That brought a titter of laughter, which Gabbie found a refreshing change from the dull silence up till now. "Charles Russell?" She looked around the room.
A small elf of a boy raised his hand halfway. "Here, miss."
The mocking tone of the ensuing laughter made Gabbie frown. "We can laugh in here, but never at anyone's expense. Do you prefer to be called Charlie?"
"Yes, I do. Thank you, miss."
This time she heard the twang in his speech and grinned. "Charlie, tell me, have you ever lived in South Carolina?"
There was no mistaking the pride that drew back his shoulders and lifted his gaze. "Born and bred, miss, until we moved here three years ago."
Gabbie felt a warm rush of affection for Charlie Russell. She finished taking attendance and began discussing chapter three of The Great Gatsby.
When the period ended, she went to the teachers' cafeteria, ate a quick lunch, and returned to her classroom. Her two sophomore classes had gone as well as she could have hoped. One more period, and she was through for the day.
By the time the second bell rang, only five students were present. During the next five minutes, seven more ambled in, each bearing an excuse from a guidance counselor or murmuring they got back late from lunch because they had trouble finding parking spaces close by.
When the thirteenth student showed up, Gabbie introduced herself and announced that she expected them to come to class on time or their grades would reflect their tardiness. An overweight girl, whose tangled shoulder-length hair looked like it hadn't been combed for a month, cracked her gum.
"And no gum chewing," Gabbie said.
"Mrs. Ketchem let us," the girl whined.
"Right, Lynne," a pretty girl who'd arrived on time said. "As long as we chew quietly."
Lynne made a face at her. "You're such an AK, April."
"That's enough, Lynne!" Gabbie hated playing policewoman, and she didn't want to antagonize the class, so she said, "You can chew gum, but crack it one more time and there's no gum chewing for you or anyone in the class."
She took attendance and noticed that Barrett Connelly was one of the three absentees. She checked the grade book to see who still had to read essays, then glanced at the seating plan. "Lynne?" She eyed the gum chewer. "Looks like we're ready to hear your essay. Would you rather stand at your seat or come to the front of the class?"
Lynne flipped frantically through a notebook, spilling loose papers onto the floor. "Oh, no!" she moaned. "Where is it? I know it's here."
"My rules are the same as Mrs. Ketchem's. If you don't have your essay when I call on you, your mark goes down a grade."
"That makes it an F for sure," one of the boys commented. The others burst out laughing.
Red blotches appeared on Lynne's face as she searched through her book bag. Gabbie took pity on her. "While you're looking, we'll hear from Heather."
Heather stood at her seat and began reading her essay "Why High School Students Should Take a Year Off Before Starting College." It was full of platitudes and clichés, and soon had the other students yawning and doodling in their notebooks. When she finished, Heather looked up and smiled in anticipation of praise.
"Now that was logical and made its point," Gabbie said. "Any comments?"
The same boy who'd said Lynne would get an F raised his hand. "It's boring!"
Heather's nostrils flared. "Thanks, a lot, Andy. Some friend you are."
"Enough!" Gabbie said. "We're here to learn and to critique each other with consideration. Now, writing--fresh, original writing--is difficult to create, so we often take the easy way out by using well-worn expressions. Heather's essay has a good deal of merit. Let's take some of her points and rephrase them so they sound exciting and new."
April raised her hand. "She could mention one country--like Mexico--and say she wants to spend time there so she can learn the language and get to know the people."
"Very good," Gabbie said.
"Nah. She should fly to Colombia and become the first female drug lord--I mean lady--of the land." A maniacal giggle followed.
All eyes turned to Barrett Connelly, standing in the doorway. He tossed a note on Gabbie's desk and strolled to the back of the room, where he sprawled out in the last seat of the middle row. He was wearing a black polo and black jeans.
Gabbie looked at the slip of paper. It was from the principal's office, permitting Barrett back in class. The time stamped on it was fifteen minutes ago. "You're fifteen minutes late," she said.
