by Cynthia Raye
“Both of them were really upset, of course.” She shook her head. “It’s a long story. Before mid-terms and finals, I often come to the school very early to study. It’s quiet, and I don’t have to listen to my little sisters fighting. Anyhow, Mom and Dad didn’t know I was doing this. They thought I was going to a coffee shop. You see, I had a copy made of Dad’s key to the school. And I knew if they found that out, I’d be in big trouble.”
“So are you in trouble?” It was Kimberly, one of Sylvia’s followers, a girl who had just transferred to Watson-Collins this year.
“If I hadn’t been arrested and they’d found out, I would be. But the idea of my being in jail for murdering Sylvia made everything else unimportant, at least right then.”
“Then what happened?” Devonte asked.
“After they left, the jail served me dinner. Tough chicken, cold mashed potatoes, and limp green beans.” She tried to laugh. “But by this time I was hungry. Oh, yes, and while they were there, Dad arranged for me to have bail set for me.”
“What does that involve?” Rachael asked.
“It says that my parents are responsible for paying a lot of money if I don’t appear in court for my trail.”
“And that was it?”
“Lights are turned out at ten, and I had to spend the night there and appear before a judge the following day. Then I was allowed to come home.”
“A judge? What for?” a boy named Tom asked.
“That’s when I’m formally charged.”
“Wow,” Tom said. “So they really think you did it.”
Ronni interrupted. “Not necessarily. They may have an opinion, but it’s just that. This is a formality in all criminal cases. You have to appear before a judge.”
“And then,” Millie said, “I was allowed to come home.”
“Were there other women in the jail?” Rachael asked.
“There were. Several. One picked up for prostitution, one for drunk driving, another for stealing something.”
“Did you talk to them?” Tom asked.
“Not much. Besides, the one who was drunk kept screaming all night long that she’d done nothing wrong. That they were trying to persecute her for no reason. On and on.”
“So you didn’t get much sleep?” Ruthie asked.
“Nope! It was a bad night. I literally kept counting the seconds.”
“Were any of the guards cute?” a girl named Donna asked.
Millie laughed about humor. “I wasn’t paying particular attention. Besides, in the women’s section, we had female guards. So I can’t tell you about the men’s section. But even if I’d seen anyone ‘cute’.” she emphasized the word, “I doubt it even would have registered.”
Kimberly raised her hand.
“Yes?” Millie said.
“Are you guilty of murdering Sylvia?”
“I think we’ve had enough questions,” Ronni said. “Let’s start doing some scenes.”
Chapter 27
Ronni had bought a charcoal grill just after she moved to her apartment in Hillcrest, and she’ hadn’t had a chance to use it. Well, she told herself, as she drove home from school, that wasn’t exactly true. She had a lot of chances to use the grill but had been ignoring it as it sat there under the stairs that led up to her apartment.
Cooler weather was coming soon, she told herself, so she’d better try it out before it was too cold to be outside cooking. The rainy season had started and the rains would increase. So it was now or never.
There was little traffic, so she made it home in less than half an hour. She parked in her space and hurried into the apartment. She enjoyed cooking but so far since moving to the West Coast, she’d lived mostly on quickie meals. It was time to change that, she told herself. She didn’t want to continue eating greasy food and end up looking like a Humpty Dumpty.
She planned on grilling streaks and having baked potatoes and fresh green peas. She’d also make her special salad—lettuce and tomato of course, mixed with chopped peach and apple, plus green pepper and radishes.
By the time she had the salad finished, it was after four thirty. It would be an early dinner because the days were becoming shorter. She heard a tap on the door. “Need any help?” It was Rose.
“Think I have everything under control. But, if you like, you can set the table.”
A picnic table stood under a large palm tree at the far end of the patio.
“Paper plates,” I assume,” Rose answered. “Styrofoam cups?”
“Definitely.”
“Tell me where they are, and I’ll get started,” Rose told her.
Ronni pointed to a cupboard over the sink.
As she finished getting the steak ready to grill, scrubbing the potatoes, and preparing the green peas, Rose set the table. Just as she was preparing to take the steak and potatoes downstairs, she heard Peter at the gate.
