by M. S. Parker
“Obviously, it's all them running their mouths,” he said. “But I have a feeling the cops are going to try to use the accusations against you.”
“Against me how?” I asked, feeling my stomach knot in concern.
“They want you to come in and answer some more questions.” He scowled. “Detective Reed called me yesterday evening.”
“What more can they ask me?” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I was there for hours. I told them what happened forwards, backwards and sideways.”
“And now they're going to ask you everything again.” Henley leaned forward and pressed his fingers together. “Probably a little less politely.”
“They could be less polite than that?” I asked dryly.
“They could.” His lips twitched. “And they will. They're going to keep at you, insult you, insinuate horrible things about you.”
“More horrible than saying I killed my husband?” I reached for my purse and pulled out a small bottle of medicine. I popped two pills into my mouth and dry swallowed them.
“Until they figure out what happened, they're going to keep looking,” he said.
“Unless they're so focused on me that they can't see anyone else,” I countered. “That they can't see the truth.” I sighed. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should go in voluntarily,” he said. “Answer their questions. Don't give them any reason to say that you're not cooperating.”
“Does it mean anything that the arrest was voided?” I asked.
He frowned and took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, no.” He scratched his head. “Just because I had a judge who agreed that they didn't have enough evidence to justify an arrest doesn't mean they're going to let things go. They can still put things together and get some judge who thinks things look different. That's why you have to put it all out there. No surprises.”
I sighed again, something I seemed to be doing a lot of today. “When do they want me to come in?”
“The sooner, the better,” he said. “The longer you put it off, the more suspicious it makes you look.”
“All right.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I'll go in after school.”
“I'll meet you there.”
I shook my head. “If I'm just telling the truth, I don't need a lawyer there, right? Doesn't having you with me make me look guilty?”
“Most criminal attorneys would advise you not to say anything without them,” Henley said. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “But Allen told me that it would be pointless for me to argue with you if something ever came up. He said you were stubborn.”
I smiled despite the pounding in my head. Yes, I thought. Yes, I was.
Chapter 7
Being stubborn did not magically solve all of my problems.
Not that I'd ever thought it would. Generally, my inability to give in on a lot of things caused more problems than it solved. In this case, however, I'd hoped that it would help. If I kept my temper and continued to repeat the same information over and over, eventually Detectives Reed and Rheingard would believe me. Everyone knew that one of the reasons cops asked things dozens of different ways and hundreds of times was to try to trip up a suspect. Lies were always harder to remember than the truth, and since I wasn't lying, my story wasn't going to change. It was just a matter of out-lasting the interrogation without letting them get to me.
This strategy didn't, however, help me when I walked into the school and found a note on my desk.
Please come to my office when you arrive. - Principal Sanders
I glanced at the clock. I still had a half hour before my students were due back so I left my purse and bag in my chair and headed down to the principal's office. Growing up, I'd never been the kind of kid who got in trouble often. Or ever, really. Mitchell had been the one who'd done stupid stuff. Got caught smoking behind the gym. Cut class. I'd nearly cried the one time my teacher thought I'd passed a note in class.
I had that same feeling of dread in my stomach now as I walked down the hallway. I could hear the other teachers in their classrooms, the murmur of students answering questions, laughing at something someone said. All of it was muted, distant. The clicking of my heels on the tile was louder, echoing in my ears.
I didn't remember the office being so far from my classroom, but it felt like it took me years to get there. Years during which I thought about how I was going to have to apologize for having to come in late again, how I'd have to make sure that it never happened again.
I'd known that I was on borrowed time when it came to how understanding everyone was being, particularly at work. Principal Sanders had offered me as much time off as I needed at the beginning of the school year and had even said he'd be willing for me to work part time if I'd needed to. I hadn't taken him up on his offer, but there had been a couple times since then that I'd called off. I hadn't thought it was a big deal at the time, but now it seemed like it had bothered Principal Sanders more than he let on.
“Shae.” He met me at the door of his office, a plastic smile on his face.
That caught me more off-guard than the note had. I'd never been close to Principal Sanders, but more because he and I didn't really have anything in common than any actual animosity. We'd always gotten along well enough though. He was my boss, not my friend, but he'd always been polite, warm even.
All of that was gone now. He wasn't being rude, but it was clear from how he carried himself that something was wrong, and that something was me. His back was stiff, his expression stony. He didn't offer me a chair, or ask me to sit, though he did close the door behind us.
“Mrs. Lockwood, it has come to my attention that there are some things I need to address.”
“Yes?” I clasped my fingers in front of me.
“It's come to my understanding that you're having some...legal issues.”
I clenched my jaw to keep the polite smile on my face. Behind him, on the desk, I could see a copy of today's paper. Shit. I wondered if the Lockwoods' accusations were in there too, or just the fact that I'd been arrested and questioned in Allen's death.
