Dance of Deception

by Trish Reeb

  Alex gasped, her heart swelling, eyes watering. In front of the door students had piled three feet high Teddy bears of all sizes and color, cloth apples, ceramic apples, wooden apples, and personal messages on cards and posters. Everything, but the scene before her, faded into the background. She drew closer, hands clasped in front of her as if she'd come to accept communion, and dropped to her knees.

  The image of Taryn lying on the floor in a pool of—. No, she refused to think of her that way. She squeezed her eyes shut. I’d rather remember all the fun times we had. Like the time Taryn visited her at the cottage on Lake Michigan. Climbing into that silly alligator raft, she rested her head on one end with her eyes closed, feet propped on the opposite side, her arms dangling in the water. Wading a few feet away, Alex waved to two guys in a passing speed boat. They swerved in her direction, coming close enough for their wake to capsize the alligator. Alex veered around. No sign of her friend, just the overturned raft. Seconds later, it rose from the water as if by magic. Then Taryn appeared beneath it, her Geri curls dripping. The college boys in the boat approached, cutting the engine. One of them reached to help Taryn into the boat. To his surprise, but not Alex's, he landed headfirst in the water instead.

  A stab of loneliness jarred her back to the present. What would she do without her best friend? Who would, or even could, fill the void she'd left behind?

  A barely-felt tap brushed her shoulder. "Are you all right, Ms. T?" a voice asked.

  Alex whipped her head around, flinging tears she hadn’t realized she'd shed. She stared at the concerned face of a student. Nodding, she used a fist to wipe her wet face. "I’m okay. Thanks."

  The girl gently squeezed Alex’s shoulder, her foot disturbing the pile before she continued on. A large yellow teddy bear toppled into Alex’s lap. Scooping it up, she buried her face in its teal-ribboned neck, remembering Taryn’s smile, the impish look in her eyes. She held the bear at arms’ length. I'll find out who did this to you, she silently vowed. She brought the bear close and kissed the furry head between its ears and gently returned it to its place on the pile.

  When she rose and turned about, she did a double take. Detective Grant stood a few paces away. "I’m sorry, I forgot . . . ."

  He scooted around her and retrieved the bear. "Take it. No one will care," he said, handing it to her.

  Only the person who left it for Taryn. "Thanks, but I can’t," she said, putting it back.

  Detective Grant gazed at her briefly. "I’ll walk you to your office, then back to work."

  They started retracing their steps.

  Alex stopped. "Did you know we’d end up here? At Taryn’s room?"

  Having journeyed on without her, he halted, turned, and waited for her to catch up. "Sort of. Didn't know how you'd react. Whether you were ready."

  "Thank you. I’m glad."

  They proceeded down the corridor in silence.

  "There’s something I think you should know," Alex said as they exited the English wing.

  "Is it related to the case?"

  "I don’t know. It might be." She rubbed her palm vertically on her thigh. It still tingled even though she'd washed with ten helpings of soap and water.

  Two students lingered a few feet away. "Let’s walk," he said, taking Alex's elbow. A dozen paces later, they halted. "Go ahead."

  Alex told him about Jada’s alleged suicide and Mercedes’ visit.

  Detective Grant wrote the names in his notebook.

  "And this," she said, taking the scrap of paper from her pocket. "I copied what Mrs. Davison read to me word for word."

  He read Jada’s message and tucked the crinkled paper into his notebook.

  CHAPTER 25

  Cole couldn’t remember any talk at the station about a Lincoln High student overdosing. A couple other schools, yes, but not Lincoln. Why hadn't the death of a student affiliated to the school raised a red flag? A hush-up? No one thought to inform him? Neither felt right and caused a pinch in his gut. He waited for a group of students to pass. "Jada OD on drugs?"

  "Sleeping pills." Alex scrunched her face and reached behind her back. "Got an itch but my thumb can’t get there. Could you . . . ?"

  Cole scratched the spot above her thumb. "You suggesting foul play?"

  Alex wiggled under his ministrations. "Oh, that’s good. Thanks." She shrugged. "No proof. It’s a feeling."

