Dance of Deception

by Trish Reeb

  "Thanks for saying what you did back there even if you didn’t mean it," she said softly.

  He stared at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes lost some of the weariness. "What makes you think I didn’t?"

  She shrugged. "I’ve been acting like a ho."

  He laughed. "Can’t argue that, but you had help." His eyes went back to the road. "Feeling better?"

  Did she? Whether it had been the water flushing her system or the amount of time that passed since she drank the fruit punch, physically she almost felt back to normal. With it came a deep sense of shame lambasting her self-respect. A ball of tension intertwined with regret tightened in her abdomen. The night flashed through her mind. She stared at him in the rearview mirror as he drove, his handsome face serious. Could he be thinking about it, too? Remembering how she flung herself at him, pushing him to kiss her? Feeling her butt? Trying to keep her from taking her clothes off? All the lurid things she said? She averted her eyes when Cole glanced at her in the mirror. How would she ever face him again? He must think her a complete idiot. She’d managed to destroy in one night whatever respect she'd earned. His status, on the other hand, elevated to atop a pedestal. Through it all, he had never once deviated from a gentlemanly posture. He proved to be a man of character with a strong moral fiber. Her sexual antics hadn’t unraveled even one thread of it. Of course, he might not even be turned on by her. In that case, she'd depose him from his pillar. He probably didn’t want to be there anyway because sooner or later most people fall off.

  *

  A half hour later, they arrived at Alex’s. Benson waited in the driveway inside her car, the motor running, and the tailpipe puffing exhaust into the air. He cut the engine and exited the SUV.

  Alex mumbled a thanks when he handed her the keys.

  Cole ushered her to the door. "Feeling better?"

  Alex nodded, but wouldn’t look at him. He lifted her chin. "Thanks for one hell of an interesting night." She forced a half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  "I’m sorry."

  "Hey, I won’t hold it against you." He dropped his hand. "Don’t be too hard on yourself."

  "But your friends—"

  He waved her words away. "Don’t worry about it. They’re cool."

  She quickly thanked him for the ride home and rushed into the house.

  Evidently, regret wouldn’t be easy to combat. He called through the closed door, "Don’t forget to set your alarm."

  He and Benson piled into the car. Cole’s mind reeled with all they had discovered at River’s house—the doctored drink, the expensive sofa, and the absence of any evidence of an adult presence. Too bad he hadn’t gotten to the basement. What about Sun Tzu’s Art of War? Because it had been the only personal item in sight, did it bear some significance? McGerald River, what's your deal? Obviously no boy scout, could he be connected to Taryn’s murder or had he and Alex stumbled onto something else?

  CHAPTER 41

  Wednesday, February 14

  Alex awoke the next morning to the guilt from the night before jabbing at her psyche like a woodpecker. Sitting up, she threw the covers off and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She sighed. How could she be so stupid, stupid, stupid? She could've put the brakes on at anytime. If she'd listened to the little voice in her head, breaking into Mc-G’s and drinking the punch would be moot points. Her conscience's job was to keep her out of trouble. I know. I know. If only she'd listen. Her impulse control had been AWOL most of her life. She slid off the high mattress, threw the pillows to the floor, and made the bed. Going over the sequence of events helped her to see how she’d gotten herself into the mess and, yes, salved some of the shame. If she hadn’t wanted to thank Mc-G . . . if she hadn’t seen the sofa, the one she could die for (and may yet) . . . if Mc-G hadn’t left his darn key in such an obvious place . . . why would he do that anyway? . . . if she hadn’t been thirsty beyond reason . . . . If, if, if. If I woulda, coulda, shoulda. Sensible people don’t go into houses uninvited and don’t raid stranger’s refrigerators. Okay, OKAY. Today she would follow the advice she lavished on her students like treats: think of consequences before acting.

