by Liz Jasper
I wasn’t sure why. It had probably been written by an old girlfriend. There hadn’t been a date on it, and since the papers had been arranged so haphazardly, the fact that I had found it next to a letter written last spring was an unreliable guide, at best.
My mind went back to that e-mail Becky had written to Bob.
No, I told myself. No way did Becky write this trite, gushing love letter. I wasn’t all that familiar with her handwriting, but I was pretty sure I could rule her out on the basis of the cheesy pet name alone.
And yet…I had heard Becky use the phrase, “Blondes have more fun,” on more than one occasion when asked why she bleached her hair.
No. I couldn’t believe it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
* * *
As I left campus, I found myself heading for the divey coffee shop across from the police station. There was nothing I had to say that couldn’t have been handled in a phone call, but Gavin was annoyingly difficult to get a hold of. The man turned up like a bad penny every time he wanted something from me, but had been noticeably reticent in returning the favor. Frankly, I didn’t understand why—in TV shows, the detectives always give the victims a number where they can be reached, day or night, and urge them to use it at the slightest provocation. Not Gavin. No, my detective pulled a full Garbo—he wanted to be left alone.
About the time I had finally settled into my grading, Gavin came out. I shoved the papers back in my bag with silent apologies to the students whose quizzes I’d mangled and ran across the street to the police station parking lot. I intercepted Gavin just as he got to his car.
“I could give you a ticket for jaywalking, you know.”
“I thought detectives were above writing tickets,” I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.
“Not when you do it in front of the police station.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I just want to talk to you.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against his car. “All right.”
“Can’t we go somewhere more private?” It had gotten dark and I was starting to get nervous.
A couple of officers passed by and snickered.
Gavin greeted them with a pained looking smile that faded into a grimace as they passed.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing,” Gavin said. “Where’s your car?”
“Around the corner, why?”
“Geez, Jo,” he said tiredly. “Can’t you at least try to practice some basic safety precautions?”
“I do try! It was the only space I could find. What’s wrong with you? Did you have a bad day or something?”
He just let out a sigh. “Get in. I’ll drive you to your car. We can talk at your place.” As he got in the driver’s side, he mumbled something under his breath. I directed him to my car. He double parked behind it until I’d pulled away from the curb and followed me home.
When we reached my apartment, Gavin headed straight for the kitchen and sat down in his usual seat at the table. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”
He really was acting oddly, even for him. “Are you hungry?” I asked. “I can make you a hamburger, or I may have some cookies left if you’d rather.”
“I’m fine. What did you want to tell me?”
Gavin had never been particularly warm and fuzzy, but I’d never seen him like this. I sat across from him. “Is something wrong? Did I do something to piss you off?”
He just sat there, as responsive as a block of wood. Talk about passive aggressive! He was worse than my mother on of her Martyr-Mom days!
As the moments ticked by in silence, I began to worry. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet. Maybe it wasn’t me he was mad at. It wasn’t as if he was shy about yelling at me. Maybe something bad had happened at work? I remembered that odd treatment he’d received from those other officers in the parking lot tonight and then it hit me.
“You’re getting shit back at the station about me, aren’t you? Is that why you wouldn’t give me your cell phone number? Because the guys might talk?”
His head snapped up and he glared at me. “Of course not.”
I didn’t believe him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You said before that pretty much only your captain knows what it is you really do. The other officers have no idea what you’re trying to protect people from—they must think you’re hanging around me for no reason other than because you want to. And I thought I was working with a bunch of eighth-graders!”
“Shit,” Gavin said, rolling his eyes. “If you’re going to go on like this, maybe you should give me something to eat. These absurd mental leaps of yours are a lot to take on an empty stomach.”
I stayed planted in my seat. “Are you sure you want to have dinner with me? I mean, the guys at the station might talk.”
He put his head down on his hands. “Oh God.”
By the time we had finished eating, Gavin was back to his usual self. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, focused his light gray eyes on me, and asked what it was I had wanted to tell him. Unexpectedly, I found myself clamming up. My suspicions seemed too silly to voice aloud when he put me on the spot like that.
“Do you have any leads on who shot me?” I parried.
“No.”
“What you mean, ‘No’? It’s been four days.”
He sighed. “We’re trying to trace the bullet, but so far we’ve come up empty. Forensics thinks it was homemade. If they’re right, which it’s looking like they are, we won’t get very far with that piece of evidence.”
“What about the other evidence?”
“What other evidence?”
“I don’t know, didn’t you guys find something?” I threw up my hands.
He shrugged. “What was there to find? Someone took a shot at you in an otherwise deserted parking lot and took off.”
I stared unblinkingly at him until he continued, rather irritably. “We’re working on witness testimony, but that isn’t much to go on. You’re the only one who could have seen who shot you, and you’ve told us nothing. The rest of the statements are just a bunch of conflicting, vague after-the-fact reports.”
“That’s it? That’s the best America’s Finest can do?”