  "A gut feeling?"

  She nodded.

  He'd learned long ago not to disregard them. "Talk to me, girl."

  He listened to her words, digging deeper for their meaning. Sometimes people contemplating suicide called family members and friends to tell them how much they mean to them. The conversation between Mercedes and Jada didn’t fit that script. Jada had been pissed about Taryn’s death and aimed to find the killer. Not the words of a girl bent on dying.

  "What do you make of Mercedes’ hasty retreat?" he asked.

  "Scared."

  A girl in a skirt barely covering her bootie and wearing knee high boots sashayed toward them. No wonder boys can't concentrate on their studies with that flouncing around, Cole thought. He blanked his face and nodded a greeting. The teen smiled and wiggled pertly out of hearing distance. "I agree, but scared of what?"

  "Don’t know, but I’ve been thinking. Isn’t it possible the two deaths are connected?"

  Jada, saying she wanted to go after Taryn’s killer, ended up dead. She overdosed unintentionally? Not likely, with Mercedes running scared. Cole nodded to himself. He’d check to see which M.E. conducted the autopsy and, if not Darrel, seek his friend’s opinion. He also needed a gander at the police report to see who'd been assigned to the case. Why’d the D on the scene zero in on suicide? Any clues overlooked? "I’ll nose around. See if I can connect any dots."

  "Good. Let’s go. I need to get back," Alex said, sounding tired.

  They reached the counseling office, the reception area teeming with students and parents.

  "Looks like you’re going to be busy," Cole said, turning to go.

  "There’s something else."

  He spun to look at her.

  Alex focused on the floor.

  "What?"

  She shook her head.

  Cole ushered her through the crowd and into her office, closing the door behind them. He shifted the visitor chairs to face each other and motioned for Alex to sit.

  She sat, her gaze on her lap. A moment passed.

  "You going to spit it out?" he asked.

  She let out a long sigh and raised her head. "The ghost's here."

  He inspected his watch. "I don’t have time for Halloween tales."

  Alex told him about chasing the laugh she heard in the hall.

  He scowled.

  "What?" Alex asked.

  "I don’t like it."

  A knock on the door, followed by a girl’s voice, "Ms. T?"

  Alex started to rise, fatigue and pain on her face. He put a hand up. "I’ll get it." He reached the door in two steps. A pudgy girl waited outside. "Is this an emergency?"

  The bubble gum burst in a loud pop. "Wanna use the phone," she said, running a pierced tongue over her lips to clean them.

  "Ms. T's going home. Talk to one of the other counselors." He closed the door.

  Alex stood. "What’d you say that for?"

  "Because you’ve had enough for one day."

  She leaned back in the chair. "I guess you’re right."

  "We’ll talk about your ghost later. I’ve got to get back."

  *

  Cole left and Alex went to the phone.

  Ellery couldn’t get away. She called Bobbi's cell. "Mind forfeiting your prep period and lunch hour to drive me home?"

  "Sure thing. Meet me in the parking lot in ten."

  On her way out, Alex passed the main office. Through the window, she saw Jordan hand something to Mary Winter. Alex quickened her pace. She didn’t want to see him. Or him to see her. Why had he come anyway? And what did he give to Mary Winter?
<
br />   She reached the door at the same time Bobbi drove up.

  CHAPTER 26

  Alex bolted up. The digital clock in the darkened bedroom glowed seven-thirty. She’d been sleeping since Bobbi dropped her off at one-fifteen that afternoon. Time to rise. She only planned on a short nap to take the edge off the fatigue. Her stomach hollered, "feed me," and she realized she hadn’t eaten since early that morning. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, waiting for her body to adjust to being upright.

  M-m-m-m-m-m.

  Her ears perked.

  M-m-m-m-m-m.

  The sound came from inside the condo. Her mind in a fog, she wondered if she imagined it. She listened closely. No, she definitely could hear a humming as . . . in microwave. "Gino?" she called, switching on the bedside lamp. No answer. Of course not, dummy, the house is dark. No one's here.

