Teacher's Threat

by Diane Vallere

  Rocky and I headed home. I changed out of my shirtwaist dress and into a threadbare blue pinpoint cotton oxford once owned by Tony Yanuzzi, a high school teacher in the Dallas public school system from 1963 to 1988. His wardrobe consisted of button-down collar shirts, checked sport coats, and at least twelve pair of Bass loafers. The shirts were two sizes too big but made perfect paint smocks for times like these. The rest of his wardrobe sat sealed in boxes in my attic.

  The temperature was in the eighties, and the air was still. I went into the storm cellar and retrieved a stack of plastic shower curtains printed with giant green daisies to use as drop cloths and a baby gate to keep Rocky from interfering with the project. When I climbed up, I stood still for a moment and watched Rocky chase a butterfly. He might make the painting process more difficult, but I didn’t have the heart to make him go inside when he’d had so few hours to rollick in the yard lately.

  Before I started the project, I called Joanie Higa, one of two close friends I’d made thanks to Mad for Mod. The other, Connie Duncan, was in the process of opening a flower shop. Two weeks ago, she left for the annual landscape show in Orlando and, according to the postcard I received, had extended her stay.

  Joanie owned Joanie Loves Tchotchkes, a local thrift store that occasionally beat me to the punch on trash day. We’d bonded over a carton of record albums at Canton First Trade days and had been buying and selling boxes of inventory to each other ever since.

  “I’m redoing my sitting room,” I said after hello. “Stripping the paint, recovering the sofa, installing bookcases. You wouldn’t happen to still have that collection of vintage scientific manuals that’s been collecting dust on your bookshelves, would you?” The phone was silent. “Hello? Joanie? Are you there?” I clicked the receiver a few times. This was the hazard of keeping a seventies donut phone in use.

  “Madison?” Joanie’s voice squawked.

  “Joanie?”

  “You’re working on a project?”

  “I’ve been meaning to do something with the front sitting room, the room right off the main entrance. I barely use it since it’s like having two living rooms, but maybe now’s the time to tackle it. Get back into the flow of things before I reopen the studio.”

  “Your studio on Greenville Ave?”

  “Yes. Why are you repeating everything I say? Is this a bad connection?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home,” I said. “I’m about to mix up the paint stripper.”

  “Do you want some help?”

  “I won’t turn it down.”

  “I’m on my way.” She hung up before I had a chance to question her motivation.

  I brewed a fresh pot of coffee for the two of us and pulled a nut roll out of the freezer to thaw then pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and poured paint stripper into a paint tray. I spent the hour until Joanie arrived focusing solely on the walls. I painted on the stripper in thick batches over two-foot square sections at a time and then moved on, letting the chemicals do most of the heavy lifting.

  Rocky took off to the front door, and soon Joanie let herself in. She carried a cardboard box that she dumped on the kitchen floor.

  Joanie was a petite Japanese American with rockabilly style. She had long jet-black hair she wore in an Ann Margret-inspired style with red lipstick and black winged eyeliner. After a brief affair with bowling shoes while she recovered from a twisted ankle, she was back to her usual attire of beauty smock, skinny jeans, and stilettos. I was surprised she’d returned to the stilettos after twisting her ankle, but between her hair and her shoes, she added six inches to her height.

  “I would have come to your store for those,” I said.

  “These are from my private collection. I let my assistant run the store today. You gave me an excuse to not sit around eating cheese puffs, so you get first pick.” She kicked her shoes off next to the storm cellar doors and set the box on the floor of my living room. “I’m surprised Tex didn’t offer to help you.”

  “Tex can’t be seen over here. We have to pretend we don’t know each other.”

  “I thought you guys came out of the closet.”

  “We did. And then I enrolled in business school, and my professor was murdered, and now Tex is undercover at the college.”

  “It’s great how you two work together.”

  “This wasn’t something I wanted,” I said. “It’s put a strain on us.”

