An Equation For Murder

by Jayne Nichols

  “Ally!” he screamed. “I’m sorry, baby!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lillian had spent last evening with her nose in chapter nine and her head swimming in equations containing inequalities and absolute values. Solved and graphed them in her dreams when she would rather have walked barefoot along a sandy beach with her instructor. The only equation for which she didn’t have an answer was the one he’d drawn on the whiteboard. Neither of them had spoken of it since then. In fact, Sam had become unusually reticent, and she wondered if he regretted his outburst.

  Now, as she hurried toward the Math and Sciences building, she felt ready to take on this next test. Show Sam his tutoring was worthwhile. That she was learning. Face it Lillian, you want an A on this one. Which is why she cringed when her cell phone rang. Not today, please. Much as she would have liked to, Lillian could not ignore the call.

  But it wasn’t the hospital. Instead, only three letters appeared in her phone’s view screen. CPS. She answered immediately, her heartbeat accelerating with equal measures of anticipation and reluctance.

  “Hello, this is Lillian Moore.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Moore. Janet Summers with CPS. Will you be able to accept a delivery this afternoon?”

  Thank goodness she wasn’t needed immediately. “Yes, of course.”

  “An officer will meet you at your home between noon and 1:00.”

  Noon didn’t give her much time to prepare. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “I’m always glad to help.”

  Well, that visit was certainly going to change her plans for today, she thought, as she hurried into the classroom. Sam stood facing the doorway, indicating the stack of tests and answer sheets that sat on the corner of his desk. She picked up one of each and hurried to her seat.

  Concentrate, Lillian. Right now, this math test is your first priority. After that, well… you know the drill.

  Lillian pushed the telephone call from her mind and glanced through the four pages of test questions. The test contained a total of twenty questions, each worth five points. She waited while Sam closed the door. She knew the drill for taking Sam’s tests, too.

  “You may begin,” he said, then took his seat behind the desk.

  His eyes roamed the classroom, and she could feel his quiet gaze when they stopped to rest on her. She kept her head bent, closed her mind and heart to everything but determining the correct answer to each question. The first four were relatively easy, or at least they seemed so, when she wrote down her answers. However, as she pushed onward toward number twenty, each question became progressively more difficult. Harder still for her to accept was that she seemed to know the right answers. Was she finally grasping the magic of math?

  Finished, Lillian took one last pass through the test, felt comfortable with her answers. She collected her purse, test and answer sheet, and approached the desk. Wendell Jones had already left. She smiled at the puzzled look on Sam’s face. He had a right to question her speed when she was usually the last to finish. Offering him a confident nod, she hurried out the door, only too aware of his silent, watchful gaze following her.

  * * *

  Jorgé took off his shoes, then climbed the stairs slowly, reluctantly. His mother’s car wasn’t parked in its usual spot in front of their building. What if Mariah hadn’t gone to work? Hadn’t wanted her co-workers to see her swollen nose and bruised jaw? How would he face her? What would he say? He stopped at the door, pressed his ear against it, but heard nothing. No TV. No baby crying. Nothing. He slipped his key into the lock. When it turned, he relaxed a little. At least she hadn’t changed the locks. He opened the door, peeked into the silent room.

  The empty beer cans were gone from the coffee table. The living room rug had obviously been vacuumed. Her torn dress was nowhere to be seen. He hesitated in the doorway, listening to the silence, then stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. The door to the bedroom was closed.

  “Mariah, baby, you in there?” he called, part of him hoping she wouldn’t answer, the other part afraid she would.

  Jorgé opened the door slowly. His damp hand gripped the doorknob, ready to deflect a thrown object. Greeted by silence instead, he wandered into the room. The bed had been made. José’s toys lined the perimeter of the crib, and his diapers sat on the bottom shelf of the changing table. Her makeup cluttered its usual place on the shelf above the bathroom sink. Dirty clothes filled the hamper. He opened the bottom drawer of the night stand. When Mariah was home, she always kept her purse in it. He knew that because he often borrowed money from her wallet.