His calm demeanor was starting to fray at the edges. “I didn’t say that. I’m merely trying to explain why we can’t provide a quick turnaround for you. We have to do it the long, hard way—alibi, motive, opportunity. The one thing we have going in our favor is that silver bullet. Not everyone could’ve made it.”
“How hard is it?” I scoffed. “All the ingredients for it are in the chemical room off the chem lab. You just mix up the stuff and brush it on. Becky has her basic chemistry students silver-plate stuff in one of her labs right before Christmas vacation.” I stared open-mouthed at Gavin as I realized what I had said. “Oh, no.”
“Jo, relax. If that’s how it was done, and it’s as easy as you say, any number of people could have done it. The master keys let you in any room in the school, and there are enough of them scattered around that I would seriously recommend changing the locks at some point.”
“You don’t understand,” I said miserably, forcing out the words I wanted so desperately not to say. “Becky was—I think—involved with Bob. Romantically I mean.”
“Is that why you came to the station tonight?”
I nodded and produced both the e-mail and the letter I’d found, explaining hesitantly how I’d come across them.
“You should have told me about these earlier.” It wasn’t an accusation, but I felt guilty just the same. I wasn’t helping anyone by withholding information only to blurt it out later.
“I know,” I said wretchedly. “I guess I didn’t want to accuse her—even tacitly—if I wasn’t sure, and it’s hard to imagine Becky and Bob as a couple—I wouldn’t have thought him her type. Her story about the Grateful Dead concert seemed the more believable explanation.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. We’ve alread
y been through Bob’s e-mail—your headmaster gave us access the night he died—and Becky’s Grateful Dead concert story does check out. I could’ve saved you some unnecessary hand wringing had you bothered to confide in me.”
My cheeks turned pink. “Oh. What about the second letter?”
He picked it up and idly pushed the two halves back together. “It’s not exactly the smoking gun we’re looking for. From what you’ve told me, it’s at least a year old, possibly as much as four—that’s how long Bob had been running the Olympiad, right?—and frankly, unless you’re sure the handwriting’s Becky’s,” he looked to me for confirmation, but I just shrugged, “it could be from any number of old girlfriends. From what I understand, Bob was no slouch in the dating department. Chances are it’s from someone with no ties to the school.”
I sagged back against the chair as a wave of relief flooded through me. Thank God it wasn’t Becky.
“Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Bob’s assistant coach has accepted his coaching job, after all. And Chucky Farryll’s been practicing with the varsity soccer team. He and his mother would have been on campus last Thursday night—when someone shot at me.”
“I see.”
“I don’t get it. Why would anyone try to shoot me so long after Bob’s death? If they hate me that much, why did they bother killing Bob in the first place? The whole thing doesn’t make sense! Someone’s trying to tie me in to all this, which means it’s someone I know, and yet no one I know could possibly have done it.”
Gavin was prevented a reply by the sound of someone pounding on the front door. In between pounds, a voice could be heard shouting, “Jo? Jo, honey, open this door! I mean it, right now!”
“Oh, no.” I got up and ran to open the door before it was pounded in. Gavin was right behind me.
He reached forward and put a hand over mine as I would have unlocked the door. “Wait! Do you know who it is?”
I looked at him scornfully and opened the door to reveal a redheaded fury.
“Josephine Delilah Gartner! How dare you get shot at and not tell your mother!”
As my mother pushed past us into the room, I heard Gavin murmur, “Delilah?”
“I thought you and Dad were in New York for a conference,” I said.
“We were. He’s still there. I came back when I learned my only daughter had been shot at by some maniac. Not that you bothered to tell us.”
Gavin discreetly tried to leave, but I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back inside. “Oh, no,” I hissed. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re supposed to protect me from getting killed, remember?”
I prodded him into the living room, where he sat gingerly on the edge of the man-eating club chair. My mother had appropriated the couch and sat smoothing her cream colored suit skirt in rapid, jabbing motions. She looked up and a slight frown puckered her brow as she noticed Gavin for the first time.
Gavin jumped back up and offered his hand. “I’m Detective Gavin Raines, Mrs. Gartner. Pleased to meet you.”
She shook it firmly and introduced herself, automatically flashing me a look of disappointment that I hadn’t displayed manners enough to have introduced them properly, no matter that she hadn’t given me the chance.
I sat down on the couch next to my mother and put my arm around her shoulders. “I’m fine, Mom, really. I didn’t call because I didn’t want to worry you guys. I know how important that conference is to Dad, and the whole incident sounds much worse than it was. It was just a silly accident, right Gavin?—I mean Detective Raines.” I didn’t wait for his response but continued on, “I didn’t mean for you to find out from someone else—er, how did you find out, anyway?”
She sniffed. “Rafael.”
“Him again? Does he have you on speed dial or something? I swear that man’s had it in for me ever since I refused to let him give me highlights and an updo for the senior prom,” I said irritably. “Didn’t it occur to you that he might be overstating things a bit? The last thing he told you was that I was pregnant…”
Gavin looked up, startled.
“Which was pure crap. Why would you assume he was right about this?”
She blinked furiously. “I thought you might have needed me,” she replied in a low voice.