  Joanie left the cart of books in my living room and joined me. “How come? If he’s undercover, he must be thrilled he can count on you to back up his story. What’s his cover, anyway?”

  “Rex Allen, hat store owner. Sells Stetsons.”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s hilarious. You’ve got him watching Doris Day movies, and it spilled into his police work. How did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t exactly tell me. He told the class while I was there.”

  “I hope you kept a straight face,” she said. “But I was right. He definitely needs you to get people to believe him.”

  Joanie would have been right if the plan had been something Tex and I had agreed upon first, but that was not how it unfolded. I wasn’t yet ready to talk about how we’d left things last night. Tex and I had always been two independent operators, and this was no different. But somehow, we’d also always been able to work in tandem. We had a synergy I never could have predicted; even when we came at a problem from opposite sides, we ended up meeting in the middle (sometimes by accident). This was the first time he’d gone undercover in an investigation since I met him, and I wasn’t sure I liked how it felt.

  Joanie assessed the walls. “What’s the vision?” she asked.

  “I’m calling it the ‘Glenn Den’,” I said. “Part astronaut, part crash pad. Refinish the knotty pine walls, expose the hardwood, and install floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Put a media console over here”—I gestured to the north wall—“and a tweed sofa over here.” I gestured to the opposite side of the room.

  “Lighting?”

  “Globe lamps, or something that looks like planets.”

  She pulled a pair of leather work gloves out of her back pocket and pulled them on. “Where do I start?”

  Work, as I’d anticipated, was the perfect antidote to my busy mind. First, we emptied the room of furniture, which proved a challenge for two middle-aged women. Eventually we triumphed. Joanie mixed two batches of paint stripper, and we took turns on opposite walls of the room. Once the stripper was applied, we gave it thirty minutes to bubble up and then scraped the residue off easily with wide plastic scrapers that kept the wood intact. When the majority of the paint was gone, we were left with the nasty task of getting it out of corner seams and ceiling joints.

  I filled a bucket with warm, soapy water, grabbed a couple of sponges, and returned to find Joanie on my front steps playing catch with Rocky. I let them be and wiped the residual paint off the entire room to prepare for sanding and conditioning. While the surface air-dried, the three of us went to the kitchen for a well-earned break. Two of us had coffee and nut roll, and one of us had water and kibble.

  Emboldened by the endorphins physical labor provided, I confided in Joanie. “Tex is mad at me,” I said. I reached for the note he gave me last night and handed it to her. “I can’t tell if we’re on a break while he’s conducting this investigation. Are we free agents?”

  “Do you want to be a free agent?”

  “No. I’m ready. I’m in. Except...” I picked at my nut roll. “Tex may have overheard something that made it seem as though I’m going on a date tonight.”

  Joanie picked up her coffee cup and peered inside. “Is this coffee spiked?”

  “It’s the dean of the business school. I told him I might end up dropping out, and he asked me to have dinner with him. And Tex walked in on the tail end of the conversation, so he didn’t hear the dropping-out part.”

  “That sounds like a date, all right.”

  “Except...”

&
nbsp; “You have got to stop doing that.”

  “The dean said he wanted to discuss a decorating dilemma. He said he needed someone like me, and truthfully, I need a client. Right now, I’m stuck in a loop where I can’t get clients without inventory and I can’t get inventory without clients. And don’t even get me started on the banks.”

  “Are you sure you’re thinking about your decorating business?” she asked. She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and studied me. “You’re not dumb. You know this might be a date, and you know how that’s going to make Tex feel.” She took a sip of her coffee and set down the mug. “You’re stirring up trouble, and a part of you knows it. I just hope you’re prepared for the fallout.”

  19

  Joanie and I finished our break and returned to the sitting room. Rocky sat in his bed in the living room and watched us. The walls were dry, and we each took two walls and worked on conditioning the newly stripped wood. The knots in the pine darkened with the application of the product, and I was tempted to skip the sealing process. This was turning out better than I expected.