"I had to get my essay from my locker," Barrett said. "The damn thing was jammed, so I went to the custodians' office, but no one was there. I ran into Eddie and he opened my locker."
His lie was so brazen, Gabbie knew he was challenging her, waiting to see if the new teacher caved in. "You'll read your essay after Lynne."
"Oh, did I leave out that part? My essay's missing. Someone must have stolen it."
Gabbie shivered as he let loose another maniacal giggle. When he went silent, she met his gaze. "Your grade is an F, unless by some miracle you happen to find it and read it in class tomorrow. The highest grade you may receive is a C, as you've already failed to bring it to class before today."
She shifted her attention to Lynne. "Have you found your essay?"
"Yep." Lynne stood and began to read "Why Movie Stars and Sports Heroes Aren't Necessarily Good Role Models."
Gabbie listened, consciously ignoring Barrett's fixed stare, which he focused on her breasts when he wasn't writing feverishly in a small note book. She ignored, too, his occasional giggle, having decided that reprimanding him would only bring him the attention he so clearly desired. The other students seemed unaffected by his presence, and were quick to offer their comments as soon as Lynne finished reading her essay.
When the bell rang, Gabbie contained a sigh of relief that the period was over. Barrett was the last student to leave the room. As he passed her desk, he said softly, "Never make an enemy of the person in power."
"What?"
He walked out as if neither of them had spoken.
Shaken, she remained in her seat until students started coming in for the next class. I'll speak to Tim Jordan about him.
But when she got to the principal's office, the door was closed, indicating he was in conference. Barrett's guidance counselor was occupied as well. She'd speak to one of them tomorrow, she promised herself, as she headed to her car.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gabbie was glad to see it was no longer snowing. The inch or two that had accumulated overnight was melting under sunny skies. The early afternoon brightness cheered her.
She told herself she'd done well her first day of school. She'd taught her lessons and controlled her classes. The kids were fine, except for Barrett Connelly, and she refused to let herself get spooked by some weird kid with a maniacal laugh.
The rest of the day spread before her. For a moment she was tempted to stop at the diner for a cup of coffee on the off-chance that Darren Rollins would be there. Her heartbeat quickened as she considered pumping him for information that might help her find Cam's murderer. Or perhaps he could give her some vital information about Barrett Connelly.
Bad idea. She sped past the diner. Darren Rollins was the last thing she needed on her plate. Instead, she drove to the public library.
The library was surprisingly modern, not what she'd expected in a sleepy little town like Chrissom Harbor. Instead of heading directly to the circulation desk, Gabbie detoured to a prominent display of recent best sellers. There were several she'd planned to read but hadn't gotten around to.
She stared wistfully at the several carrels equipped with computers. She'd always used the computer in the office, never bothering to keep one at home. Now she promised herself her second purchase would be a tablet--after buying a cell phone. At any rate, the library computer could probably access old newspaper files. She'd love to see what the local paper had to say about Cam's death.
When she applied for a library ca
rd, she discovered she'd need a copy of her lease to prove she was a resident. "I'm taking Lydia Ketchem's classes while she recuperates from surgery," she told the woman at the circulation desk, "and I'd hoped to get some reference material today."
"Oh, we can take care of that. I'll just issue you a temporary card, good for two weeks." Barbara McIntlock, Director, the badge on her shirt read.
"That's wonderful. I promise I'll bring the lease in soon." Gabbie signed both sections of the card and tucked hers into her pocket. "I really appreciate this."
"Enjoy our facilities, Ms. Meyerson," the director told her with a smile.
Gabbie thanked her and headed for one of the computers, intent on seeing what books the library had on literary criticism regarding Fitzgerald and The Great Gatsby.
It was only when she felt an urgent pressure on her bladder that she realized she'd been hard at work for over an hour. She turned off the computer and asked for directions to the ladies' room.
"Down the steps, go past the community rooms, then turn left."