“Yes,” I agreed. “That's where I was this morning, speaking with my attorney. And thank you again for letting me come in late. I'll make sure all of my future appointments are done after school hours.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, with that same fake smile. “But that's a minor detail. I'm more concerned with the nature of your legal problems.”
“The nature?” I frowned.
“We're not talking about a parking ticket, Mrs. Lockwood.”
I really didn't like that he'd changed from calling me by my first name. He called all of the teachers by their given names unless they asked him not to.
“You were arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“I'm aware of the charges,” I said quietly. I could feel my temper starting to rise and had to fight to keep it down. I couldn't, however, stay completely quiet. “I was there when they read me my rights.”
“You understand, Mrs. Lockwood, that when you became a teacher, you weren't only agreeing to educate your students, but to keep them safe and set an example.”
Okay, now he was starting to piss me off.
“When your husband died and you started...seeing Jasper Whitehall, I made allowances for you. Mr. Whitehall didn't accompany you to any faculty functions and you didn't discuss your relationship in public, so there was no need to address it.”
Now I was staring at Principal Sanders in complete and utter shock. Gina had been living with her girlfriend for years. The wood-shop teacher was fifty-seven years-old and had never been married, but always had women coming in and out of his house.
And my relationship with Jasper was a problem?
“And there was the incident with Aime Vargas.”
While she had come after me in my classroom, it hadn't exactly been my fault. She'd been nuts, jealous of the fact that Allen had married me and not her. It wasn't like my actions had been the reason she'd
put my students in danger, and I'd done everything possible to keep them safe.
“While I understood that the incident wasn't entirely your fault, the fact of the matter still remains that she did put your students in danger.”
“And she's in jail, Mr. Sanders.” I could hear the edge to my voice and worked to keep it out. Losing my temper wouldn't be a prudent thing to do at the moment. “With quite a few charges against her and an impossible bail, I doubt she'll be visiting any time soon.”
He stopped smiling, his eyes narrowing. “And now I learn that you've been arrested for murder.”
“The arrest was voided.” My stomach was starting to churn. I didn't understand what was happening here. “And I didn't kill Allen. I didn't do anything to him. I’d never hurt him or anyone.”
“I'm not saying that you did,” Sanders said. His eyes darted back towards the paper on his desk. “But it's out there, Mrs. Lockwood, and that's what matters.”
His words hung in the silence between us.
“What are you saying?” I asked the question not because I really wanted to know, but because I was tired and wanted it over with.
He took a deep breath. “On behalf of the school board, Mrs. Lockwood, I'm going to have to suspend you, pending the resolution of your legal matters.”
I blinked. I'd guessed it before he'd said it, but it still came as a shock.
“We'll be putting you at half-salary during your suspension,” he continued. “The other half will be kept in case of your return.”
In case. That was the same as if. Not when.
“I understand.” I heard myself saying the words, but I didn't understand, not really.
“I'll need your ID.”
“Right.” I unpinned the card from the bottom of my shirt and handed it to him. “I'll be going then.”
“Mr. Russell will show you out.”
Mr. Russell. From security.
I was still in shock as Principal Sanders opened the door and motioned for me to leave. Mr. Russell was already waiting there, his broad face blank. He walked with me to my classroom and stood in the doorway while I got my bag and my purse. Then he walked me to my car as if I was someone who shouldn't be here.
I sat in my car and watched him walk back to the school, but he didn't go inside. He was pretending to be looking at something, but I knew he was waiting for me to leave. I wanted to. I was just waiting for the world to stop spinning.
When it finally did, I started my car, and pulled out of the parking lot. I wasn't even really aware of where I was going until I was almost there. I pulled into the clinic parking lot and hurried inside.
“Mrs. Lockwood.” Georgia Overstreet gave me her usual sickly-sweet smile. “How can I help you?”
“Where's Jasper?” I could feel my voice quivering and fought to keep it steady.
“Oh, I'm sorry, but Dr. Whitehall is with a patient.”
I swallowed hard. “Please let him know I'm here.”
She glanced behind me at the waiting room. Only a couple of people were sitting there. Jasper had said he was only taking on some of his regulars until after the holidays when he'd start things up for real.
“Dr. Whitehall left specific instructions that he not be disturbed. For any reason. He's very busy.”
“Just let him know it's me.” My voice sounded small. “I really need to speak to him.”
“Honey.” Georgia's voice dripped sugar. “He did say any reason. Even you.”
Even me.
“Oh.” I twisted my fingers together. “Okay.”
I turned, rushing away before she could see the tears pricking my eyes. I told myself I wasn't going to cry, that I was done crying, but it was a close call. All of the steel I'd had in me was gone. I just wanted to go home and sleep until Jasper came home. Then I could tell him about everything that happened, and he would hold me and talk to me. He would be there for me.
There was just one thing I had to do first.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed the police station.
“Detective Rheingard, please.” He was still the lesser of two evils.
A moment later, he came on the line. “Rheingard.”
