by Liz Jasper
“Even so, you would have gotten there first had, er—” he glanced down at his notebook, “Alan not happened to have been on his way there, purely by chance. And if you had been the one to find the body, how could the police have been sure that Bob was really dead when you got there? That he hadn’t merely slipped, knocking the glassware as he fell? That you had discovered him unconscious and bleeding, and had taken advantage of his weakened state to get your first kill.”
My mouth hung open for a moment in pure outrage and I shut it with a snap. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard! Not to mention insulting. I don’t even know why you’re spending time devising such a crazy scenario when it’s so obvious Natasha did it.”
“No, she didn’t—I told you, the teeth marks were faked.”
I dismissed his theory with a curt wave of my hand. “Don’t you see? It must have been her. No one else could have done it. Every teacher in my department had an alibi, and the only parents in our wing of the building were in conferences.”
“All the logical suspects have an alibi so of course it must have been a vampire.” He rolled his eyes. “A vampire who killed Bob the traditional way. It’s brilliant, really. No one would suspect her. But does she leave behind a perfect murder? No, she makes fake bite marks on his neck to draw attention to herself and all others of her kind, despite their collective efforts to remain hidden. Have I got that right?”
I glared at him.
“Let me ask you, how did she get by everyone without being seen?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she turned into a bat.”
“I see. And why, may I ask, did she go to all this trouble?”
I shifted uncomfortably against the counter. “I don’t know. She hates me for some reason.”
“I thought you’d never met her before tonight.”
“I haven’t!” I shivered. “You should have seen the way she looked at me.”
“Well then. If she looked at you…”
I went back to glaring at him in silence.
Gavin could mock me all he wanted about my sensitivity to atmosphere, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t right. He’d never met her. I had. And faking the teeth marks clearly wasn’t as stupid as Gavin had suggested—hadn’t he summarily ruled out vampire involvement because of it? She was plenty devious to have planned it that way.
No, I was not so ready to rule Natasha out, even if I couldn’t explain how she’d gotten up to my room and back down again unseen. If Gavin wasn’t letting that technicality hinder his theories, I didn’t see why I had to let it interfere with mine.
Of course, if I could allow that Natasha could get around undetected, I really should put Will back in the suspect pool. But he was another story. He could’ve had his way with me in the parking lot tonight (take that any way you wish and you’re probably right, drat it). There was really no reason for him to have thought up such a convoluted way of getting at me. Besides, as much as I hated to admit it and as screwy as it may seem, I believed he had more integrity than that.
Gavin interrupted my thoughts. “If we can put aside Natasha for the moment… Can you tell me anyone else who may have had a problem with Bob? I don’t mean murderous intent, necessarily. It’s quite possible his death was unplanned, an argument that got out of control-“
“An argument with silent yelling?”
His eyes narrowed. “Not silent, but surely you can believe they would have made an effort to keep their voices down.”
He had a point. I gave it some thought but didn’t come up with much. “As far as I know, Bob was pretty universally liked. The only person I know of who has—” I gulped, “had—an issue with Bob is one of the middle school parents, Mrs. Farryll. She was upset that Bob wouldn’t let her son play on the high school soccer team. But I have a hard time imagining her killing him over it, especially since Bob was just following school rules and the season’s almost over. Besides, she was booked solid in conferences on the other side of campus. I saw her schedule.”
Gavin didn’t seem very interested in Mrs. Farryll. “What about the other teachers?”
“What does it matter? They all have alibis.”
“All the same, any issues there?”
I shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I’m still pretty new there—I’m usually too busy trying to keep my head above water to keep track of all the gossip. I do know that Roger, our department head, would have been happy if Bob had decided to leave so he could teach biology, but that is not the sort of thing people get killed over or we wouldn’t have a teacher left standing. Anyway, Roger never would have talked to Bob about it or even argued with Bob about it. Roger’s more of the ‘stab you in the back’ type.”
“What about Alan?”
“Because he found the body? I haven’t heard anything, and besides, I can’t believe he had anything to do with it. The man looked like a ghost and I don’t know that you can fake shock like that.”
Thinking about Alan brought back images of Bob’s body. I saw myself bend down to check for a pulse, finding his torn and bloody neck instead. “You didn’t tell Maxine or the headmaster or anyone about me—”
“No, you needn’t worry about that. No one at Bayshore even knows about the teeth marks, except the person who made them and you. We don’t plan to broadcast the alleged vampire angle. Only a couple people at the station are aware of that situation anyway, and they won’t say anything—most of my colleagues think I’m with Internal Affairs. As for the paramedics, they think it was nothing more than a mildly humorous coincidence, a view we’ve taken pains to encourage. With all the weird stuff they see, it probably won’t even rate a casual mention.”
“What now?” I said, suppressing a yawn. “I suppose you want me to see if I can dig up a little more gossip on Bob?”
“No. You do nothing. You let the police handle this.” Gavin stood, collected the mugs and brought them to the sink.
I felt like he had slapped me. “It’s a little late to begin patronizing me now.”
