by Trish Reeb
His full lips parted. "You crashed my crime scene," his voice rumbled. "Why?"
Alex wiggled in the chair. What had prompted her to do it? Hm-m. She thought back. Had to be Taryn's abandoned car provoking questions she couldn't answer and sparking her curiosity.
Detective Grant cleared his throat. Eyebrows raised, he leaned forward, an arm on his knee. Had he received the same training as counselors to coax people to bare their souls? She doubted it. His method unnerved his subjects. On the other hand, she strove to help students relax. But what if they felt the same way? She'd have to be more mindful of that in the future. If she had a future at Lincoln High.
Inhaling, she puffed her cheeks and blew out slowly. "I spotted Taryn’s car in the parking lot when I arrived."
He cocked his head. "Is that unusual?"
Alex resisted the inclination to tilt her head too. "Covered in snow, yes. Obviously she hadn’t driven it to school."
"And that concerned you."
"Curious." She didn’t mention her itching wrist trying to warn her. "I saw the squad car. And when I passed the kitchen I didn't hear the usual sounds."
"Something was up." His voice encouraged, but his face remained hard.
It kept her off balance. "The tape criss-crossing the entrance to the English wing confirmed it."
He nodded.
The guy's good. He used enough active listening to keep her talking. Funny, how she wanted to go on. Maybe she needed to say aloud what had been inside her head all morning. Still, what about the laundry-tub full of feelings knocking about inside her? She couldn’t pick out one without dragging along a bunch more. When counseling her students, she spent a good part of the time getting at the feelings. But cops didn't care about feelings. And she'd never been good at expressing them.
"A cop stopped me." She waved a hand. "I mean police officer."
Detective Grant raised the scarred eyebrow and a butterfly took flight in her stomach. How had he sustained the scar? A childhood thing? In the line of duty? Either way, it saved him from perfec—
He shifted, taking her out of her head.
"Go on."
Studying his intertwined fingers and manicured nails, she knew her future lay in those cupped hands. Alex decided to gamble that a reasonable heart beat beneath his unyielding exterior even though he’d done nothing to hint at a softer side. Well, except for the manicures. What did she stand to lose? He’d probably had already decided what to do with her.
She picked up where she’d drifted off. "I called Taryn's cell, heard the tone down the hall. I couldn’t let it go. She called us play sisters." Should she explain the recycled expression from Taryn’s teenage years or would he, being African American like Taryn, know it meant a bond that went far beyond friendship?
Her eyes filled, and a tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away.
He said nothing.
She shifted in the chair. "I tried an alternate route. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the young cop grabbed my arm. Ordered me to go back. I broke loose and Refridge . . . uh, the big guy—"
"Halvers."
She nodded. "I had to see for myself." Alex stared at Detective Grant, willing him to understand. "I’m sorry Officer Halvers got in the way of my bookbag."
He raised the scarred eyebrow. "And Benson? He get in the way of your boot?"
She noted the sarcasm. What should she have done? Go on her merry way not knowing? Yes, Detective Grant expected her to join the sheep and wait for the shepherd’s message like everyone else. Alex lowered her eyes.
"You always this impetuous?" He leaned forward again.
She could smell his soap, a hint of sandalwood. Looking up, she asked, "Are you going to arrest me?"
Detective Grant stood, went to the desk. Sounds of drawers opening, rummaged through, and then closed carried across the room. Less than a minute later, he rejoined her, a pen and a sheet of paper on a clipboard in hand. "Write down everything that happened from the time you arrived until we detained you."
Having written her share of anecdotal records, reports, and referrals, she folded up the writer half of her brain and stuck to the facts. It consumed ten minutes. Ten minutes to record an experience proving life could turn on a dime. One minute she had a dear friend, and the next, a killer erased Taryn like yesterday's board work.
A commotion in the hallway.
Detective Grant strode to the door, opened it, and disappeared.