“Detective, this is Shae Lockwood.” I closed my eyes and prayed that I'd be able to make it through this without cracking. “I was supposed to come in after work today to speak with you and Detective Reed, but I left work early. I'm sick. Something I ate maybe. Can I reschedule for tomorrow?”
There was a pause before he spoke, “Of course, Mrs. Lockwood. Whenever you can.”
I hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger's seat. It wasn't even noon yet, and I was seriously considering having a drink when I got home. I let out a bitter laugh. Why not? It wasn't like I had to worry about getting up for work in the morning.
Chapter 8
Instead of wine or beer, I considered drowning my sorrows in the double-chip fudge ice cream Jasper had brought home the week before, but I had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that making myself physically sick wouldn't be the smartest idea. I didn't, however, want to just sit in the dark and think about the newest development in the horror that had been this past year. If I did that, I knew I’d end up back where I was right after Allen's death. I needed to do something that would help keep my mind busy until Jasper got home and I could talk to him.
As I pulled up the long driveway that led to my house, it struck me what a beautiful day it was. The perfect autumn day. Not too warm, not too cold. The sun was out and bright, the wind brisk without biting. This was the kind of weather that people who attended football games on Thanksgiving hoped for. Here, mingled with the scent of leaves was the heavy, ripe smell of the grapes. Harvest had come and gone a few weeks before, but the scent of grapes would linger a while longer, I knew.
Back in the summer, just after Allen died, I'd taken a walk out in the vineyard and given myself heat stroke. I supposed, technically, I hadn't exactly been walking. It had been more of a waking sleepwalk. Hence the heat stroke and the nasty sunburn. Today, I decided, I was going to take another walk, or rather a run. I wasn't going to be stupid about it this time though.
I changed out of my school clothes, and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It would be a bit chilly at first, but once I started running, I'd warm up. My hair went back into a ponytail, and I rummaged around in the back of my closet until I found a pair of running shoes.
I'd never been a huge fan of running, but every once in a while, I appreciated the way a monotonous physical activity could help clear my head. Sometimes, it was a nice time to think about things, but it could also keep me from thinking about anything. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, the impact of sole on dirt, the warmth of the sun and cool of the air. Breathing in and out, the increase in my pulse. All of those things came in a rhythm that lulled me into an almost hypnotic state.
I ran between the rows, picking my way across the dead branches and leaves that had been left behind by the harvesters. Bees and birds buzzed in the vines and overhead, looking for the last of the forgotten fruit. Their noise blended in with the rest of the sounds of nature. From here, I couldn't even hear the occasional vehicle going down the road.
I wasn't sure how long I ran until I arrived back at the house and saw that two hours had gone by. My legs were burning and I knew I'd be sore in the morning, but it had been well worth it. For two hours, I hadn't thought about anything beyond my next step.
Before heading upstairs to shower, I went to the refrigerator and pulled out one of the pre-prepared meals I'd put together the previous week. It took only a few minutes to dump everything together and stick it in the oven. It'd be ready around the time Jasper usually came home and I wouldn't need to do any additional preparation.
I allowed myself the luxury of a long shower, enjoying the way the hot water pounded into my aching muscles. By the time I got out, my skin was pink, my fingers wrinkled. Even though nothing had changed in my situation, I had to
admit that there was something about intense physical activity, followed by a hot shower that just made me feel better.
That feeling lasted until the oven's timer went off, signaling dinner was ready, and Jasper wasn't home yet. He wasn't more than ten minutes later than normal, but he hadn't called or texted me to say that he was running behind.
I paced in the kitchen, purposefully letting myself fret over the meal rather than giving into the temptation to call or text him. Aside from the fact that I didn't want to risk him trying to answer while he was driving, I didn't want him to think I was checking up on him. After what happened, I was going out of my way to show that I trusted him.
And I did.
I didn't believe he was doing anything wrong. No, my mind was currently trying to come up with all of the possible ways he could have been hurt or killed between here and the clinic. A normal person would've thought I was being overly dramatic, but after everything that happened since June, I didn't feel paranoid. I felt more like this was the other shoe I'd been waiting to drop.
When my phone buzzed after nearly a half-hour of worrying, I felt like I wanted to throw up. As I reached for it, I reminded myself that if something had happened to Jasper, I'd get either a call or a personal visit from the cops. The fact that it was a text coming in meant everything was okay.
The message was short.
Something came up at the clinic. Be home late. Don't wait up. Love you.
Something came up.
Something more important than coming home to me.
I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly. Jasper was a doctor. Of course things were going to come up for him that were important. He dealt with life and death, permanent damage. I couldn’t get angry at him for not leaving on time when I knew it had to be something important. I knew him. He wouldn’t tell me not to wait up unless something bad had come up.
And he didn't even know about my day, so there was no good reason for me to be upset that he wasn't coming home on time. I was the one who hadn't called him or texted him about what happened. Even after Georgia had told me he was too busy to talk to me, I could've at least left him a voice mail letting him know that I needed to talk. It had been my decision not to, so I couldn't blame anyone but myself for him not being here.