Dance of Deception

by Trish Reeb

  Over the years, she’d developed coping skills. If she had to go out at night, she paid close attention to evening weather reports. When flurries threatened, she left early enough to find a handy parking spot. A hood had become a prerequisite for all winter coats and jackets.

  Joining her in the car, Sheila plucked the hat from her head, fluffing her gray streaked auburn hair, and turned a freckled face to Alex. "I’m glad we have this time together. I feel I’ve cheated you by my absence."

  "Don’t be silly. Babies arrive when they’re ready. Knowing I could pick up the phone and call helped a great deal. I hope you brought pictures."

  "I emailed you some."

  The last time Alex sat at her computer had been before . . . . "Sorry, haven’t checked it lately."

  "You’re in luck. Here's one taken at the hospital." She slid it from her wallet and handed it to Alex.

  "What a cutie. Look at all that hair." Returning the photo, she said, "How’s Ellery? I barely see him."

  Sheila paused briefly, then started the car and backed out of the driveway. "He’s okay. Has a lot on his mind."

  "Taryn?"

  "That, too," Sheila said, her fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

  "Is everything all right?" Alex asked.

  Sheila glanced over at her and back to the road. She relaxed her grip. "We’ll talk later."

  Alex lay back on the headrest. Guess they both had a lot on their minds.

  She wished she hadn’t called Cole last night. What if she were mistaken about Mary Winter? The woman couldn't be the only female who wore jasmine perfume. After all, she never saw her, couldn't prove . . . the idea she . . . well, it seemed preposterous now. Still, Morgan had been there and they had something going on between them. If she'd been handed over to Mary Winter, why? She pictured the assistant principal. Thought about how sweet she'd been to her. She didn't believe it. If Cole followed up and told her what Alex suspected, she'd never be able to show her face at school again. Just thinking about it caused her stomach to roil.

  After calling him, she’d rolled over to sleep, but doubts kept her tossing and turning most of the night. At two a.m., she'd gotten up and watched the video of Sami. She cried every time the black beauty returned with the green ball in her mouth and dropped it at her feet. She missed her so much.

  She couldn't wait for the trip to Atlanta, but dreaded it at the same time. Neither she nor Sheila had visited the southern city and planned to sightsee after the funeral. The funeral. She shuddered. How would she get through it? What if Mr. Richards still blamed her for Taryn’s death? And ordered her off his property or banned her from the funeral? Could he, would he?

  Alex pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside and relaxed, welcoming the indolent role of passenger. The sky lightened unveiling winter’s beauty. Snowstorm and rush hour a poor combination, she relaxed in the seat prepared for a long ride.

  She glanced at Sheila, her hands once again clenching the steering wheel. Alex bit her lip. She shifted in her seat. She tapped her fingers on the armrest. "I can’t stand it. Tell me what’s going on."

  "I will. In due time."

  Alex shrugged, giving up for the moment. A few beats later, she said, "I hope there aren’t any delays or cancellations because of the weather."

  "Me, too." Sheila glanced over at Alex. "How are you doing? I imagine it’s been a rough week."

  You've no idea. "I miss Taryn," she said.

  Sheila threw her a sympathetic look. "I know you do." She paused. "I’m glad I could join you."

  "Me, too."

  The long time friends made small talk the rest of the way to Metropolitan Airport. After Sheila parked the car, they lingered inside, the motor running, waiting for the shuttle. Alex tuned the radio to WJR. Detroit schools had closed. Good, she wouldn’t miss anything today.

  The shuttle picked them up and dropped them at the Edward H. McNamara Terminal.

  "There’s no one waiting curbside for service. Let’s check our bags here," Alex said.

  They rolled their suitcases over to the middle-aged attendant waiting to serve.

  "Morning, Ladies. Where are you off to?" he said, clouds of condensation spewing from his mouth.

  "Atlanta," Sheila said, handing him her ID.

