I headed up the back steps that were painted a brick red to match the brick trim around the house. A screened in porch ran the length of the back of the house. Just as Emily had said, the door into the screened porch was unlocked. An outdated washing machine, a utility sink and a shelf with several varieties of bird seed filled the space. Alder had only been dead a few days, so the fragrance of fabric detergent and bleach was still fresh, as if he would be coming home any minute to fold his freshly washed clothes. Next to the washing machine was a line of work boots and rain boots, all worn and tattered from use.
The back door to the house was locked, and to my dismay, the only view into the house was through two narrow windows that were both covered with drapes. It seemed my trip to Alder’s house was a failure.
I walked back down the brick red steps. Emily had also mentioned the small shed at the back of the yard where she was sure Alder spent his time building the charming birdhouses. With any luck, the door would be open, but I had an important task to perform first. Word of my trespass into the yard had somehow reached the other feathered inhabitants of the neighborhood. They were all waiting patiently for treats.
I walked back to the shelf and grabbed two cans of bird seed. My new friends fluttered up to higher branches, telephone lines and fence posts to wait for me to fill the feeders. Each container of seed had a small plastic scoop. I walked to all the houses I could reach and filled the handy trough-shaped porches. The second I ducked out from under the tree to return the seed to the shelf, a swarm of birds came down, covering the houses and splattering the ground with fallen seed.
I placed the seeds back on the shelf and headed across the yard to the shed. The doorknob had no lock and key set, so I pushed right in. There were only thin windows up high in the wall, and any sunlight was blocked by the trees. I flicked on the light and pulled in a stunned breath as I stepped back. It seemed that Alder had fulfilled his promise to his wife after all.
Sitting in the center of a long wooden table was an ornate and highly detailed miniature castle, constructed completely from cardboard. There were two tall turrets and a drawbridge held up by two thin metal chains. The arched windows were covered from the inside with colorful cellophane, making them look like stained glass. One side of the castle was covered with rectangles of cardboard painted a stone gray but the rest was still bare. I could see labels and brand names on some of the walls, including several with the Bounty Foods logo. It was easy to deduce that Alder had gotten most of the boxes from the school trash bins. I wondered how long the project had taken him. Now it would never be finished.
I pulled out my phone and took pictures from every angle. It was truly a sight to see. Alder had been a very skilled artist. I finished taking pictures. I reached for the light switch and glanced back once more at the masterpiece. Most people knew him as the head custodian at the high school, but it seemed there were many layers to Alder Stevens. The castle only confused the picture I had of him more.
I headed out of the backyard. It was still just me and the shepherd, only the dog had grown bored of me already. He was curled up in front of his gate for a nap. I had no choice, I would need to go back to the one place where people knew him the most. I needed to go back to the high school.
Chapter 30
It seemed timing was on my side once again at the school. I decided I would be pushing my luck by trying to sneak in the back again and then, of course, there was the matter of a visitor’s pass. I’d rehearsed my speech several times before opening the door and walking into the office. The counter was crowded with kids needing tardy passes. Apparently several carloads of seniors had gone to lunch but they got stuck on the wrong side of the tracks, literally. From the snippets of rushed, harried excuses being tossed toward a frazzled looking Mrs. Rodriguez, it seemed an extremely long freight train crawled at a snail’s pace along the tracks crisscrossing Bear Road, leaving the students stuck on the wrong side and making them all late for fourth period. Mrs. Rodriguez was busy writing and signing tardy slips, leaving the visitor’s log and pass job to a student helper.
The student, a boy with heavy top and bottom braces waved me over. I skirted around the frantic late from lunch kids and walked up to the counter. “Can I help you?” His words were garbled by the braces.
“Yes, I need a visitor’s pass.”
“K, just a second.” As he reached under the counter for the pass, I took a quick peek down counter. Mrs. Rodriguez was still dealing with the chaos left behind by the freight train. The boy moved in slow motion, and I found myself tapping a drum beat on the counter waiting for him to peel off the pass and hand it to me. Today’s color was bright green.
He moved just as painfully slow to retrieve the visitor’s log from the end of the counter. Suddenly I knew how the lunch students felt watching the train crawl past. He turned the book around to face me and handed me a pen. The columns were labeled, but he went through the routine of telling me what to write in each one. “Your name, the date, the time entered goes here. This column you leave blank for when you check out. And reason for visit here.”
“Thanks.” I quickly filled out the columns. I wrote ânewspaper article about the summer work programâ in the reason column. The student’s attention was diverted when he saw that two of his friends had walked in to report a clogged toilet in the restroom. I used the opportunity to fill in my time of departure, so I could avoid walking back into the office. I probably wouldn’t get so lucky with my timing on the way out.
I pressed my pass onto my blouse and headed out to the campus. The halls and quad were mostly empty and fourth period had begun. I headed straight back to the girlsâ gym and the maintenance room where I’d found the yearbooks. My reporter’s intuition told me they were somehow connected to Alder’s death. The flyers announcing the delay of the yearbook distribution were still taped all over campus.
