn it on KY3. Call me back when it’s over.” She disconnected.
There was a small set on top of the chest of drawers in her bedroom. Toni switched it on and perched on the side of the bed, nursing her throbbing toe in her lap.
“Sheila Campbell, wife of murdered coach Jesse Campbell, has confessed to killing her husband,” the broadcaster was announcing.
“Mrs. Campbell stated to police that she stabbed him in an act of rage during an argument. Authorities are still questioning the suspect and declined to provide any more details. An investigation is ongoing.”
When the broadcast moved on to another story, Toni just sat there, stunned. What was going on here? She had detected nothing in Sheila Campbell’s story or demeanor that made her believe the woman had killed her husband. As she mentally went back over that meeting, her gut tightened.
The woman had blown her marriage and lost custody of her kids. Now she was admitting to murder, with no motive beyond an argument. A sense of knowledge crept through Toni, the sure understanding that the woman had not done it. But why confess?
The ringing of her cell phone, which was still in her hand, startled her. She answered in a near whisper.
“Did you hear it? You didn’t call me back.”
Toni shook her head to collect her thoughts. “I heard it. I was thinking. I would have called you.”
“What do you think?”
“That it’s confusing,” she said slowly.
“From everything I’ve heard, she couldn’t have done it,” Kara declared in dismay. “My friend who teaches at Ozark is friends with Sheila. She was totally shocked when Sheila got involved with Jesse, and even worse shocked when she divorced Grant and married Jesse. She says it was totally out of character for the person she knew. What do you think?”
“My impression when I talked to her was that she was grieving and troubled, and kind of naïve,” Toni added carefully. “Maybe I just don’t like this because it’s too easy. But I’m afraid the woman is messed up right now, in a warped mental frame.”
“I agree,” Kara said. “But what can we do?”
“Hope the police don’t accept it at face value just to close a case quickly.”
*
Toni didn’t sleep well that night. The next morning she woke feeling tired and dull witted. Her toe was still sore, but she could walk on it without limping if she was careful. She stood balanced on one foot in front of the closet, unable to decide what to wear. She had such a variety from which to choose—exactly three—the remainder of what she had brought from home to see her through the week. She grabbed the sage green pantsuit that was a longtime favorite.
When she got to school she stopped by a soda machine for a Coke, needing an extra caffeine jolt and something to wash down a couple of pain pills for her headache. She took the pills and guzzled the rest of the soda while getting ready for a lecture on the respiratory system, thankful she didn’t have to do a lab that day.
By the time class was over, Toni’s headache was gone and her bruised toe felt better. But she wasn’t ready to give up her open toe sandals. A regular shoe would cramp it and soon have it throbbing again.
When she went to the door to see the class out at eleven, she was surprised to find Quint leaning against the wall in the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
He pushed upright. “I’m off tonight, so I decided to get up early and
take you to lunch.”
Considering that he often didn’t get to bed until three or four in the morning, and usually slept until noon, Toni figured he had something on his mind.
“As soon as I tidy up, I’m free for the rest of the day.”
*
When they were seated and had their orders placed at the Pasta House, Toni eyed Quint across the table. “Okay, tell me what’s on your mind. Or is this a lecture session?”
He gave her a stern look. “It’s a checkup. I can’t believe you haven’t been sleuthing. I want to know everything you’ve been doing and what you’ve learned.”
Toni wrinkled her face at him. “I’ve mostly been talking to people who knew Jesse Campbell or worked with him. I’ve learned a little, but not much of importance.”
“Then we may as well compare notes,” he said in dry resignation.
“You go first.”
He stared at her a moment before speaking. “I’m worried about the Campbell woman’s confession. It doesn’t feel right to me. What’s your take on it?” He eyed her while sipping from his iced tea.
Toni knew her baby brother had dealt with some pretty gruesome situations in combat duty, but he seemed to have matured through it all. This was the first murder case he had worked on since joining the police force, and she was pleased that he was willing to talk with her about it. He was still her bratty baby brother and always would be, but their relationship was developing into something more mature and satisfying.
Their food arrived before she could comment, so Quint waited until the waitress was gone to continue. Then he glanced around the room, as if assuring himself that their conversation was private. “I listened in on some questioning of Sheila Campbell, and I don’t think her story holds together. You’re bound to have an opinion, so let me hear it.”
Toni paused in the act of shoving a forkful of lasagna into her mouth. She made a hand motion to convey that she wanted to comment, but went ahead and filled her mouth. Shrugging, Quint also began to eat.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Toni said when her mouth was empty. “I feel the same way. Both times I met Mrs. Campbell, she struck me as too passive for the rage indicated in this crime. Her story sounds contrived, and I just can’t envision her fighting with her new husband, stabbing him to death, and then pushing him into the lagoon and leaving.”