  The wind picked up, blowing a flurry of snow and cold air under the shelter. Regretting the decision to check in outside, Alex yanked her hood up and jammed her gloved hands into her coat pockets.

  Blinking, she jerked her head. No, it can't be. Her hand felt the shape of the object in her pocket. If she hadn't worn a different coat yesterday, she would've taken the darn thing to school. What to do? She couldn’t pass through the security check with it. She scoped the area. No one else had been foolish enough to check their bags in subzero temperatures. On the other hand, there were no witnesses. Sheila, chatting with the attendant while he printed out her boarding pass and fastened the baggage tag to her suitcase, paid no attention.

  Her heart pounding, Alex eased open the zipper of her bag, palmed the taser in her pocket, and thrust it through the opening into the middle of her clothes. She quickly yanked her hand free and closed the zipper. Phew! She crossed her fingers. If no one inspected her suitcase, she’d be okay.

  By the time they wound their way through security check and found their gate, they still had time to grab a cup of coffee for Sheila and hot chocolate for Alex. She'd never quite acquired the taste for the morning jumpstart drink.

  "Attention, Flight 227 to Atlanta, Georgia will be delayed one hour." The voice repeated the not-unexpected, but certainly unwelcome, message.

  "I’ve heard some real nightmares about cancellations. I hope this doesn’t turn into one," Sheila said. She sipped her coffee. "Wasn’t that woman hilarious at security clearance?" She laughed.

  Alex grinned. "I'm surprised the guy didn't arrest her when she grabbed the clothes right out of his hands."

  "She didn’t look like a terrorist to me."

  "Probably a random check. I don’t blame her for being ticked off. I wouldn’t want anyone rummaging through my bag, either." For good reason. Alex straightened. "You’re not driving now."

  Sheila tensed. Her blue eyes clouded. "It’s not good. You don’t need more bad news."

  "I’m not twelve, Sheila. Good or bad, I want to know."

  CHAPTER 59

  After a grueling drive, Cole arrived downtown to find Martindale planted in his chair studying the Taryn Richards’ file.

  "Make yourself at home," Cole said, sliding into the chair next to his desk.

  Martindale raised an eyebrow. "What’s your beef?"

  "What’re you doing?" Cole nodded at the file.

  "Perusing." Martindale cracked his neck.

  "You mind?" Cole opened his hand for the file.

  Martindale shrugged, closed the folder, and shoved it across the desk.

  "Sorry, bad night." Cole picked up the thick file and flipped through it.

  Folding his arms, Martindale remained silent.

  Cole raised his head. "Mary Winter and Mercedes Lewis are MIA."

  "Together?"

  "Don't think so, but they did go missing around the same time."

  "How the hell did that happen?" His sleeves rolled up, Martindale leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

  Cole described last night’s action, play by play.

  Martindale listened attentively and then sat silent for several seconds. "You met Billy Jo, Winter's sister?"

  "That's right, why?"

  "Goes against WitSec regulations. No contact with family members or anyone from their previous life," Martindale said, leaning back in the chair. "Think I'll dig deeper into Winter's background."

  Cole flushed. He knew the policy, yet it never occurred to him. Last night he'd been on a one-track mission to find Mary Winter. I'm really slipping. "That would explain booby trapping her office," he said to take the focus off his oversight.

  "Doesn't make sense that she'd put
herself at risk. I don't get it."

  "All the more reason to question Winter. I called her again this morning on the way to work. She’s not answering the phone."

  "I think it’s time we pay a visit to Lincoln High, see what’s on that tape."

  "School’s closed. Snow day."

  Martindale dug into his pocket. "Man, have some faith." In his palm, he held a key and a small slip of paper. "The security code."

  Cole threw him a wry smile. The man had an endless supply of surprises. "What’re we waiting for?"

  Martindale shrugged into his coat. He grabbed his leather shoulder bag from the back of the chair and the two men wound their way through the maze of desks to the elevator.

  "You drive," Martindale said.