Downstairs, she passed a large room, its walls filled with oil paintings. The narrow hallway to the restrooms had two small rooms on either side. They were set up like classrooms. In one were a young Chinese man and a woman with long blonde hair. The young man was reading aloud, slowly and falteringly. Gabbie paused, curious.
When he stopped, the woman smiled at him. "Very good, Richard. Do you understand what you've been reading?"
"I think so." He paraphrased in stilted English.
"Yes, that's correct."
Gabbie recognized the woman who had sat at the next table in Logan's. She was Jill Leverette.
Gabbie's heart began to pound. Pieces were beginning to fall into place. Don't be so dramatic. This is a small town. Besides, Cam told you Jill tutored in the library.
Jill must have sensed Gabbie behind her. "Did you want something? We have the room for another five minutes."
"No, sorry." Gabbie's words tripped over each other. "I was on my way to the--I heard someone reading, and being a teacher, I couldn't help--"
Jill flashed a dazzling smile, letting Gabbie know that her bumbling explanation was perfectly understandable. She is beautiful! This was the woman Cameron Leeds had loved. Still loved, she corrected herself with an unexpected pang of jealousy.
"I'm not a certified teacher, but I help out with the literacy program."
"Please excuse the interruption. I'll let you get on with the lesson." Gabbie hoped her voice hadn't given away her confusion.
She took her time in the ladies' room, freshening her lipstick and brushing her curly hair. She was in dire need of a haircut. If she delayed long enough, Jill might very well show up after she ended her session with her student, which should be just about now.
Or she wouldn't. Gabbie made a disparaging face at her image in the mirror and started for the door. It opened and Jill entered.
"I was hoping you'd still be here," she said. "After you left, it dawned on me who you are."
Gabbie held out her hand. "Gabbie Meyerson, your daughter's new English teacher."
Jill's grip was firm, her blue eyes sad and wary. "I hear you're renting the Leeds cottage."
Gabbie gave her a wry smile. "And you're about to tell me one of the owners fell to his death there last spring. I didn't know it when I signed the lease, but everyone is quick to fill me in."
"Yes. Cameron Leeds." Jill set her briefcase on the floor and headed for one of the two stalls. When she emerged, she said, "I still can't believe it was an accident."
Gabbie's heart beat double-time. Go slow, she told herself. "There's no fence, but a row of scrawny trees along the edge. And the drop is pretty steep. At least two stories, wouldn't you say?"
"Cam lived and played at that cottage most of his life," Jill answered over the sound of running water. "And it wasn't the first time he went over the bluff."
"I heard he and Darren Rollins both did, when they were in high school."
"True enough. Do you know why?"
Gabbie laughed as she shook her head. "Give me time. I've only been living here since Sunday."
"They were fighting over a girl. Rosetta Davis, my sister Janice's friend. Rosetta's married now with three kids."
"Fighting over a girl? I thought Darren was Cam's best friend." Gabbie opened the door and they walked single file down the narrow hall.
"Best friend and avid competitor. In most things," Jill said.
But not where you're concerned. They walked up the stairs without speaking. The pause in their conversation seemed natural. Though she and Jill were strangers, Gabbie sensed the ease she felt in Jill's presence was mutual. I like this woman.
She stopped to pick up a mystery she'd been meaning to read, and went to stand behind Jill, who was having a problem checking out a book. The clerk--a wisp of a woman, as devoid of color as her gray sweater and skirt--was insisting Jill couldn't take it out because she hadn't returned How to be Happy, which was now overdue.
"Sonia, I returned that book a week ago." Jill spoke slowly, as though to a child. "You can look it up on the computer."
"The computer's down," the clerk snapped, "and we're too short-handed to send someone into the stacks to verify that you've returned it."
"How absurd." Jill ignored the "Employees Only" sign and marched through an open door. "Barbara? I need your assistance with another problem."
Barbara McIntlock appeared immediately and exchanged a knowing glance with Jill. As Jill explained the situation to the director, the clerk eyed her maliciously.
"Sonia." The director spoke as if they'd had this conversation before.