Alex lay down the clipboard and crept to the door, cracking it an inch or two. A uniformed cop restrained Yolanda Morgan, a campus security guard, by the arm. It triggered a flashback to earlier when Benson held her hostage. The fear she'd felt then rushed in, running through her veins like cold water. She closed the door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths until the adrenaline backed down and her heart stopped knocking on her chest.
Alex opened the door again and started through, running headfirst into Detective Grant. The impact sent her barreling backward onto her rear end.
Holding the security guard's arm, the detective maneuvered the woman into the room. He extended his free hand to Alex and hauled her to a stand. "You hurt?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.
Alex rubbed her backside and shook her head.
The woman's eyes darted from Alex to everywhere, her breathing heavy. "I-I can’t stay here," she said. "Got to . . . go."
CHAPTER 4
Cole guided the stocky woman to a chair. "Why don’t you sit here?"
He shifted his gaze to Ms. Tamburelli. She’d shed her coat and now attempted to brush the dust off the back of it. Tiny little thing, scarcely the size of a bug's ear. He felt bad about the collision, but, if she’d stayed put, the fender bender could have been avoided.
Suspecting his new visitor to be the 911 caller, he returned his attention to the woman on the verge of panic. According to Halvers and Benson, security guard Yolanda Morgan discovered Taryn Richards’ body. Perhaps he’d caught a break. In her state of mind, she might blurt something she’d otherwise not. But one wrong word or move on his part and the opportunity could turn to toast.
He eased away, unhooking the radio from his belt, and contacted the officer assigned to Ms. Morgan. He lowered the volume, raised the radio to his mouth.
"Lose something?" he asked quietly.
"Sorry," the officer said. "Went to the john. Thought she fell asleep."
"Relax. I’ve got Morgan."
"You want me—?"
"I’ll handle it." Having confirmed the woman's identity, he broke the connection.
He turned to observe Ms. Tamburelli.
She stared at them, her mouth partially open. When she noticed him looking, she jerked her head away, eyes on the clipboard in her lap.
"You finished?" Cole asked.
She raised sad green eyes and nodded.
"Leave your report on the chair. You’re free to go."
"I’m not under—?"
He shook his head. "Go home and cry."
Alex grabbed her things, accepted his business card, and hightailed it out as if she were afraid he’d change his mind.
Cole sighed, glad to see her go. She reminded him too much of Desi.
He dragged a chair over to Morgan and said softly, "I can see you’re upset. How can I help?"
Beads of perspiration glistened on the security guard's dark forehead. Her eyes flitted around the room.
Sitting next to her, Cole laid a hand on her arm. A light touch, but heavy enough to ground her a little. He hoped.
Her eyes wild, she looked his way but didn't appear to see him.
He patted her arm. "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right."
Panting, she dropped her shoulders.
Cole put the radio to his mouth again. "We need a bottle of water," he said, his eyes on the woman.
She vaulted for the door. "H-have to get . . . out of here. I-I . . . need air."
In the business of crime-fighting, his muscular six-two build w
orked to his advantage, but not alongside someone in her state of mind. He calmly went after the woman and touched her shoulder, keeping his voice low. "Slow down. Take a deep breath." He demonstrated, letting the air out slowly. "Like that."
She glanced at him sideways.
He showed her again.
She blew in and out several times.
"That’s good," Cole said. "Let's sit."
She shook her head. "C-can’t do this."
"Can’t do what?" he asked softly.
A pudgy hand to her mouth, she shook her head. "T-talk." Stretching out her free arm, she brushed the wall as she inched along it. "It’s messed up."
Now we’re getting somewhere. Cole joined her. Keeping his voice above a whisper, he asked, "What’s messed up?"
"Everything."
He gently clasped her arm and led her to a chair.
The door opened. A young female officer delivered the water. "Thanks," Cole said, handing the bottle to Ms. Morgan. She swigged half of it and cradled the container in her lap, dropping her head.
After the officer left, he prompted, "Everything’s messed up?"