He put the mugs down with a clatter and turned to loom over me. “What do you want to do, play amateur sleuth at school tomorrow? Your friend is dead, Jo. Someone at Bayshore—one of the teachers, parents, or students—murdered him. Do you get that?”
I got to my feet and closed the distance between us. “Yes! But I also get that they killed him in my room and they tried to implicate me.”
“Exactly. Someone capable of murder has you on their radar for some reason, and we don’t know who it is, or why they did it, or what they’ll do next.” He clenched his fists and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m trying to protect you and you want to go flush murderers out of the bushes.”
I poked him in the chest. “Well in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just this side of being dead as it is. Frankly I’d rather be pushed over the edge trying to clear my name and avenge Bob’s death than hang around wringing my hands on the sidelines and waiting for Will to come finish me off.”
Gavin’s eyes were dark with barely suppressed anger. “No one’s going to kill you as long as you take some basic safety precautions. Stick to public places, even at work, don’t go out by yourself at night, and don’t play chicken with a killer.”
“You want me to sit there and do nothing when my job, my reputation, even my life is at stake?”
“Yes, dammit!”
We stood a few inches apart, glaring at each other. Gavin’s jaw was clenched so tightly the tips of his nostrils turned white.
Gavin broke first. He turned and headed for the front door. “It’s late,” he said, pulling it open and stepping through. “Try to get some sleep.”
The soft click of the door closing behind him was somehow louder than if he had slammed it.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
I was not quite sure how to begin my sleuthing. You don’t just sidle up to someone who’s mourning a murdered colleague and ask if they might possibly have had a reason to have killed him. I had to be subtle and tact
ical, and by that I mean I had to ditch my very sound, very sane silent pledge to stay out of the grapevine. My days of pleasantly burying my head in the sand were over. I would have to keep my eyes and ears open, I would have to start watching the soap opera that is The Bayshore Academy.
In hindsight, I know that was a stupid plan. It can’t be done. You either gossip or you don’t. There are no half measures—if you don’t gossip back, offer up tidbits of your own, no one will tell you anything (anything good, that is), and if you don’t make an effort to listen to what people are saying, you won’t be able to correct rumors about yourself.
An even bigger misjudgment on my part was the idea that I would sort of sneak my way into the gossip pool, wade in gently, if you will. I hadn’t realized that the fact that Bob had died in my classroom had put me smack in the middle of things. The headmaster’s little tete-a-tete the night before took on new meaning as I realized he had been warning me not so much against the murderer who had killed Bob but the dangerous swell of public opinion.
From the moment I got on campus the next morning, I noticed people were treating me differently. The all-school assembly was brief and more We Will Soldier On than informative about Bob’s sudden demise. People filed out quietly, instinctively bunching into small groups and talking in subdued tones or not at all. I was alone in the crowd. I went with the tide as far as the administration building and broke off to collect my mail. Conversation abruptly ceased when I stepped into the faculty lounge. Some teachers who hitherto hadn’t wasted more than a polite smile on me in the four months I’d been teaching there stopped to ask me how I was.
Just as I was naively answering that deceptively simple question, Carol came in, took one look at all the ears swiveled in my direction and got me out of there.
“God, you’re a babe in the woods, aren’t you?” she said under her breath as she pulled me along to the science building. As we mounted the stairs to the second floor at a brisk pace, she warned quietly, “Tell your students you’ll be teaching in Bob’s room today, but that they can’t come in yet because you have to do some prep work.”
I stopped by the group of students huddled a small distance from my classroom door and did as instructed. Under the watchful eye of a uniformed police officer charged with guarding my classroom door against the possible entrance of an intrepid student with a filched master key carefully passed down and hoarded for just such an occasion, the kids shuffled quietly down the hall to regroup in front of Bob’s classroom. As I automatically began to search for a key I didn’t have, Carol pulled out her own master key from a pocket of her lab coat and let me in. She shut the door behind us.
“Roger has a key to Bob’s room for you. He should have been here with it by now, but as long as you have one before you have to close up for lunch, I guess it’s okay.” Both her tone and her frown indicated her personal views on that matter, but she had more pressing concerns than Roger’s sloppy handling of the keys. She turned worried brown eyes to me and pushed her glasses up to a more secure position on her nose.
“How are you doing? No, don’t answer that. No time.” She gave my arm a sympathetic pat in case the answer had been something less than “fine” and continued talking. “Jo, I understand the headmaster talked with you last night, but I’m not sure you appreciate how difficult this may be for you.”
I didn’t. “Geez, Carol. You’re acting as if I’m the one who got hurt last night. Aside from being sad and a little tired, I’m fine. It’s going to be a little weird teaching in here, and I’m sure my students are going to react in new and horrible ways, but I’m used to my students acting out.”
She shook her head and regarded me earnestly. “You don’t get it, Jo. Bob died in your classroom. It doesn’t matter that you weren’t there, or that you couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it. A lot of people are going to think you did, and those who don’t think it are going to wonder it.”
“But—that’s absurd!”