  Later at school, a few minutes before first hour, a girl waving a heart-shaped helium balloon and carrying a white red-ribboned teddy bear dropped by the counseling suite. Alex’s heart sank. She'd forgotten Valentine’s Day. It’d be the first time, ever, the heart-shaped basket she kept for the occasion went without sweets. She glanced at her watch. One minute to eight. If she hurried, maybe she could get to the store and back before anyone missed her. Keith would cover for her. She stared at his closed door. He usually arrived around seven-fifteen. If he wasn't here by now, he wouldn’t be in today. Could she trust Chandra Garrett to cover for her? H-m, let me think about that. Absolutely NOT.

  The two women had not been friendly since Chandra relocated to the office next to hers last fall. Not for lack of trying on Alex’s part. The last straw had been her comment, "Honey, you better put a band-aid on that bleeding heart of yours." Alex stopped speaking to her unless spoken to and pretty much avoided her altogether. Not an easy feat when the work space they shared was the size of a postage stamp. At least she had Keith Langdon as a buffer. He got along with everyone.

  No candy hearts or chocolates for her students this year.

  Alex lifted the receiver to call Mrs. Fletcher. They lived across the street from the school and Arjay had arrived home in the middle of her conversation with his mom yesterday. They had immediately disconnected.

  "How’s Arjay?" Alex asked, following the initial greeting.

  "Took him to emergency last night," Mrs. Fletcher said. "A lot of bruises, no broken bones."

  "Thank God."

  "Ms. T, he won’t be coming back."

  "At all?"

  "I’m transferring him."

  "He’s the valedictorian."

  "He won’t be nothing if those animals get him again."

  Alex couldn’t argue the point. "Please don’t sign him out until you know for certain he can enroll someplace else. In the meantime, I’ll get a homework packet together from his teachers."

  "Will you call me when it’s ready?"

  "Certainly. May I speak to Arjay?"

  A muffled sound. "Sorry. He’s not up to it."

  Alex’s heart fell. "Of course," she said, swallowing her disappointment, "I understand." She paused. "Did you contact the police?"

  "Might cause another attack."

  Alex squeezed the phone. "You don’t think it was a random act?"

  "No, I don’t."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "I know my boy."

  "Did he recognize any of them?" Alex asked.

  "Think so, but he won’t say."

  Alex replaced the receiver after their good-byes and put her head in her hands. If Mrs. Fletcher was right, the attack hadn't been random. Those boys had been out to get Arjay. Why? He didn’t run with a rough crowd. He'd always been a good kid. She lifted her head. In her office yesterday, Arjay had said, "I don’t trust Redd Dog. Watch your back." What if someone overheard their conversation? Flustered, she sat back in her chair. First Sami, now Arjay. I haven't helped the case. I've made things worse, getting people hurt. The note had warned more blood would spill. Alex stood and paced. But she couldn’t desist now, at least not until she put a face to Redd Dog. She bit her lip. Even then, she couldn’t let it go. She’d promised Taryn.

  Her thoughts running wild, Alex set off for the main office to report the assault. Everywhere, students carried gifts either from or to their sweethearts, but she barely noticed. Alex wanted to talk to Ellery, but his closed door silently communicated his unavailability. They hadn’t seen each other much since he drove her to school on Monday. He didn’t even know about Sami. No one did. Not even Gino. She couldn't talk about it.

  She passed McMullen’s without knocking. He’d be no help. Besides, she could barely stand his cologne that clung to the air long after he left
a room.

  Alex found Mary Winter’s door ajar. She knocked and peered inside. The assistant principal hung up the phone when she saw Alex. "What can I do for you?" she asked, waving her in.

  "Arjay Fletcher was jumped yesterday."

  Mary Winter gave her a concerned look. "Oh dear, dear, dear." She rose, left the room, and returned carrying a handful of forms. She handed Alex one of them. "Fill this out. You can give it to me later."

  "Then what happens?" Alex rubbed her forehead.

  "Can the boy identify any of his attackers?" Mary Winter asked, picking up a pen.

  Alex shook her head. "His mother thinks he’s too scared."

  She let out a sigh. "I’m sorry. Unless he gives us names, there’s not much we can do."

  Alex wanted to point out that the school could be more proactive. But it wouldn’t do any good. Time and again she’d offered suggestions. Like having the security guards roam rather than parking themselves by the main entrance. No one ever listened. And the beat goes on. She left the room without even a perfunctory thank you, the refrain from Sonny and Cher's song playing in her head.