Her head jerked. She ran a hand through her short bristly hair. "God, she didn’t deserve this."
"No, she didn’t," he said quietly.
Her eyes met his. "I-I wanted to . . . ."
Cole waited for her to continue. One second extended into many. "You wanted to . . . ?"
Her eyes darted from left to right, right to left. "N-nothing," she said, a tremble in her voice.
Careful now, go slow. He nudged the bottle in her lap. "Drink some more." Morgan gulped the rest of the water. Hand shaking, she passed him the empty container. Sweat glistened on her plump cheeks. He wanted her attention on what she started to say, but maneuvering back there would be risky. "Maybe I can help."
Her black eyes flicked to his and away. "No one can."
"Try me."
Lips coming together, she went rigid. And shut down.
Cole sighed inwardly. Compelled to change his tactic now, he'd become an interrogator, which meant the only information he’d get would be what she wanted to provide. One thing he knew for sure, something had her scared.
CHAPTER 5
Alex left the security office with Detective Grant’s voice in her head at war with her mother’s. Alex, go home and cry. Alex, control your emotions. Sorry, guy, she’d stick with Mom on this one. If she started crying and couldn't stop, she'd end up drowning in her own tears for sure.
At least he chose not to arrest her. Maybe she owed that to Morgan's interruption. Or perhaps he believed her exposition. Whatever the reason, she’d crossed the line and come out on the other side. Bless Detective Cole Grant for not tossing her into the criminal justice system. When she ran into him again, not literally (but one never knew), she’d thank him properly.
She kicked at a dust bunny the size of a golf ball on the forgotten staircase strewn with paper, plastic bottles and candy wrappers. Okay, Pop, I hear you. Her dad, a stickler about litter, never passed a stray piece of paper without picking it up. Once the school removed the refuse containers from the halls to deter roving pyromaniacs, the Good Samaritan in her disappeared. Alex stomped on a soda can using the heel of her boot, the sound of crushing metal echoing up the stairwell. Sorry, Pop, I can’t do it.
She opened the door to the main office and bumped into Assistant Principal Mary Winter.
"Oops, sorry," Alex said, backing into the hall.
"Ms. T, I’ve been worried sick about you." Mary Winter peered at her closely. "You look a little pale. Are you all right?"
"I’m okay." It didn't surprise Alex she knew about her detention. After all, Ellery found out. Nevertheless, she resented being studied like a lab specimen.
"I hope you’re on your way home. You should be resting." She laid a hand on Alex’s shoulder. "I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It's hard on everyone, but you . . . ." Her blue eyes searched Alex's. "If there’s anything I can—"
"I’m fine." Alex stretched out her arms. "Still in one piece."
"Listen, when school reconvenes next week, you see me if it gets to be too much, okay? I don’t want you getting stressed out."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." And she did. Mary Winter's magnetic personality seemed to charm everyone with whom she came in contact.
The assistant principal pulled her close for a hug. "I’m sorry for your loss."
Her upper arms pinned, Alex stood scrunched against an ample bosom. She awkwardly patted Mary Winter’s lower back.
When they parted, Alex asked the question that had been nagging her since she left the security office. "Who found," she swallowed, "her this morning?"
For an instant, Mary Winter looked puzzled. "Oh, you mean Ms. Richards," she said. "Yolanda Morgan."
"That makes sense," Alex mumbled.
The assistant principal cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
Regretting her words, Alex shrugged. "It makes sense a security guard would find her." If Morgan discovered Taryn's body, it explained her strange behavior this morning, but Alex felt no obligation to share this tidbit with Mary Winter. It wasn't her or anyone else's business. She'd let Detective Grant use his discretion when it came to passing along the information.
Mary Winter nodded. "The best thing now is to go home and cry."
Not you, too. Alex nodded even though she had no intention of heeding her advice.