  I directed Joanie to the storm cellar for fans to help circulate the air and expedite drying. Rocky, ever the useful assistant, followed her.

  Despite the open windows, I needed fresh air. I went out the front door and down the steps then walked to the sidewalk and approached the building next door. It was still for sale. It was going to be a hard sell for Dennis, and the asking price wasn’t enough to put it at the top of his priority list. I still had a chance at it but not if I waited too long.

  I pressed my nose up against the glass and peered inside. Something moved along the far wall. I unrolled the sleeve of my shirt and wiped the glass clean and then looked again. The gray cat was inside. It looked directly at me and meowed. I couldn’t hear the sound, but I saw its mouth move. How had it gotten in there?

  I went to the front and checked the door, but it was locked. The back door was locked too. The cat, startled by the sounds, froze, and then limped away to a pile of boxes. My heart broke a little as I realized the cat was hurt. I went home and called Dennis.

  “Dennis, this is Madison. I’m calling about the building next to my property.”

  “Has something changed with your situation?”

  “Not mine. The cat. It’s trapped inside, and I think it’s hurt.”

  Dennis cursed. “I showed the place yesterday and that cat must have snuck inside. I’m at an offsite meeting and can’t get there until tomorrow.”

  “You can’t leave it there with no food or water,” I said. “That’s inhumane. Can you ask someone from your office to handle it?”

  “We’re all offsite.”

  “I could let it out if you give me the lock box code,” I said. “I’m a former client, a local business owner, and a personal friend. You can trust me.”

  After a brief pause, he gave me the code. “Remember to lock up when you leave.”

  I went back to the building and let myself in. The simple act of walking up to the front door and then using the key from the lockbox felt familiar in a future sense, as though this was something I’d do again and again and again.

  I entered and propped the door open behind me then made kissy noises and called out to the cat. “Hey, kitty, it’s okay. I’m going to get you help.” I spotted a gray tail sticking out from behind a stack of boxes at the back. “Hey, kitty, it’s okay.” I rounded the corner and saw the cat. It let out a long howl.

  “Madison?” Joanie called from the doorway. Rocky stood by her feet.

  I turned my head and held my finger in front of my lips. “There’s a cat,” I said in a low voice. “It’s hurt.”

  Joanie slipped off her heels and crept closer. The cat looked at her and then back at me and let out another long yowl. It stood up and walked a few feet away, favoring its hind leg.

  Joanie gasped. “Its leg is broken.”

  “That had to have just happened. I saw this cat a few days ago, and it wasn’t injured. It needs to see a vet.”

  Joanie immediately unbuttoned her white beauty smock and revealed a T-shirt underneath. “Wrap it in this.”

  I eased myself around the boxes and held out my hand for the cat to sniff. It seemed to recognize we were there to help. I bent down and lifted it, and discovered, unintentionally, it was female. Joanie held her smock out and swaddled the cat while I held her and then cradled her quivering body to my shirt.

  “Rocky’s vet is on East Grand Avenue,” I said. “Can you drive?”

  “Yep.” She scooped up Rocky. “Let’s go.”

  It was after seven by the time Joanie dropped me back off at home. She agreed to keep Rocky for the evening. The cat was still with the vet, recovering from emergency surgery on her broken hind leg. I think we both would have waited there all night if the veterinarian staff had permitted.

  I’d agreed to meet the dean for dinner, a date I still planned to keep. If there was one thing I needed, it was a client.

  Plus, he could fill in some gaps about Professor Gallagher.

  The chemical smell had largely dissipated from the sitting room, but we’d left a mess. I collected all the used paint-stripping supplies and threw them into a reinforced plastic garbage bag and carried it outside. I gathered up the plastic shower curtains and threw them out too. I double-checked that the building next door was properly locked and then returned home. A quick shower eradicated any lingering scents and a slap and dash of makeup and mousse made me date-ready.