  CHAPTER 42

  Alex shuttled back to her office and checked her calendar. Second hour she'd scheduled a meeting with a group of freshmen to discuss their high school curriculum and career development plans. She spent the next half hour filling out reminder slips and distributing them. When she returned, she grabbed the booklets needed for the activity and hurried to the library to greet her ninth graders.

  Following the meeting, Alex met Mrs. Lewis pulling an oxygen tank on wheels at the door to her office.

  The woman sank into one of the chairs, breathing heavily. At barely five foot, weighing close to three hundred pounds, her hips hung over the sides of the chair like balloons. Mrs. Lewis dressed meticulously. Four large rings adorned the fingers of the hand clutching the mask over her face. Removing it, she said, "Ms. T, my granddaughter’s missing."

  Alex sat next to her. "When did you last see Mercedes?"

  "Monday night. She left with some friends around nine o’clock."

  Alex wanted to ask why she allowed a fifteen year old to go out so late on a school night, or any night for that matter, but held her tongue. "Did you notify the police?"

  A sound in the base of her throat escaped as Mrs. Lewis slipped off the mask. "They won’t do nothing." She peered at Alex, her eyes worried. "Could you see if she in class?"

  Though Mercedes rarely attended, Alex summoned a student aide, ignoring the no-pass directive. She didn't want to leave Mrs. Lewis alone in her fragile condition.

  "Ms. T, I don’t know what to do about that girl. She won't listen to me." Mask on, mask off. "Or go to school. She come and go when she want. I need her to help out at home and take care of her little sister. And she be doin’ this." Tears flooded her eyes. She angrily swiped at them with the back of a hand.

  "I know she's troubled by Jada’s death," Alex said.

  Mrs. Lewis waved a hand holding the mask. "Isn’t no excuse. She know I need help."

  "You think she ran away?" Alex’s shoulder tensed.

  "Wouldn’t be the first time."

  The student aide returned alone, shaking his head.

  Mrs. Lewis’s shoulders slumped.

  "Thanks, Damien," Alex said, giving him a smile. An eleventh grader, Damien Smith had established his own lawn cutting/snow shoveling business at the age of twelve. Caring for his mother with multiple sclerosis, he still managed to attend school every day and consistently made the honor roll. How did some kids find the inner strength and fortitude to pursue their goals regardless of the hand life dealt them while others chose the road to self-destruction? If only she knew the formula, she'd bottle the ingredients and pour it down the throats of kids who needed it.

  She gave the distraught grandmother a sympathetic look. "I’ll notify each of Mercedes’ teachers and ask them to contact me if she shows up in class. If I see her, I’ll call you." Escorting Mrs. Lewis to the door, she added, "Please let me know if you hear anything."

  Alex sat at her desk thinking about Mercedes. At ten years of age, the girl witnessed her father’s murder and had been forced to testify at her mom’s trial. Disregarding the years of abuse, the jury convicted her of manslaughter. Her mother, sentenced to twenty years, never blamed Mercedes but the grandmother reminded her every day of how she'd been burdened with raising a second family even though she suffered from poor health and blah, blah, blah. Who could blame Mercedes for running away?

  Where are you, Mercedes? Please be safe.

  Alex typed a notice on her computer to send to Mercedes’s teachers and printed out six copies. She completed the homework request forms for Arjay. The college promo ads sat in a pile on her desk. Gathering them, she walked over to the bulletin board and removed outdated material making room for the new.

  A flier announcing First Stop, a shelter for runaway teens, caught her eye. Using the staple remover, she carefully detached it from the board. Could Mercedes have seen it and sought refuge? A long shot, but worthy of a phone call. After stapling the ads to the board, she hastened to her phone and dialed the number. Disconnected. She contacted information. No listing. They probably lost their funding like so many other organizations that came and went like the seasons. She learned of First Stop from Yolanda Morgan, a volunteer, when they had had a brief conversation about runaways. She tossed the flier in the waste can, wondering why no one, including herself, had bothered to check its current status. She made a mental note to be more diligent in the future.