“Oh, Mom, of course I do.”
Gavin politely went back to examining the carpet is if it were the most fascinating thing he’d seen in a long time while we had a mother-daughter moment.
My mother dabbed away tears that somehow hadn’t marred her impeccable makeup and then turned to Gavin and without preamble began to give him the third degree. He looked a little frazzled. After a while, I took pity on him.
“Mom, it’s late, and I know you’re on East Coast time. Why don’t we have brunch on Saturday?”
By some miracle that probably had more to do with jet lag than anything I had said, as she is not even remotely a night person, my mother let herself be herded to the door. Gavin insisted on walking her to her car.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gartner,” he told her as she got into her Lexus.
“And you, Detective Raines. I’m glad to know my daughter is in such capable hands. I’m sure I can rely on you to keep her safe.” She said it graciously, but there was no doubt it was an order.
Gavin nodded once briskly and moved back several feet to give us some privacy. Mom gave me a kiss and an affectionate hug that lingered rather longer than normal. As I was about to step away from the car, she touched her fingers lightly to my face. “Oh, honey, your skin is looking so much better. What did you do?”
“Um, just followed the doctor’s orders.” I spoke in a low voice, mindful I had told Gavin she had bought me a miracle cream in Europe. To my relief, she didn’t pursue it and drove off with a cheery honk.
“So that’s your mother,” Gavin said. He sounded a bit faint. “We’re both still alive so I guess that went okay. Can I go now?”
“Went okay? Are you kidding me? If you don’t figure out who’s behind all this, I’m going to have to start going to Rafael’s for rumor control, though I’d almost rather be killed than spend time there. And when he turns my hair fuchsia because it’s the new red, I’m coming after you.”
He didn’t respond until we were nearly at my door. “Speaking of Rafael, want to tell me about this pregnancy rumor?”
“No.” But I let out a deep sigh and told him anyway.
He listened without interruption. “I see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Nothing. Make sure you lock up.” He turned away and managed to get almost all the way down the stairs before he burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
* * *
For once, Roger started off our department meeting with something that concerned me. I was so surprised my hand stopped in midair over the cookie plate and Becky swiped the last of Mary Mudget’s coveted brownies out from under my nose.
Roger was saying, in a rather self-congratulatory way, “And so it should come as no surprise to any of you that the Olympiad is now on the headmaster’s radar.”
“I’m surprised the Olympiad’s on anyone’s radar,” whispered Becky through a mouthful of brownie.
“Shhh! Brownie thief. No one wants to hear your views.”
Thanks to popular little Chucky Farryll, a lot of kids were involved in the Olympiad this year. Apparently enough of their parents had mentioned the Olympiad to the headmaster during the last soccer game that his High Mucky Muck had announced his intention to come watch.
That, of course, had sent Roger into a tizzy, and the rest of us were caught up in its vortex. No longer were Kendra and I to divvy up events and train whoever showed up to the meetings. Roger wanted the entire department involved. Each of us would pick one or two events and relentlessly train the delegates up until the Olympiad.
Amid the groans and protests, Kendra raised a hand to object. “I don’t th
ink that will quite work, Roger. We haven’t picked the delegates yet. A ton of kids signed up this year. We didn’t want to turn any of them away—discourage their interest in science…” There was a murmur of agreement around the table. “Right now, all the categories are open to whoever is interested in participating. We’ve got about ten teams building contraptions for the egg drop, and nearly as many working on Rube Goldberg apparatuses.”
Mary Mudget nodded approvingly over her knitting, something in soft baby blue yarn this week. “That’s nicely in keeping with the middle school spirit that events are more about participation than winning.”
Roger didn’t seem to have gotten that memo. For a moment I thought he was going to bang on the table to snap us all out of our callow idealism—and general laziness. “We’re doing it differently this year,” he all but shouted over the hubbub. His small, hard eyes raked over us, defying anyone to contradict him. We quieted down and he went on in a calmer voice. “The Olympiad is in six weeks. I’d like Kendra and Jo to arrange a practice Olympiad a week from now. The winners and runners-up in each event will practice one-on-one with their assigned teacher up until the Olympiad.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Kendra caught my eye and discreetly shook her head, though I could tell she was just as annoyed as I was. She was right to stop me. Trying to make Roger change his mind when he was like this was a waste of time. She flipped open her daily planner with obvious annoyance. “How does next Monday work for everyone?”
Thanks to Roger’s self-interested glory seeking, I spent a ridiculous amount of time after the meeting organizing the stupid, unnecessary practice-Olympiad, just so the headmaster could see how good an administrator Roger was. By eight o’clock, I was tired and hungry and cranky—and had barely made a dent in all the work. I left the top floor of the science wing and pounded down the stairs with as much venom as if they were Roger’s head. There just wasn’t enough time, I thought furiously. Not unless I stayed late every night this week. Like I didn’t have enough to do already! I rounded the corner and took out some more of my aggressions on the hedge that ran alongside the science building. “Damn!” I kicked the hedge. “That stinking!” Kick. “Roger!” Kick! Kick! Kick!