  The purse was gone.

  Jorgé wandered back into the kitchen. Found the note Mariah had left on the counter and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t surprised that she had gone into work. Mariah never missed a day of work, no matter what. Here he thought he’d pretty much blown her trust yesterday, but Mariah didn’t sound mad at all in her note. And with José at his mother’s house, he had the apartment all to himself. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, took a long swallow.

  You could call her. Apologize. Call your mother. Check on the baby.

  Like hell, he thought. Instead, he rolled a toke, then stretched out on the couch. He had better things to do.

  * * *

  Sam’s fingers drummed a steady beat, little finger to thumb, over and over again while silently he urged Sylvia Peters to finish the test and leave. He doubted seriously that she would get a passing grade on it. When it came to math, her attention span was that of a four-year-old, and no matter how hard he tried to discourage her, she continued to think her lack of clothing could maintain his interest. A man liked a little mystery. Preferred pursuing to being pursued.

  He glanced at the clock for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. “Time, Miss Peters. If you don’t know the answers by now, they won’t come to you in the next thirty seconds.”

  She heaved a huge sigh, then stood, and making no effort to pull her skirt down, leaned over his desk. He’d seen her wares every day for the past seven weeks, and the view didn’t interest him anymore today than it had the first time.

  “I’d be happy to help you grade these. For extra credit, of course.”

  It was his turn to sigh, only he did it silently. “You know, Miss Peters, if you studied the subject matter as hard as you pursue your teacher, you might actually pass this course. For a while there, I thought you might actually get that C, but at this point, you’re failing. On both counts.”

  She glanced up at him coyly. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Miss Peters, I’m quite sure. So, unless you buckle down and do some major studying before the midterm in two weeks, you’ll have to work your wiles on Andy Gibson, and he’s married with four kids.”

  “You could tutor me.”

  “No, Miss Peters, I could not.”

  “You’re tutoring Mrs. Moore. Why not me?”

  Sam didn’t bother to ask how she knew about that. Instead, he simply pointed to the door. “Class is over. I suggest you think long and hard about why you’re in this school, because right now, you’re wasting your parents hard earned money.”

  She tossed her head, turned around, and ran out the door. Sam sat down in his chair, folded his hands, and rested his forehead against them. A headache pulsed at his temples. Why me, he thought. You need to get married, Sam, and you already know who you want to ask. But would she say yes, he wondered, searching through the tests for Lillian’s answer sheet.

  Where had she gone in such a hurry? Sam was afraid she was off to the hospital and hadn’t given the test questions enough time. He compared her answers to his score sheet, then sat back in his chair dumbfounded. Lillian had done it. He reviewed her answers two more times just to be certain. Every one of them was correct!

  “YES!” he shouted to the heavens.

  He had specifically avoided using any of the equations they had tackled during her tutoring sessions. Every
question was totally new to her and the rest of the class. Though he wanted to, he refrained from circling the huge red A on her paper. Instead, he gathered up the test papers and stuffed them into his briefcase, then locked the door behind him and hurried down the stairs.

  Sam couldn’t wait until next week to let her know. She deserved to hear it from him right now and in person. He put the briefcase into the rear storage compartment of his motorcycle. Twenty minutes later, he slipped his bike into a semi-illegal parking space between two compact cars in San Sebastian Hospital’s visitor lot. Too excited to wait for the elevator, he took the three flights of stairs to the nursery floor two steps at a time. Shading his eyes against the bright hall light, he peeked through the darkened window, but saw no one resembling Lillian in the room.

  “Excuse me. Can I help you?”

  He turned around to address the woman in white slacks and a pink t-shirt top stepping out of the nursery. “I’m looking for Lillian Moore.”