"Yes, Barbara?" Sonia's expression was now as bland as her tone of voice.
"Please check this book out for Jill. We can take her word that she's returned How to be Happy."
Sonia did as she was told. Jill gave a huff of exasperation and headed for the exit. Gabbie handed Sonia her temporary library card. What's in store for me?
The piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Sonia bent to pick it up. "But this address is the Leeds cottage. No one lives there."
Gabbie reined in her impatience. Did everyone in this town have to comment on her residence? "I live there now, and will continue to do so for the next few months."
"Oh." Sonia's ears were red as she checked out the book and handed Gabbie the due-date receipt.
Outside, the sun was sinking behind the trees. The temperature must have dropped at least twenty degrees. Gabbie pulled up the hood of her parka and hurried to her car. Two spaces away, Jill was closing her trunk.
"That Sonia. Did she give you a hard time, too?"
"Not really. She just commented on where I was staying, like everyone else in this town."
Jill sighed. "She hates me, though for the life of me I can't imagine why."
"She certainly was rude. I wonder why they don't fire her."
"CH is a small town. Everyone knows Sonia's story and feels sorry for her." She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Sonia was a year behind me in school. She was a wimp from the day she was born. The kid the bullies always picked on." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "When she was in eleventh grade, she was raped."
Gabbie shivered. "Oh, how awful. Did they find the guy who did it?"
"The rumor is some boys a couple of towns from here invited her to a party. They picked her up in a van and took turns with her. Sonia never said who they were. When the cops finally went to talk to her, she claimed she couldn't remember any of the details."
She hesitated and bit her lip. "At the time, some people thought she was afraid to name names because the boys were from CH, but I didn't believe it."
"The poor thing! To have something that awful happen when you're sixteen or seventeen." Gabbie suddenly thought of Cam the womanizer and wondered if he could have been the unnamed rapist.
"I feel bad for her, but Sonia's her own worst enemy. She's as difficult and nasty as they come. And I see her sour puss every time
I open my front door. She's my next-door neighbor. Lucky me." Jill shook her head and flashed her beautiful smile. "But enough negativity. I'm pleased to have met you, Ms. Meyerson."
"Gabbie."
"And I'm Jill." She waved and got into her car.
On the way home, Gabbie rehashed every fact Jill had told her. No mention of her husband, Fred. Had Fred killed Cam? It seemed a bit farfetched and melodramatic, given that he and Jill were still living together as a couple. But maybe Fred had killed Cam so he and Jill would still be a couple. Although judging from last night, they were barely on speaking terms. Surely Jill wouldn't stay with Fred if she knew he'd murdered Cam--the operative word being "knew."
There were too many suspects, Gabbie mused as she unlocked the front door. Besides, how was she supposed to open up a murder investigation when Cam's best friend, the town's police chief, had ruled his death an accident? Obviously, she had to find evidence or proof or something that would convince Darren Rollins he'd been wrong. And how was she supposed to perform this amazing feat?
Thank goodness Cam wasn't around. Gabbie changed into jeans and a polo before starting on dinner. After she'd eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, she headed for the den with some trepidation. She had prep work to do, and while Cam was the proverbial albatross around her neck, she owed him a report of what she'd learned so far, though it amounted to nothing.
She'd managed half an hour of reading and note-taking, before a cold draft chilled the room. This time she wasn't surprised when Cam materialized beside the glass doors.
"How was your first day of school?"
"Fine." She raised her eyebrows. "I met Jill this afternoon. In the library."
"How is she? How does she seem?"
"Nice. Unhappy. We got to talking. She strikes me as a kind person."
"And that surprises you?"
"Somewhat," Gabbie admitted.
"You expected a big, brassy blonde. What other type of married woman would have a longstanding affair with the town sex machine? But it just happened, Jill and me. If you knew Fred, you wouldn't wonder why."
She laughed. She found the "big, brassy blonde" funny. "I saw him at Logan's last night. He hardly said a word all through dinner."
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