by Cynthia Raye
She wrapped the tissue around the ringers of her right hand, bent down again, and slid the sharp part of the letter opener under the envelope, She flipped up the envelope so it stood on its edge as it leaned against the blade of the letter opener.
With her right hand she grabbed the envelope, which she placed on her desk. Holding it tight against the top of the desk, she ran the letter opener under the flap, and slit it open. She took another tissue from her purse. This one she wrapped around her left hand. Then she reached inside the envelope and pulled out a sheet of folded typing paper.
She unfolded the sheet of paper to read what was typed there.
Ronni Adams, it began.
The police have the wrong person! Millie Petrosky did not murder Sylvia Hawkins. I know who did. However, for reasons I cannot disclose, I am unable to reveal the killer’s identity. Please, as soon as you can, give this note to the police. Oh, in case you’re thinking of fingerprints on the paper or the envelope, you won’t find any. Gloves sometimes do come in handy, don’t they?
Oh, my God, Ronni thought. Who wrote this? Was it true? Did the author of the note know what he was talking about? Or was it a girl who wrote it? The last part about the gloves did seem to her more like something a girl would write, not a boy. Well, she had no choice. She’d have to call the police. And right away, assembly or not.
Detective Sampson came to the school almost immediately, asked Ronni a few questions, and took the note with him. He told her they’d process it for fingerprints. “People,” he said, “often think they’re smarter than they really are. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a good print or two.”
Ronni sneaked into the back of the auditorium. She had missed hardly any of the assembly.
Chapter 21
The first period was exhausting. Ronni had spent so much time the day before talking with students that she was burned out. Yet, she felt she owed it to those who still had questions or concerns to respond and try to help them. However, the acting class spent most of the time talking about determining a way of remembering Sylvia, of leaving some sort of memorial.
Ronni was surprised because Sylvia had been so universally disliked among the other students… except, of course, for the followers.
Hannah Smithfield, one of the followers, raised her hand.
“Yes, Hannah,” Ronni said.
“I am so upset I can hardly think. Sylvia was a wonderful person.”
Oh, no, Ronni thought, was this going to be a requiem for Sylvia? She could hear the other students expressing disbelief. One, in fact, raised his hand. “Yes, Josh?” Ronni said.
“We’re all sorry Sylvia is no longer with us, Hannah. But some of us feel much differently about her than you do.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hannah screamed. “She was my friend. She was…”
“Calm down!” It was Emma. “Now is not the time nor the place. We were talking about some sort of memorial to honor Sylvia. She was my friend too.”
“You didn’t love her like we did,” Hannah said. “She was the most important individual in the world for us—for me and my other friends. We… we worshiped her, if you must know.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Ronni said. “Let’s concentrate on a memorial or on talking about what happened. No arguments. Okay.” She turned to Hannah. “All right, Hannah, did you have a suggestion?”
By now Hannah was sniffling and having difficulty speaking. “The school.”
“What about it?” Ronni asked.
“We need to rename it in her honor.”
“Rename the school?” someone said. Ronni wasn’t sure who. “Like that’s going to happen. The school has a long history. It’s named for the founders. No one is going to go along with calling it the Sylvia Hawkins school or whatever?”
“My friends and I will,” Hannah said.
Ronni wasn’t sure how to answer. “That’s a nice thought, Hannah,” she finally told the girl. “But the administration and the donors would have to agree. We can certainly ask, if you like, but…” She’d gotten herself into a tangle—how to finish the sentence? She was trying to be diplomatic but discouraging at the same time. “My point is, I don’t think they’d agree to a name change. In fact, I’d be willing to bet on it.”
“But it wouldn’t hurt to go and ask Mr. Hostetler, would it?” Hannah’s voice was so soft Ronni could barely hear her.
“By all mean, discuss it with him.”
Devonte raised his hand.
“Yes, Devonte?” Ronni said.
“What about naming a room for her—a conference room or the library or auditorium?”
The suggestions went on. Not too soon for Ronni, the bell rang signaling the end of class. She was glad. She needed to relax. Already, the morning had been extremely stressful. If she could just be alone for ten or fifteen minutes, she’d be okay. What if she went to her office? Or for a cup of coffee and a pastry in the teachers’ lounge? She could certainly use the coffee, she decided. She decided on the teachers’ lounge.