  She padded toward the kitchen, flipping on lights along the way. When her bare feet left the carpet and hit the cold tile, she ignored their plea for slippers. The sound grew louder. And now she could smell the foul odor. Alex pinched her nose. It had to be the microwave, but who started it? And what's in it? Sid and Sami, the only other occupants, were pretty smart cats, but . . . . Perhaps she'd turned it on in her sleep. After all, she had sleepwalked as a child. Usually, stress and anxiety caused a person to walk in their sleep. And she'd suffered from both since Friday. But never had she awakened in her own bed afterward. So if she hadn’t turned on the microwave, someone else had. Still, her security alarm could awaken the dead.

  Alex detoured to the laundry room and stared at the keypad. The hackles on her neck rose. No red or green light! Meaning an outside door hadn't been shut all the way. And she'd forgotten to set the alarm when she got home. Her eyes went to the door leading to the garage. Closed. The slider to the back deck hadn't been opened since the fall. That left the front as the portal. She flung the closet door open. After kicking aside the hand vac and tossing the flimsy ski pole out into the laundry room, she grabbed the baseball bat. Then she eyed her golf clubs. Ah-ha! She yanked out her four iron, long enough to keep someone at a distance and hard enough to break him. Weapon in hand, she crept to the doorway and peered around the corner.

  Moving to the foyer, she held her breath against the putrid smell and her fear. She reached the front door, slammed it shut, and bolted it. Feeling multi-pairs of eyes on her back, her spine tingled. What if the intruder hid somewhere inside the house? She spun around. Her eyes darted from the living room, up the stairs, to the library on her left. Hundreds of places to hide.

  It seemed like minutes passed before her legs took action and carried her to the library. She reached for the phone, paused. Not 911. Detective Grant told me to call him. She inch-wormed her way to the closet in the foyer, her eyes flicking everywhere, and fished his business card from the pocket of her coat. Back in the library, her heart racing, she punched in his number. With the microwave humming in the background, she listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line. "Grant. Leave a message." Why didn’t he answer, dammit? "I th-think someone's in the h-house."

  Alex disconnected the call and sank onto the ottoman. The microwave droned on. Go see what’s in there. She shook her head. I don’t want to. She shuddered. You have to. Taking up the golf club, she crept to the kitchen, her eyes on the lookout. A step from the microwave, she stopped. The only way to end the buzzing in her ears and get rid of the rotten smell was to shut it off. She reached out and punched cancel.

  The sound stopped. The smell did not.

  Putting her finger on the release button, she hesitated. One, two, three, push. The door opened. The stench worsened. Placing a hand over her nose, she leaned over and peered into the microwave. She jerked her head back, her heart stumbling. She slammed the door. Collapsing to the floor, she let out a scream that lasted until she had no breath left. She lay her face on the cool tile, panting.

  No! No! No! It can’t be. But it was.

  Her stomach rebelled. Bile rose to her throat. Retching, she covered her mouth and scrambled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. Crumpled on the floor, she folded into a ball. Oh God, Sami, I’m sorry. She'd forgotten to activate the security alarm. Exhausted when she arrived home, sleep preempted everything else, jeopardizing not only her own safety but, even worse, that of her pets. The guilt stacked up like blocks.

  After many minutes, she rose and slouched her way to the sink. She rinsed the acrid taste from her mouth and washed her face. While drying off, she realized she'd forgotten her weapon in the kitchen. She stepped out of the powder room, peering to the right and left. Retracing her steps to retrieve her club, she froze. I can't. I can't go in there. She turned away.

  Where had Siddy disappeared to? She had to find him, make sure he was all right. Alex searched under her bed, behind the sofas, in his favorite spot under the window that gets the most sun. She stared up the staircase into the darkness. He seldom went up there without her. She turned on the upstairs hall light and slowly climbed the carpeted steps. "Here Siddy, Siddy, Siddy."

  After a quick search of her office, she went into the guest bedroom. Her eyes swept the cranberry and beige comforter on the queen-size bed. She knelt on the floor and lifted the dust ruffle. Two eyes gleamed. Thank God. Sid lay in the center, folded like a blanket, shaking badly. She stretched out a hand. "Siddy, come on, baby. It’s all right." He didn’t budge. She reached for him. He ignored her. After much coaxing and pulling, she had him in her arms. She carried him downstairs.