She put the things she was carrying on the table and went to let him in. “And how is everything?” he asked.
“Ready to start grilling,” she told him.
He held out a bottle. “Have you ever had Malbec wine before?” he asked.
“Have I ever had it? No.” She held out her hand to take the bottle. “Have I ever even heard of it? Another no.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.”
“Oh?” she said as she set the bottle on the table.
“One of my favorites. Especially with steak. It’s from Argentina. Very common there, and some even has a beefy smell.”
“Sounds good.”
After dinner, she and Peter planned to go to a concert in Balboa Park, presented by a brass choir composed of a group that had been in existence, she read, for thirty years—with mostly the original members. This was the last she and Peter would be able to get together because she would be holding auditions for The Glass Menagerie. This would be followed by six weeks of rehearsals every evening of the school week. So she’d be busy.
Thank goodness for weekends, she thought.
“So how did it go today?” Peter asked after everyone finished eating. “Any new developments?”
“Millie came back today.”
“Wow,” Peter replied. “Must have taken a lot of guts to do that. I’m surprised.”
“How did it go?” Rose asked.
“As you know,” Ronni said, “she’s in my beginning acting class.” She shook her head. “The class wanted to ask her about being in jail, etc.”
“And she agreed to talk about it?” Peter asked.
“She did. And I was surprised.”
“How did the other students react?” Rose asked.
“Mixed reactions, of course. Most of them were supportive; a few think she’s guilty. I’m sure Sylvia’s followers think so. At any rate, we spent about fifteen minutes at the beginning of class for Millie to answer questions.”
“And that was okay with her?” Rose asked.
“I told her she didn’t have to do it, but she said it was okay.”
“I’m surprised,” Rose answered. “Didn’t you say that she was shy? Vulnerable?”
“I did, and she was—though in her acting exercises I did sometimes glimpse a different Millie, a stronger, more self-assured one. I suppose being arrested, rather than diminishing her, strengthened her in some way. She seems much more self-assured now. It’s really strange.”
“As conventional wisdom has it,” Rose answered, “adversity can destroy or it can strengthen. Obviously, it’s the latter with Millie.”
Ronni pursed her lips. “The problem is there’s still a dark cloud hanging over her head.”
“She’s still suspected of murdering Sylvia,” Peter said.
“Yes, I hope they soon find out who the murderer really is.”
“You don’t think she did it then,” Rose said.
“I don’t,” Ronni answered.
“From what you tell me about her, I tend to agree,” Rose said. “If she were guilty, would she agree to talk about her experience in
front of the class?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve known Millie for years,” Peter said. “And I certainly don’t think she’s the sort of person to commit premeditated murder or to become so angry that it’s a spur of the moment thing.”
“I just hope the police can discover what really happened,” Ronni said, taking a sip of wine. She glanced toward Peter. “By the way, this could easily become one of my favorite wines. I’m glad you introduced me to it.”
Peter smiled. “I’m glad you like it because it’s one of my favorites too.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I think we’re going to have to be on our way soon, if we’re going to attend the concert.” He turned to Rose. “Would you like to go with us? I hear the group is very good.”
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on that. I deserve an evening out.”
Chapter 28
The next morning, Ronni had just opened the door to her office when Millie came hurrying toward her.
“Ms. Adams,” she called. She appeared to be flustered, and frown lines covered her forehead.
“Millie, what is it?” Ronni opened the office door. “Come on in.” She held the door for Millie, who hurried in and threw herself into one of the three chairs in front of the desk.
“What’s wrong,”
Millie held out her hand. Ronni hadn’t noticed the piece of typing paper Millie clutched.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know whether I’m more worried or more angry,” Millie said.
Ronni took the paper that contained a brief note: “We know you murdered Sylvia Hawkins. So you’d better watch your step. Something could happen to you at any time.”
Ronni looked up. “That’s terrible. Where did you get this?”
Millie expelled sharply. “Someone slid it under my locker door. At first, when I opened my locker, I thought maybe I’d dropped a homework assignment or notes on the bottom. Then I picked it up and read it.”