She sat in one of the easy chairs with a cup of coffee and a cherry Danish. She breathed deeply, let her shoulders sag, and felt the tension begin to melt away. She knew, of course, she’d have to get through the rest of the day—with her theater classes and talking about Sylvia. But for now, it was good just to lean back and close her eyes. Liz didn’t show up, as Ronni had half expected she would, and for that, she was glad.
Chapter 22
Halfway through her free period, Ronni decided to talk with Bob again about the run-in he’d had with Sylvia. She brushed away the crumbs on her suit, a pale brown, and rinsed out her cup.
She hoped Bob was still on duty. Well, he had to be, didn’t he? It was still early in the day. She walked down the hall and headed toward the rear entrance to the school. Yep. The guard was still there, fussing with his cell phone—probably texting someone or playing a game, she thought. It must be very boring to just stand or sit most of the working day with little to occupy your mind. She certainly wouldn’t want such a job. At least there was a canopy that provided relief from the sun or rain.
She opened the outside door. “Bob?”
“Yes,” the guard answered. “Do you need something?”
“I already talked to Tom about this. I told him it had occurred to me that maybe the person who murdered Sylvia was an adult, someone who works at the school, and not a student.”
Bob seemed shocked. “And you suspect me!”
“No, Bob, no. I don’t suspect anyone. I just decided to talk to as many people who work here as I can to try find out any problems they’ve had or others have had with Sylvia Hawkins. You just happen to be second on my list.”
“That’s a relief.”
“You honestly thought I suspected you?”
He shrugged. “I thought maybe you heard what happened between the murdered girl and me.”
Ronni knew it was something but, of course, not what it was. “Why, what happened?”
“This was ten days ago. You know the security guards are responsible for seeing that the students make an orderly exit at the end of the day.”
“Yes?” Ronni answered, wondering where this was going.
“We have the students line up in the order they arrive at the exit. Then I open the door.”
“Seems reasonable to me,” Ronni said.
“It works. Sure, sometimes kids are impatient to leave, but I’d never had a problem with this. Neither have any of the other guards. I know that because I asked them.” He paused and shook his head. “The whole thing is ridiculous.”
“What happened?” It sounded to her like something pretty trivial.
“Well, on this particular day, Sylvia Hawkins was in a hurry and tried to push her way to the front.” He shook his head. “She started to argue. She needed to leave and right away. Well, it ended up with her yelling at me and my refusing to let her go first. That should be the end of it, right?”
“It seems pretty petty to
me,” Ronni agreed.
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Well, apparently it was some sort of big deal with Sylvia.” Bob shook his head as if questioning what really had occurred. “She called my wife and told her she had evidence to prove that I was cheating on her and had been doing so far a long time.”
“What! She called your wife?”
“Got my number from the school directory, I suppose.” He shook his head. “I’m unlisted, but you know Mr. Hostetler has a record of all employees—addresses, phone numbers, who to notify in case of emergency…that sort of thing. Well, I think Sylvia somehow got into his office when he wasn’t there—I have no idea how she did it—and found my information. I can’t think of any other way she found it out.”
“So she called your wife!”
“She certainly did. She told Donna that she had irrefutable evidence to the fact and so could prove it.”
“My God. I know she did a lot of awful things, but that has to be one of the lowest.”
“Well, yeah, and I was angry. Damned angry. At first, Donna believed her and tore into me immediately when I got home from work the day Sylvia called her. She screamed and me and wouldn’t let me say a word. I had a terrible time trying to get her to calm down.” He sank back in his chair. “I never would have expected it of her. Of Sylvia, I mean. Up until then she’d always been courteous and friendly.”
“I guess a lot of us are finding out what she was really like,” Ronni said and immediately was sorry for saying it. Don’t speak ill of the dead! Uh huh, well, sometimes it was difficult not to.
“So everything’s all right now with you and your wife?” Ronni asked.
“I hate to say this, but it’s much better now that Sylvia is no longer around, and everyone knows the sort of person she really was—not what everyone thought, by any means.”
“Except for the other kids, that is,” Ronni said. “They certainly knew what sort of person she was. She did a lot of horrible things.”