  Sitting on the landing, Alex clutched Sid. She buried her face in his fur, holding him close. He trembled. Had Sid been the original target until, sensing danger, he managed to escape upstairs? More trusting, Sami might have gone willingly, thinking she found a new friend. Or had she fought and scratched, fighting for her life? What kind of monster would do this? And why?

  Sid squirmed out of her arms and disappeared upstairs, leaving her hands empty and heart aching.

  CHAPTER 27

  Alex waited on the library sofa, numb. Ten minutes after Detective Grant answered her call, he rang the bell. She trudged to the door, leaned her head on it. Could that be him already? "Who’s there?" she called.

  "Detective Grant," came a muffled voice.

  She peeked through the curtain, her heart beating like thundering applause. Butterflies—replacing the creeping crawlies—fluttered in her stomach. "Just a minute." She hurried to deactivate the alarm she'd set after his call. Seconds later, she opened the door and flew into his arms. "You’re here," she said with a sob against his bomber jacket. Embarrassed, she stepped back.

  Detective Grant’s eyes searched hers. "How are you?"

  The last thing Alex wanted was to act like a baby, but seeing the worry on his face, invited tears. She didn’t know how he would react. Will he understand? "Sami. He killed Sami," she cried, ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I’d like to roast his ass," she said through clenched teeth.

  Detective Grant sloughed off his jacket, placing it on the half wall. "Let’s sit." He gently guided her to the leather sofa in the living room.

  Alex sank into the cream cushions. She lifted the flowered throw pillow to her chest, hugging it.

  Detective Grant sat across from her on the chair’s edge, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. "Tell me what happened."

  She shook her head and swallowed. "In the microwave."

  Unfolding his long body, he stood and sallied out of the room.

  Alex’s ears tuned in to his movements—his footsteps, the sound of the microwave opening, closing. No gasp. No swearing. Nothing. What did she expect? Cops shook hands with gruesome every day.

  He came back and sat. "Looks like he broke her neck. She didn't suffer." His hard face softened. "I’m sorry about Sami. I know she was family."

  His words wrapped around her like a quilt. "Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze.

  Detective Grant sat in the same position as befor
e, tapping his thumbs together. After a time, he said, "You think it’s the same guy you met at Taryn’s?"

  Alex shrugged. "Who else? He knows where I live. He has a key."

  His eyes narrowed. "The alarm didn’t wake you?"

  She shook her head. Letting out a long puff of air, she avoided his eyes. "I forgot to set it."

  "Happens." He paused. "When you called, I was at the Canton Police Station following up on my request to keep your place under surveillance. They’ll be here within the next five, ten minutes."

  The doorbell rang.

  "That’s probably them now."

  A half hour later, after the police had come and gone, the doorbell rang again.

  "Who can that be?" Alex asked.

  "The locksmith I called on the way over, I expect."

  "You think of everything."

  "Not always." He raised a hand. "You stay. I’ll take care of it."

  Alex went in search of Sid again and found him back under the bed. This time, he came to her with little coaxing. Stroking his taupe fur and speaking softly, she carried him downstairs.

  The locksmith disconnected the hardware from the front door using a battery-powered screwdriver. The gentle whirring settled her, the fear receding to a less glaring place. The new locks would render her stolen key useless.

  Plunking onto the sofa, cat in her arms, Alex joined Detective Grant in the living room. Sid wiggled out of her hands and jumped to the floor. He stared at the detective a moment, wandered over to him, and rubbed against his legs. Detective Grant sneezed.

  Alex bounced up and grabbed Sid. "Sorry," she whispered to him. "The detective’s allergic to cats." She proceeded to the laundry room, put Sid down, and closed the door.

  When Alex returned, she sat, bare feet propped on the cushion, arms hugging her legs. She eyed the cat hair on Detective Grant’s jeans.

  "Eaten anything?" he asked.

  Starved when she woke, the thought of food churned her stomach now. "I’m not hungry."