The assistant principal spun and swept down the hall, her coat almost brushing the floor making it appear as if she were floating. In her late fifties, Mary Winter's cloud of white hair encircling her apple blossom face complemented her matronly clothes. Though she dressed like someone’s grandmother, she'd never spoken of her private life. Alex had no clue to her marital status or if she'd produced children or grandchildren. Did the woman, dedicated to students and staff, live a satisfying life outside of Lincoln High, or was the school her life?
Alex yanked open the door to the main office, heading down the brief hallway to the trio of doors leading to the assistant principals’ offices. Ellery’s door stood open. Elbow deep in papers, books, and files stacked on his desk, he rose.
He skirted around the furniture, his arms open. Without warning, he stumbled. "Damn carpet," he mumbled, recovering his balance.
Alex flew into his waiting arms.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked.
"I am now."
Ellery rocked her gently. An urgency to his embrace she’d never experienced before, it seemed as if he needed the hug as much as she did. No words necessary, they swayed back and forth wrapped in their affection. Alex couldn't recall a time when he'd not been part of her life. Their relationship began when she'd been little more than a twinkle in pop’s eyes.
The Humbargers lost their youngest child, Sara, to congenital heart failure the same year the Tamburellis moved in next door. Ellery, driven by his intellect, had no idea how to handle his grief-stricken emotions. He discovered the first time he cuddled Alex in his arms that she helped dull the pain. As she grew, the two became inseparable.
"How’d you get past the Gestapo at the door?" she murmured into Ellery’s sweater.
His chest vibrated when he chuckled. "Identified myself as your father."
Close to the truth, she squeezed him tighter. The phone rang at the same time they drew apart. Alex threw Ellery a kiss.
"You know how to reach me," he said, grabbing the receiver, a slight tremor in his hand.
A few minutes later Alex exited the building, walking out under pewter skies. A gusty wind tugged at her long coat. Busy fastening the top button to stave off the frigid air, she failed to notice the two reporters waiting in ambush.
"Miss, did you know Taryn Richards?" a blond woman shouted, brushing the hair out of her face.
"What can you tell us about the victim?" the heavy-jowled man bellowed, waddling over to her.
Alex halted. Glaring at the woman, she sent all the pent up emotions she
’d been suppressing.
The woman backed away.
When Alex whirled to face the man, he lifted his hands in surrender. She swept past them. The reprieve short-lived, they badgered her again.
"Did she have any enemies?"
"Who do you think murdered her?"
"How well did you know her?"
"How do you feel about what’s happened?"
Alex spun around throwing out her arms. "All I want is a room somewhere . . . ."
In a cockney accent, she sang loudly Wouldn’t It Be Loverly from My Fair Lady.
The reporters looked at each other, shrugged, and shambled away.
Still singing, Alex flounced her way to the SUV.
CHAPTER 6
Legs stretched out and arms folded, Cole sat alone in the security office contemplating. First major case since . . . .
Rising, he went to the chair where Ms. Tamburelli left the clipboard and read through the pages. He rubbed a hand across the top of his close-cropped hair. No one could fault him for either Alex's behavior at the crime scene or his failure to coax Ms. Morgan into talking. Still, the damn question circled in his head like a buzzard. Would the case provide the diversion he craved, or would his loss be a distraction? Suck it up! Sterling Haygood, former mentor and current friend, admonished in his head.
Something shiny beneath a chair caught his eye. Picking up Morgan’s badge, he tossed it up and down. Though his ministrations had failed, he knew more than if the incident hadn't occurred. A security guard at Lincoln High for over five years, Morgan’s reaction didn’t fit. Upset maybe, but panicked and scared after coming across a dead body? Doubtful. Something more happened here. In addition, Morgan’s story of discovery seemed contrived. But, until he could poke holes in it, her version would go on record.
Cole left the room and headed back to the crime scene. Approaching the English wing, he didn't know whether to smile or frown at the image of Ms. Tamburelli outmaneuvering the cops. He might have been impressed, especially because of her size, if he didn't think like a cop. Arriving in time to see her disable Halvers and Benson, he couldn’t blame the pair for not seeing it coming.