  “She isn’t here today.” She smiled. “I’ve seen you before. You and Lillian left the hospital benefit together. I saw her ride off with you on a motorcycle. You’re her math professor.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say to that. Had Lillian actually told this woman about him? “Guilty.” He held out his hand. “Sam Weiss.”

  She took it. “Beth Watson. Lillian and I are good friends.”

  “Then you must know where she lives.” When Beth eyed him suspiciously, he hurried to explain. “I’ve never been to her house, but I have some very good news that can’t wait and shouldn’t be delivered over the telephone.” Beth’s gaze softened. He suspected that if Lillian had a friend she confided in, it was this woman. “Please, Beth, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “She lives in Rancho Los Margaritas. Her address is 168 Ryder Place.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.” He turned and sprinted for the stairway door.

  “Don’t hurt her, Sam Weiss.”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. “I would never hurt her. I’m in love with her, and I think you know that.”

  Beth grinned. “I do now, but I think you’d better tell her.”

  “I plan to, just as soon as I find her.” Sam chuckled, then ducked through the stairway door.

  “Good luck,” Beth called as the door slammed shut behind him.

  Sam slowed, then turned the corner onto Ryder Place. A police car sat in the driveway at number 168. His heartbeat doubled. Oh, God. Had she been robbed? Was she hurt? He pulled to a stop beside the black and white, shut off the motor, and removed his helmet. The officer’s rear passenger door stood open. Apparently, it was neither one. While Sam waited, he watched the young woman remove a baby’s car seat. With a baby in it.

  He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Lillian Moore.”

  “She’ll be out in a minute.”

  He watched Lillian hurry though the front door, then stop dead in her tracks the instant she saw him. “Sam,” she whispered, guilt draining the color from her face.

  “Hello, Lilly.” He glanced at the officer. “I guess I’m intruding. I’ll leave.”

  “Please don’t,” Lillian countered, then proceeded with introductions. “Sam, this is Officer Amy Corcoran. She’s here on behalf of Child Protective Services. Sam Weiss is a good friend.”

  Sam must have looked dazed because the officer started to explain. “Mrs. Moore often cares for infants while we search for a missing relative to take the child.” She turned to address Lillian. “If we can go inside now, I’ll give you everything we have on our baby John Doe here.”

  Sam didn’t know whether that included him. He was still stunned, though why, he wasn’t sure. Lillian had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever known.

  “You’re welcome to stay, Sam.” Lillian smiled shyly at him. “I’d like you to stay.”

  He followed her though the front door and into the house. “Another secret you’ve been keeping?” he whispered in her ear.

  She nodded. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

  Sam registered her home’s simple beauty from the corner of his eye while she led him to a black leather couch. Walls the color of sunshine. Picture groupings of colorful seascapes and snow-covered mountains. Above the fireplace sat a collage of family pictures, and it surprised him how much he wanted to see her dead husband’s face. His competition for her heart.

  Lillian sat down beside him facing Officer Corcoran who placed the baby carrier on the deep pile gray carpet before sitting in a matching chair. Sam couldn’t help but note the contradiction between the gun on her hip and the child at her feet. The baby, who looked to be between two and three months old, at least by Sam’s fuzzy reckoning, was dressed in a blue sleeper, had dark curly hair, light caramel-colored skin, and sucked peacefully on a pacifier while he slept.

  Officer Corcoran handed Lillian a file folder. “This is all we have on the baby. He’s the only survivor of a tanker-bus accident that occurred at 2:46 this morning on the Ted Williams Highway. From what CHP can piece together, they think the driver of the tanker fell asleep at the wheel just west of Carmel Valley Rd. He was going 80 mph when he crossed the median and struck a Greyhound bus headed for San Bernardino. Joggers found the baby this morning along the bike trail, eighty-five feet from the crash site. He was crying and hungry, but otherwise completely unharmed. Patrol officers at the scene believe the tanker hit the bus with such force that the carrier was literally launched through the bus window on impact.