“So I’ve heard,” Bob told her.
“You don’t know of any other problems Sylvia had with faculty or staff, do you?” Ronni asked.
Bob shook his head. “I haven’t heard a thing… except lately. Yesterday and this morning. But even so, it was things involving other students. I haven’t heard of a problem with any adults. Lots of rumors about her floating around. Like how she pushed that kid down the steps; how she mocked everyone. If I believed even half of what they’re saying, it would be terrible.”
“Unfortunately,” Ronni told him, “I’m sure that at least most of what you heard is true.”
It was almost time for her directing class. “Thanks, Bob,” she said as she went back inside. She wondered if what the guard had told her was true—that his wife finally realized that he wasn’t cheating on her, that she accepted his side of the story. Well, there was no way for her to check that out, was there? But what if his wife hadn’t forgiven him? What if he actually was the murderer? After all, no one would question his being at the school. And it would have been easy for him to come inside and end Sylvia’s life. All the guards had keys. She supposed she’d have to tell the police what she’d found out. At least, they could talk with Bob and his wife to see if what he said was true—about her finally believing him. She pulled out her cell phone and saw that she had just a few minutes before class started. She’d stop at her office, she decided. She didn’t feel like facing any students before she had to.
Just as she closed the office door behind her, her cell rang. “Ronni Adams,” she answered.
“Ronni, it’s Peter. I hope I got you while you’re still on your free period.”
“You did, or I wouldn’t have answered. I always turn off my phone during class time.”
“Well, I have a little bit of reason for hope. Not much, I guess, but a glimmer.”
Immediately, Ronni was intrigued. “What is it?”
“Millie’s dad called me a little while ago. Millie told him she thinks she can prove she was upstairs in his classroom studying when Sylvia was murdered.”
“How is that possible?”
“As I said, it’s pretty thin evidence.” He paused for a moment. “But she told him that when she realized something was going on, that no one was allowed into the building, she rushed out of his classroom and ran downstairs to the exit. She was hoping that with what was going on outside, no one would notice her.”
Ronni frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said.
Peter laughed. “Just hang on. I’m getting to it.”
“Okay,” Ronni answered, trying to stifle her impatience. She wanted to know what the evidence was, and she had to know soon. It was only three or four minutes till she had to go to her directing class. “But I have to be on my way in just a few minutes,” she told Peter.
“Well, then… She forgot to take her coffee with her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said she always stops for a take-out coffee before she goes to the school to study in the early morning. She was so worried about being seen that she rushed from the room and left the cup on her dad’s desk. That proves where she was, and it wasn’t downstairs.”
“I don’t understand why she thought she had to sneak out.”
“She says she heard a lot of loud complaints from the kids standing on the lawn and knew something was terribly wrong inside the school. She didn’t know what it was, just that she didn’t want to get involved.”
“But,” Ronni said, “couldn’t she have left the cup, murdered Sylvia, and then rushed outside?”
“Except someone saw her coming down the stairs, right? That’s not actual proof, I suppose, but it might help.”
“Didn’t think of that,” Ronni said. “So what would you like me to do?”
“Check if the cup’s still there. It would be a help.”
“Wouldn’t the janitors have thrown it away?”
“Ah, under most circumstances. But not this time.” He was almost gloating.
Ronni glanced at the time. She had to go. “Why not?”
“Her dad often writes algebra or geometry problems on the chalkboard the day before he wants to go over them with his classes. When he does that, he leaves a post-in note on the outside of the door to his classroom to ask the maintenance people not to clean his room till the following day.”
“Luck, huh? So what would you like me to do?”
“Petrosky isn’t there today. He and his wife are working on hiring an attorney and also spending time with Millie. So his door still should be closed, and no one should have entered the room.”
“Peter, I have to go,” she told him and abruptly disconnected. She had to half-run to make it to the class on time.
Chapter 23
In the directing class, instead of wanting to talk about Sylvia, the students asked if they could discuss what had happened with Millie Petrosky.
“That’s fine with me,” Ronni told them. “What specifically would you like talk about?”
A girl named Melody raised her hand. “I hear she’s the one who murdered Sylvia? Is that true?”