“Of course it is. Nonetheless, you have to be prepared for a lot of uncomfortable questions. People who barely know you are going to ask you seemingly innocent questions, and read all sorts of things into your answers. I can see you don’t really believe me, but please, be careful what you say—oh, darn it, that’s the bell. I’ve got to go. Just try not to talk to anyone, as much as possible.” With that last bit of advice, she gave my arm a squeeze. “Hang in there, kiddo.”
She left, moving adeptly from years of practice against the chaotic tide of students pushing into the classroom.
I directed them to take a seat and pull out their homework. “Ms. Gartner?” One of my students raised her hand and kept on talking, as if the gesture alone gave her the floor. “Is it true Mr. Bob died in your classroom last night and the policeman’s there to guard his dead body?”
A chorus of eews and a couple dramatic squeaks and shudders met the idea that there was a dead body next-door in their science classroom. A couple of boys immediately took advantage of a popular girl’s distress by making creepy crawly fingers on her back, causing her squeaks to escalate into shrieks, and her posse immediately joined in the chorus. Into this melee, Roger arrived, looking down his nose at me in the best way a man two inches shorter can, and held out a set of keys.
My day went downhill from there.
By lunchtime, I felt like a wrung out dishrag and I was seriously debating whether or not I should leave Bayshore. Not for the rest of the day, permanently. Carol had been right, as always, and while her warning had probably saved me a great deal of unnecessary angst, there was plenty more to take its place.
I collected some food on a tray and headed for my usual table, but stopped before I’d gotten halfway. Not only was my usual seat taken, extra chairs had been pulled up to accommodate all the extra bodies eager to hear the latest straight from the mouths of the science teachers they had trapped there. I stood uncertainly, not sure where I should go, until I spied Roger and Alan sitting alone at a table in the corner.
“Mind if I join you?” I sat down before they had a chance to tell me to go away.
Alan, who looked as haggard as I felt, told me to suit myself. Roger was too busy bragging about how well his parent conferences had gone to pay me any attention. With a sigh I was too weary to let out, I kept my head down and ate my hotdog in silence. Eventually, Roger finished the story about how wonderful he was and packed up his dishes and left. Alan and I exchanged glances.
“Too bad he didn’t get it instead of Bob,” Alan said.
Twenty-four hours ago, Alan never would have said something like that to me. But the fact that he had found Bob dead, and that Bob had died in my classroom had forged some sort of bond between us. We were fellow pariahs. The fact that I understood his pain probably meant that I should have felt sorry for him, but I didn’t. I was glad—no, thrilled—to have someone in the pit with me.
I leaned across the table. “I know. I’d settle for seeing the police throw him in jail, but I’m not sure they’d buy my theory that Roger irritated Bob to death.”
Alan’s wry half smile turned into a wide grin. “I would. I’m sure people have killed for less. I’ve got a better theory than that though.” He lowered his voice and leaned in a little further. “Bob was going to give him a bad teaching review.” He opened his eyes wide, as if he’d told me the world’s dirtiest little secret, which in a way he had. Teaching was Roger’s life, Bayshore, his world. The idea that Roger would have a black mark on his record was almost heretical.
“You’re kidding me,” I said, delighted.
“Nope. I’m the alternate on the faculty review committee so I have his notes.”
“Real-ly.”
Alan just grinned. It was the first time I’d seen him so animated. “Yup. And I don’t think my review’s going to help the average.” He put down his hotdog in disgust. “The man teaches from ten-year-old overheads he keeps filed in a drawer.”
“I know. He’s supposed to be my mentor.”
A look of horror crossed Alan’s face.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “He’s too busy to do more than stop by occasionally and point out what I’m doing wrong, and even then I run it by Carol before I change what I’m doing.”
“Good girl. We’ll make a teacher of you yet.”
We finished lunch and as I walked slowly back to the science building, I thought over what Alan had told me, and began to wonder if Roger could have killed Bob.
Roger had been in the downstairs men’s restroom when Bob died. I wondered how quickly he had come out after hearing the commotion upstairs, and whether there was another way in. Determined to satisfy my curiosity, I took a detour around the side of the science building and pretended to tie my shoe as I scanned the part of the building that housed the restrooms. There were, as I had suspected, a line of windows high along the outer wall of the men’s room, but they were small and dusty, more for light than ventilation.
Unreasonably disappointed, I made my way back up to Bob’s classroom and braced myself for my afternoon classes.
The memorial service Friday afternoon had to be held in the auditorium, the school’s pretty Chapel too small to hold all the students, teachers and parents who’d come to pay their respects. It was long and weepy and rather awful. Every time someone got up and shared a bittersweet anecdote, I clenched my hands as a terrible anger flowed through me. Someone, maybe even one of the people who eulogized him so generously, had killed this beloved teacher and coach.
After the service I let myself be herded with everyone else to the reception in the cafeteria but avoided the trays of hard little cookies and punch bowls of overly concentrated pink lemonade that were Bayshore’s signature “occasion” fare. I knew better than to partake of the refreshments, particularly the lemonade that no amount of ice hogging could make palatable. Besides, the science department was going out for a memorial dinner as soon as we could decently get away.