  “That this little guy escaped without a scratch is a miracle.” Officer Corcoran reached down to caress the baby’s cheek. “I’m afraid his mother was not so lucky. Because the fire burned so intensely, CHP says it may take several days to identify her or any of the other passengers.”

  “What about the ticket she purchased?” Sam asked before realizing he had no say in any of this. He reached for Lillian’s hand and smiled by way of apology.

  If the officer minded his interjection, she made no indication of it. “The mother paid with cash, so Greyhound has no written record of her identity; however, the bus station attendant remembers the woman because she was upset that she would be required to pay for an additional seat. Greyhound is providing their video coverage, and we’ll have pictures of the baby on the evening news asking for the public’s assistance with identification.”

  When Officer Corcoran stood to leave, Sam rose immediately to his feet. Years of parental training, he supposed. She smiled at him, then turned toward Lillian. “In the meantime, we’re very grateful for your help, Mrs. Moore, and we’ll notify you as soon as we have any additional information.”

  Sam removed Lillian’s hand gently from his, then waited while she followed the officer to the door. “Well, young man,” he whispered, squatting down beside the carrier, “you’ve come through quite an ordeal today. And unscathed, by the look of you.” A tiny hand closed around his index finger. He heard the front door close quietly, then Lillian’s hesitant footsteps as she approached him. He glanced up at her. Smiled. “I’d forgotten how small and helpless they are at this age.”

  “Not quite the same as a twelve-year-old.”

  Sam chuckled, then drew his finger carefully from the baby’s grasp and rose to his feet. “Different, that’s for sure, but still pretty helpless.”

  “Sam, I’m sorry…”

  He drew her into his arms, then tipped her chin up so he could see into her eyes, blue and as deep as the ocean. “Don’t ever apologize for being a caring human being, Lilly. It looks good on you.”

  Her cheeks blushed a deep pink. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  When she looked up at him, he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. A kiss that would have lasted much longer and perhaps ended somewhere it shouldn’t have had not the baby lost his pacifier and started crying.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

>   Lillian laid Baby John on his stomach in the crib. He rooted around briefly, but was soon fast asleep, his soft snores bringing back long forgotten memories. Michael had been a restless baby, too. With dark hair and deep brown eyes that battled sleep until his eyelids grew too heavy to remain open. This child reminded her a lot of Michael. Amanda, on the other hand, would drop off the moment her head hit the pillow. Jennifer was the family enigma. Bath. Pajamas. Story. Goodnight kiss. Sleep. Everything in that exact order. The little drill sergeant took after the maternal grandfather she barely remembered.

  Leaving the nursery door ajar, Lillian began her own bedtime routine, thoughts of Rusty hovering in the back of her mind. Was she being untrue to his memory to want another man in her life? Amanda would certainly think so. Still, wasn’t her life her own? Wasn’t she entitled to fall in love? Be loved in return? She glanced at the small teddy bear sitting on her dresser, the one Sam had won for her at the carnival.

  Sam had left several hours ago. He’d been so good with the baby. Kept the little guy happy and occupied while she had prepared them a throw-together spaghetti dinner. That he hadn’t wanted to leave was obvious in his fiery gaze and the passionate taste of his kiss. Part of her wanted that, too. The other part was afraid he would be disappointed. Foolish thoughts, she knew, yet couldn’t seem to make them go away as she waved good-bye. Watched long after his motorcycle turned the corner.

  After peeking into the nursery one last time, Lillian donned her pajamas and crawled into her king-size bed. Though she could hear Baby John’s quiet breathing through the speaker on her bedside table, she had left both doors open, just in case. She snuggled under the covers, but as tired as she was, her mind refused to give in to sleep. Evidently, Michael had inherited that trait from her as well. She sat up, turned on the light and picked up the test paper Sam had nearly forgotten to give her. The reason for his impromptu visit. She gazed at the A in the top right hand corner and couldn’t suppress a grin. One hundred percent! Every answer correct.