  *

  Sheila sighed. "Ellery has ALS."

  "Lou Gehrig's disease?" Omigod. Alex sat back in her chair as if she'd been sucker punched.

  Sheila nodded.

  I’m going to be sick. Alex rose. "I’ll be back." She started walking. If only she could get some air. She scoped the area. Caught in the clutches of airport security, she had nowhere to go. Not Ellery. Anyone but Ellery, except it did explain why he’d been so quiet, so distant lately. He must be devastated by the news and worried sick about the future. Tears flooded her eyes as she thought of Ellery's gradual decline: losing the use of his limbs, becoming a quadriplegic, incapable of breathing on his own. Unable to care for himself. It didn’t seem possible. She retraced her steps to the table.

  "How’s he taking it?" Alex asked, wiping her eyes and sitting.

  "You know Ellery. Approaches everything intellectually." Sheila smiled sadly. "Trying to find out what he can about ALS. Getting his affairs in order. Making a list."

  A lump formed in Alex's throat. She swallowed. "A bucket list?"

  "Something like that."

  "How are you doing?" Alex leaned across the table and laid a hand on Sheila’s arm.

  She shrugged. "I wanted to stay home, not go to Seattle, but Ellery wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted I go. We haven’t told the kids yet."

  Guilt pinched Alex’s conscience. "You should be home with him. If I’d known, I never would've accepted your offer to accompany me."

  Sheila grasped her hand. "I wanted to come. Besides, Ellery needs the space and, when I’m home, I tend not to give it to him."

  "What about you? Who’s been your mainstay?" Tears threatening again, Alex blinked. She reached for a napkin and dabbed her eyes.

  "It hasn’t been Ellery. He’s as distant as he was after Sarah died or whenever he’s troubled. I should be used to it." She sighed. "I swore my mom and sisters to secrecy and we’ve been talking every day."

  "Didn’t Michael or Mindy notice anything during your visit?" Alex asked.

  Sheila sighed. "Wrapped up in the baby, they didn't have time. I didn't dwell on it for Mark’s sake. Do you know he’s three already?"

  Alex folded the napkin in half, in quarters, unfolded it, smoothed it out, and began the ritual again—mindlessly, over and over. How would Ellery’s condition affect her, or impact Sheila’s life and his family’s? She’d never known anyone with ALS, but read and heard enough over the years to know eventually the family would no longer be able to care for him. And it would ultimately claim his life. There had to be some mistake. It couldn't happen to Ellery.

  CHAPTER 60

  Later, having completed their mission, Cole tooled toward downtown. Martindale played the tape retrieved from Mary Winter’s office on the miniature tape recorder he picked from his bag of tricks. Concentrating on the treacherous roads and idiot drivers, Cole half listened to the one-sided phone calls from the business end of Mary Winter’s job, interrupted by visits from students and parents. All school related.

  "Asshole," Cole said, when a pickup truck passed them traveling at the speed of light.

  Hearing Mary Winter conducting business, he found it hard to believe she could be anything other than an efficient, dedicated administrator. Perhaps Alex had been mistaken.

  Cole flicked on his blinker, waited for a lane to open, and eased around the car that moved at a snail’s pace.

  A female voice, not Mary Winter's, came from the tape recorder. "Wait," Cole said. "Who’s that?"

  Martindale rewound the tape, voices squealing in reverse. He stopped it, pushed play.

  "I don't like no teacher speakin’ to my son that way. You call him off, or I go downtown."

  "Let’s make a deal. I’ll speak to Mr. Griffin if you talk to your son about his behavior," Mary Winter said.

  A click sounded as the activated bugging system shut off, clicked on again. "Here we go," Martindale said.

  "Hey, sugar. Everything okay?" a female voice asked.

  "Where's your faith?" This time a male spoke. "We’ve disposed of the weak link. Now we conquer the enemy."

  Click off.

  Billy Jo. In Mary Winter’s office? The weak link mentioned must've been Morgan.