I walked relatively unnoticed across the pavement to the small maintenance room. As I neared the corner, I heard two voices coming from the path behind the building. I stopped short and ducked behind the large, thick shrubs that provided an extra curtain of privacy for the entrance to the girls’ locker room. Two boys, one with a thick pile of red hair and the other with a dark blue beanie shoved down over greasy brown hair, walked around the corner.
“I told you there wouldn’t be any girls in the locker room right now. And don’t tell Greer I showed you the peep hole or he’ll pound me. You never even saw that room,” he continued his orders as they walked across the asphalt. Room was the last word I heard before they got too far away for me to hear their conversation.
I stepped out from my hiding spot and scooted around the corner of the building. Someone had stuck a doorstop between the door and the jamb. I peeked through the opening but saw it was empty. I pushed open the heavy metal door and slipped inside. Everything looked the same, untouched and in the same place. It seemed it was a room that was rarely used by maintenance, which might just have been due to its location at the far end of the school. One thing that was decidedly different was that there was only one box left on the shelf. I pulled it out and glanced inside. The masking tape was broken, and the box was empty.
No light poked through the hole in the wall, signaling that the lights were off in the locker room. I followed the loud voices and laughter around to the back of the gym. The students and teacher were out on the field playing soccer.
If the period had just started, I had a few minutes to check inside the locker room. The last entry on Alder’s maintenance list was a burst pipe in the girlsâ shower room reported by a student. A burst pipe seemed like a definite emergency. It also seemed that I might find some sign of new plumbing fixtures or tile if a pipe had been recently replaced.
I skirted back around the tall, thick privacy hedge to the locker room. I opened the door and looked around. It seemed the coast was clear. All the students were out playing soccer. The icky, mildew smells of sweaty clothes stuffed in lockers and steam from
showers clouded the air and took me temporarily back to my own time in high school. I loved playing sports and physical education was my favorite class, but I always dreaded walking into the stinky locker room, especially on hot days.
I made a quick sweep of the shower area and restroom. Everything looked in order. Too much in order for a recently burst pipe. I saw no signs of new tile or new fixtures or even patch work on the plaster walls of the restroom. There would certainly be some sign of work after a burst pipe.
“What are you doing in here?” an angry voice barked from behind.
I spun around. The girlsâ gym teacher was wearing a gray visor, but her cheeks were still burned from standing out on the field. Her employee name tag read Coach Irwin. She was holding a clipboard and a stopwatch … and her phone. “I’m calling the office.”
“Wait.” I quickly pointed to the press pass I’d clipped to the pocket of my pants. “I’m a reporter with the Junction Times. I have a visitor’s pass.”
“That still doesn’t explain why I found you stepping out of the restroom.”
I relaxed my defensive posture. The teacher had just given me the perfect excuse, and I knew how to sweet talk a coach. I glanced back into the restroom area and laughed lightly. “Yes, I hope you don’t mind. I had far too much coffee this morning, and I couldn’t find a restroom. But as a high school softball player, I spent a lot of time in the girls’ locker room. I knew there would be a bathroom inside. I saw the kids were out at play and figured I could slip in and out without getting in the way of class.”
Her rigid mouth softened. “I understand but next time, use the restroom in the faculty lounge. These are just for the kids.”
“Right, absolutely.”
“What position did you play?” she asked with a smile. I knew softball would be the magic phrase.
“Pitcher and occasionally short stop. Well, I’ll get out of your way. I’m writing a story for the Junction Times about Alder Stevens.”
The mention of Alder certainly caught her attention. “Oh? About his murder?” She shook her head. “I hope they get to the bottom of it soon. You know how rich and fast the rumor mill is around a high school. And not just the students. It’s the only topic in the staff lounge these days. Such a horrible thing.”
“Ironically, I was assigned to write a story about his life and career not his murder. When I was handed the assignment, Alder was still very much alive. I went to his office and glanced around.”
Her eyes rounded. “You glanced around his empty office?”
I motioned toward the press pass. “I’m a journalist. Sometimes you have to do a little snooping.” I quickly tried to figure out how I could stick softball or sports into the conversation, but nothing came to me. “I was just hoping to see some pictures or items that would give me a little insight into the man’s personality.”
She seemed to be accepting my explanation, but her relaxed grin had tightened up to a firm line again.
“I noticed that the last maintenance request on Alder’s list was a burst pipe in the girls’ locker room. After forty years of cleaning and maintaining the campus, I thought it would be nice to mention what his last task was.”
Her brows pinched together, lifting the brim of the visor up. “Burst pipe? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was written on his maintenance list. I believe it said a student reported it.”
“I need to get back out to the girls.” She motioned with her head for me to follow. “There must have been some kind of mix up on the maintenance list.”
“Maybe one of the other teachers told a student to call it into the office.” I stooped down to sweep a pretend irritant from inside my shoe, hoping to get in a few extra questions before she ushered me out of the locker room.
“I assure you, if a pipe had burst in the locker room, I would know about it. I’m lead teacher. But it might explain what happened on Alder’s last day of work, the day before his sudden retirement was announced. The administration and district office have been very secretive about it, but I’ve always felt that the incident had a lot do with his sudden departure.”