“When was this?” Ronni asked. She was angry too. Who would do such a thing and why? Did someone have proof that Millie was guilty? She glanced at Millie again, wondering if somehow she had misjudged the girl. “You have no idea who did this?” Ronni asked.
“I don’t know! But I don’t like it.” A tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek. “I thought everything was going to be okay. And then I get this!” She pointed to the note. “Most of the kids treated me fine yesterday. You saw proof of that in class, right? Sure, I saw a few doubters in the acting class. But I figured that sort of thing is to be expected. There are always people who doubt, who don’t believe.” She brushed away the tear. “But this…” She shook her head vigorously. “I never expected anything like this. Who could have done it? And why?”
“I think we’d better call the police.”
. “I suppose you’re right,” Millie answered. “But I don’t want to face them anymore. Especially after the way the two detectives treated me.”
“I certainly understand,” Ronni said as she sat down behind the desk. “They didn’t act very nicely with you.”
“Why did they have to be that way?” Millie said. “I understand their wanting to question me. But did they have to be so mean?”
“No, they didn’t. I didn’t like that at all. It was if they’d already found you guilty and as a murderer, you were beneath contempt.”
“Well, I didn’t murder Sylvia. But I’d like to know who did. It’s like I’m living in a nightmare or a soap opera that never ends.”
“I’m sorry,” Ronni said.
“Thanks. Maybe it was somebody trying to be funny. The person who wrote the note.”
“No one should joke about things like that. It’s not at all funny, and it’s hurtful. It’s like a lot of the so-called pranking in the last few years. Much of it is cruel. Like the time the woman killed herself in the UK because she’d been pranked into believing she was speaking with Queen Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales, but then discovered it was someone in Australia. So if it was a prank, it was in very bad taste.”
“But what if it’s a real threat?” Millie asked. “If so, I could be in danger.”
“That’s why we have to call the police.”
“I hate that!” Millie had a pained look on her face. “But I know you’re right.”
“If they come right away, maybe we can have the whole thing over and done with before classes start.”
“I hope so. The sooner the better.”
Ronnie smiled sympathetically as she pulled her cell out and punched in the number for the police. Unfortunately, Detectives Solomon and Kolonich were out on another case and no one else was available at the moment.
“I expect the two detectives back within the hour,” the woman told Millie. “I’ll send them over then.”
Ronni sighed and shook her head. “Thank you.” She disconnected and turned to Millie. “They can’t come for about an hour. By then it will be almost time for second period.”
“That’s actually good,” Millie answered. “Today, Mrs. Finley gave us second period off to do research for a U.S. history project. I can do the research later.”
“That’s great. I’m always free second period too. The police will probably want me there when they talk to you, and I want to make sure they treat you right this time.”
Just as Millie was ready to leave Ronni’s office, her cell vibrated. She frowned. “My phone,” she told Ronni. “Who on earth could be calling me now?”
“Hello? Millie speaking,” she answered.
“Beware!” a strange voice said. It sounded almost computer-like, with a growly tone.
“I’m turning it on speaker,” Millie said.
Ronnie frowned, concerned.
“The note!” the voice said. “I know you got it. “Heed what it says!” The person on the other end disconnected.
Quickly, while she still remembered it word for word, Ronni scribbled down the phone message to show to the police.
“Okay,” Millie said. “They’re trying to frighten me. I don’t think the threat is serious. I think it’s someone playing around, trying to freak me out.”
“Nevertheless, I think you do have to watch your step,” Ronni cautioned. She thought too that the two messages—the note and the phone call—were just to frighten Millie, maybe just to tease her, but she didn’t know for sure. For a moment she thought maybe it could be the real killer but immediately rejected the thought. What would be the point?
“I certainly don’t intend to let down my guard.”
The warning bell rang, announcing that classes would begin in two minutes. Ronni gathered up the things she’d need for class and stood up. “Be careful, Millie.” She paused, not knowing what else to say. Was the threat serious or not? There was a possibility that it was. She smiled at Millie. “See you in class.”