  Click on.

  "Tell me, baby," Billy Jo cooed to rustling sounds in the background. "You know how I get when you lay it all out."

  "We’ll lure the enemy into our territory without him knowing it."

  "Oo, yes," she said, her voice breathless. "Tell me how y' all will do it."

  "We tempt the enemy. Keep him on the move," he said. "Then we wait."

  "Oo, I love the way you said that." She made a sucking air sound. "But don’t y’all mean her?"

  "Depends on who shows up."

  "Oh-h," she moaned. "Don’t stop. I want to hear more."

  "You know the program. We stay clear of the strong and strike the weak," he said, with a touch of arrogance. "After examining their moods and circumstances, we break their will to resist."

  Panting, she cried, "Mm, mm. Yes, yes. Oh-ooooooooooo."

  The tape clicked off, Martindale pushed pause.

  Cole and Martindale sat in silence for a few beats. Cole snickered. Martindale snorted. They laughed, laughed louder for a full minute.

  "We’re dealing with a couple of freaks," Martindale said.

  "That’s Billy Jo," Cole said. "Not Mary Winter."

  "I figured."

  "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

  Martindale tapped the tape recorder with his thumb. "Maybe it’s not Mary Winter we’re after."

  "I don’t know what the hell’s going on. But this guy’s got a hard-on for Sun Tzu’s Art of War," Cole said. "Just like McGerald River."

  "Want to hear Billy Jo climax again?"

  "Entertain me." Cole’s eyes gravitated to the shoulder where the speeding pickup had spun out. "Serves the fool right," he muttered.

  "Any idea who the gentleman is with the superior voice?" Martindale asked, imitating it.

  "Not a clue."

  They listened to more of the tape for the rest of the trip, but nothing of any consequence occurred. The two eavesdroppers had no way of knowing how much time elapsed between Billy Jo's rendezvous with her mystery man and the next exchange. Had five minutes or thirty passed before Mary Winter and McGerald River discussed his class attendance?

  Cole pulled into the parking lot, his hummer bouncing over potholes, and parked.

  Leaving the warmth of the car, they fast footed it to police headquarters.

  "Doubt he’s one of our students. Too well-spoken, cultured," Martindale said, side-stepping a mound of snow.

  "It’s not McGerald River." Cole flipped up the collar of his coat. "So, who is this guy and from where did he sprout?"

  Two blocks and an elevator ride later, the two men reached the Homicide Division and headed toward Cole’s desk.

  A young tech approached. "Excuse me, Detective Grant. Found a match for the print. Sorry for the delay, but I’ve been off with the flu." He handed him a folded piece of paper.

  "Thanks, Derrick," Cole said.

  Martindale eyed the note. "What’s up?" he asked after the tech left.

  "Mind if I check this out first? If it’s rele
vant, you’ll be the first to know."

  "Sure, I’ll see if my guy unearthed that parent company yet."

  After Martindale left, Cole unfolded the paper and read the name. "I'll be damned," he murmured and headed to his computer.

  CHAPTER 61

  Sheila drove the rented Impala into the Williams Funeral Home parking lot.

  "Looks like we’re the only ones here," Alex said, looking at the empty spaces.

  "Surprised us the first time."

  "Me, too." Alex unfastened her seatbelt. "When I think of how physically and emotionally taxing it was being shackled to the funeral parlor for two full days after my parents died, I think maybe this is the right idea."

  "I doubt if it’s any easier having people flood your home all hours of the day," Sheila said.

  "You've got a point." Alex reached for the door handle, her heart heavy.

  Sheila gave her a concerned look. "Are you ready?"

  "I can’t not do this." She yanked the door open.

  "I know," Sheila said, standing back, waving her inside.

  Alex placed her hands on the edge of the casket and stared at Taryn. She appeared to be asleep. If only it were true. She touched Taryn's hand. Hard, cold to the touch, Alex snapped her arm back. My best friend's gone.