  I dressed in a green silk sheath dress and matching jacket lined in white with green polka dots, sheer hose, and black patent kitten heel pumps. Even a one-inch heel threw off my gait, but Keds felt like the wrong choice for an evening business meeting over dinner. The outfit originally belonged to Moira Graham, the namesake behind Moira Graham’s School of Dance. Her estate included four dozen leotards, soft leather ballet shoes, and Capezio jazz oxfords. Sadly for me, her feet were two sizes bigger than mine, so the footwear went to a home via one quick eBay transaction. I transferred my necessities into a small black clutch handbag and left.

  I parked in the lot and walked to Canfield. The campus was empty. After a few minutes waiting in front of the building I entered and found the dean in Room 102 sitting behind the desk.

  “Madison, lovely to see you.” He stood and assessed my outfit. “And you are looking lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “A client dinner is always a good excuse to get dressed up.”

  “A client—oh, yes, of course.” He picked up his briefcase. “I took the liberty of reserving a table at a local restaurant. It’s just on the other side of the campus, so we can leave our cars here and walk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We walked side by side toward the front door. He held up his briefcase. “Do you mind waiting here while I lock up my class notes? I’d rather not look so professorial when we walk in.” He smiled politely, and after I nodded, left me in the lobby.

  I wandered to the display cases and stared at the picture of Donna Nast. There was something impressive about the way she took control of her life and ran with it. Her fierce independence wasn’t dissimilar to how I’d once felt.

  My thoughts about Nasty were interrupted by my phone. I pulled it out of my handbag and saw Tex’s name on my screen. I glanced to my left and right and then answered in a hushed voice. “Hey,” I said. “I can’t talk long.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “Listen, Night, about tonight.”

  “It’s a client meeting, that’s all,” I said. “We’re going to a local restaurant for dinner and then I’m going home. I’ll probably be in bed by nine thirty.”

  “What’s the restaurant name?”

  “I don’t know. He said it was just on the other side of the campus. We’re walking.”

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  “Why not?” I asked. “Is Hugo a suspect?”

  “He’s not at the top of my list.”

  “Then what? This can’t be about j
ealousy. Your life before us was far more sordid than mine.”

  “I can’t get into it now. Just make up an excuse and cancel.”

  I sensed movement in the hallway, and I turned. Hugo was headed my way. “This is a business dinner,” I said. “You have your business, and I have mine. Trust me, Tex. There’s nothing to worry about.” I disconnected and dropped my phone into the pocket of my dinner coat.

  “All set. Shall we?” the dean asked. He bent his arm and held his elbow toward me as if expecting me to loop my arm through it.

  Oh, no. Maybe this was a date after all?

  I pretended to search my pockets for my phone and then pretended I couldn’t get my handbag open. I pretended my hands were cold, and I jammed them into the pockets of my coat. I pretended Tex hadn’t been right.

  Hugo recovered quickly. He put his hands in his pants pockets and walked alongside me. His gait was different than most men, thanks to his cowboy boots. While we walked, he talked about campus politics (he was pro-student body government but anti-faculty union), his tastes in music (he liked tribal music from non-Western cultures), and his affinity for western wear (he owned twelve pairs of cowboy boots). He didn’t seem interested in my opinions on any of the subjects. Nor did he seem interested in bringing up his decorating dilemma.

  As soon as I saw the sign above the restaurant, I knew it was familiar. Kanin’s, it proclaimed in white neon. It took a moment to remember where I’d seen it before: on Eric’s flyer, which was still in my backpack. There was a special event tonight, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

  Kanin’s was bustling. A group of students stood outside. At closer glance, I recognized several from the business school. The men had traded college sweatshirts and jeans for sport coats, shirts, and ties. The women had traded their collegiate attire for dresses more revealing than the September temperature demanded. Ah, youth.

  Eric separated himself from the crowd and came over. “Hey, Dean,” he said jovially. He glanced at me and then did a double take. “Madison. You weren’t in class tonight.”