“There was an incident? I confess, I’ve spoken to a few of the students just to get some interesting stories about Mr. Stevens. Some of the students have very fond memories of him.”
“Yes, I know he was quite generous and helpful to the student body. Which made that day far more shocking. I just never would have expected Alderââshe cleared her throat. âMr. Stevens to have burst into the girls’ locker room unannounced. For obvious reasons, he always waited for the area to be cleared of all students before coming in to do maintenance.”
“He walked into a locker room full of students?” I asked.
“Yes. I didn’t witness the incident, but there was a student teacher inside my office writing up a nurse’s pass for a sick student. Mr. Stevens pushed into the locker room with his toolbox. The girls shrieked. Many of them were half dressed. The student teacher said Mr. Stevens hurried right back out, his face as white as a sheet. By the time I reached the staff lounge after final period, Principal Morely had posted the surprise announcement about Mr. Stevens’ retirement.”
“If he’d received a phone call from the locker room that the pipe had burst, it seems plausible that he dropped everything and rushed right over. What would the protocol be in a situation like that, a burst pipe in the locker room?”
“Well, we’d ask the girls to dress and exit immediately. Something like that, a broken water main, a gas leak, the smell of smoke would require immediate evacuation.”
“So Mr. Stevens arrived with his toolbox expecting the room to be vacant?”
Coach Irwin’s mouth twisted in concern as she put together the pieces of our conversation. “How terrible to think that a student prank might have led the district to force Mr. Stevens out. And then some horrible person shot him.” She covered her mouth and her voice broke.
“I’m sure the staff must be very despondent about his loss.” My sentiment was two pronged. One prong was genuine sympathy because she looked truly upset. The second was to set up a chance for her to mention any staff that didn’t care for Alder. It was always a possibility that someone right here at the high school had a reason to kill Alder. It had always seemed to me that the custodial staff at the schools I attended knew everything that was going on at the school. They had the keys to every room. They were around before and after hours. It was possible Alder knew something, like an affair between principal and teacher, or something else that could damage a career or someone’s reputation.
“Yes, everyone is quite despondent. His funeral has been set for next Monday. We are closing the school at noon so we can attend. With his wife gone, Alder didn’t have much family.”
We reached the door. “It’s nice the district is allowing everyone to attend.” We walked outside and I drew in a breath of fresh air. A naughty breeze had playfully pushed many of the yearbook delay flyers off their posts. They circled the black top like big leaves.
“I wish they’d take those flyers down,” Coach Irwin lamented. “I think everyone’s got the message about the delay already.” I helped her collect the fallen flyers and saw it as another opportunity.
“Why were they delayed? Was there an editing problem?”
“It’s not something I’m involved in.” She crumpled a few of the flyers in her fist. “But I’ve heard that the printer only sent half the books. Of course you can’t hand out books to some kids and make the others wait. Instead, they just delayed the whole thing. Far as I know, the problem hasn’t been solved yet. School’s out in two weeks. The kids might have to come back in summer to pick their books up.”
I had my own crumpled bunch of flyers. Coach Irwin glanced around. “Looks like we got them all.” She held out her hand to take mine.
“Thank you,” I said. “And thanks for taking time out of your schedule to talk to me.” I looked back toward the building we’d just left.
“By the way, earlier when I was looking for an open restroom, I got lost and ended up on that narrow path leading down the side of the locker room. A door was jammed open with a doorstop and being a nosy reporter (I decided a little self-deprecation couldn’t hurt) I peeked inside. There were just a few boxes and old paint cans. Nothing terribly exciting.”
“Yes, I think that room is too far away from the central area of the campus. You know we physical education teachers always get stuck at the most remote corner of the school. I’m surprised it was open and with a doorstop, no less. I haven’t seen anyone from maintenance use that room in months, not since the district painters painted the yellow emergency exit line on the asphalt.”
“You might want to check it out. When I walked inside of it, I noticed a thin stream of light coming through the wall where it backs up to the locker room. Might be a peep hole.”
Her face blanched and stiffened like marble. “My gosh, how is that possible? I’ll look but I’m sure you must be wrong.”
“Yes, I might be at that. But I thought you should know.”
“I’ll check it out. Well, I need to get out to the field.”
“Have a good day.”
Chapter 31
As I headed out, I heard giggling behind the cinder block wall separating the quad from the bleachers on the football field. Picking up the flyers gave me an idea. I peeled off the visitor’s pass and tossed it. The breeze carried it around the back of the cinder block wall and I raced after to catch it. Three students were standing under the bleachers. I recognized Carter Greer immediately. It seemed his lofty status as class president gave him a great deal of freedom to wander campus even when class was in session. A girl and boy were standing with him. It might have just been my imagination, but I was sure I witnessed a money transaction. My visitor’s sticker landed against the side of a lamppost close enough to the bleachers for me to get a glimpse of the boy, who had handed Greer money, sticking a new yearbook into his backpack.
Death in the Park (Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 15