  Yolanda Morgan. H-m-m, maybe she could put a name and face to Redd Dog. She dialed the security office but no one answered. They never seemed to be available when she needed them. Now she’d have to find someone with a radio to track her down.

  CHAPTER 43

  On her way to the main office, Alex hit the corridor at the same time Cole and Martindale ascended from the basement. Cole had his hand on Martindale, guiding him up the stairs. Martindale, hands behind his back, appeared to be . . . handcuffed. She shook her head. What? Why would . . .? A cold filament of anger wrapped around her heart as the meaning sank in. Teeth clenched, she clutched the papers in her hand. There could only be one explanation. Cole had arrested him for Taryn’s murder. Murderer, her head screamed.

  She dashed down the hall, the buzzing of conversation growing louder with every step. She had to catch them. To do what? He killed my best friend. Ever since it happened, she’d fantasized about what she’d do to the killer when she found him. How she’d use him for a punching bag, stomp him into the ground, kick him where it hurt. Moving toward them, her mind scrambled over thoughts coming from every direction. This didn't make sense. What about Jada, Mercedes’ disappearance, and the text message? Had Cole discovered something since they last talked to point the finger at Martindale? Whatever he'd found, she didn't believe it. Far too many unexplained details. Her gut feeling told her Taryn’s murder couldn't have been the act of a spurned admirer.

  She wove in and out of the growing crowd, catching up to the pair in front of the main office.

  Alex grabbed hold of Martindale’s coat sleeve.

  The two men kept moving.

  Holding tight, she tagged along.

  "Alex, let go," Cole said.

  "May I talk to Vince, please?"

  "He’s under arrest."

  Martindale stared down at her and she up at him. She relaxed the grip and dropped her hand but continued following. What happened to the tingle in her wrist? Her body had never failed to warn her before. And, if he'd murdered Taryn, why didn’t she want to haul off and slug him? Why no fury?

  "Did . . . you do it?" she asked, breathlessly.

  Martindale’s face remained impassive, but his eyes delivered a message of sorrow and anger. "No."

  Alex nodded and went no further. She waited until they disappeared around the corner and looked up at Omar Holmes, sitting in the security booth.

  He rubbed a hand over the t
op of his snow white hair, buzz cut short. "What do you make of that?" he asked, peering down at her from his throne.

  "I don’t believe it," Alex said, staring down the hall.

  "Never know about people."

  "You’ve decided he’s guilty?" Her eyes shifted to his.

  Holmes shrugged. "Wasn’t no secret he had the hots for Richards."

  Alex bristled at his reference to Taryn by her last name. "Doesn’t mean he killed her." How many others would reach the same conclusion? "Listen, I need to find Yolanda Morgan. Think you can locate her on your radio?"

  A smile, bringing a glow to his round brown face, produced two pronounced dimples. "Anything I can help you with?"

  Alex shifted on her feet. The fewer people who knew what she was up to, the better. Still, he’d probably know the answer. No telling how long it would take to find Morgan. "Know a kid named Redd Dog?"

  "Sure. Nice kid. ‘Cept he hardly goes to class. What about him?"

  "What’s his given name?"

  He scratched his head. "Now let me think. I know it." Silence. "It’s on the tip of my tongue." More silence.

  Alex tapped the notices against her open palm. "Sometimes when I run through the alphabet it helps me recall the name," she said.

  "Let’s see, a b c d . . . ."

  She danced from one foot to the other, listening to him recite the alphabet like a kindergartener.

  He snapped his fingers and said, "McGerald River."

  Alex’s insides jolted. Her heart plunged to her stomach. The name drummed loudly inside her head muffling Holmes’ next words as if someone had stuffed cotton in her ears.

  "Hey, it worked, little lady. I’ll have to remember that trick as many kids I run across."

  Alex struggled to relax, to appear normal and not like she’d been bowled over by the name. Her wrist tingled. Omigod, how had she missed it? McGerald River. Copper hair. Of course, it made sense.