As she passed the locker room, voices drifted her way through the partially open door.
“Did you tell Coach Garsen?” one boy said, his deep tone indicating his older age.
“No way, man. I don’t want him to cut my supply.”
“You’re sick. You should let him know. It could get worse.”
“It’ll be worse for me if I get kicked off the team. He’ll stop giving me the pills, and then I’ll fall behind.”
Pills? Marla paused, tilting her head to hear better and praying no one spotted her there.
“You won’t get a scholarship if people find out, and that could put the rest of us at risk. I’m gonna tell him if you don’t, Benny.”
“You keep your mouth shut, man. I’ll deal with it.”
A gravelly male voice intruded. “Why are you boys lingering in here? Get your sorry butts back to class.”
“Yes, Mr. Lynch,” the older kid said, a sneer in his tone.
They must have shuffled off, because for a moment silence reigned. Marla prepared to vamoose if she heard the janitor’s footsteps coming her way. Instead, metal clanged on metal inside the locker room. She pushed the door open another crack and dared to peek in. The lanky maintenance man stood in front of an open locker, an intent look on his face as he rummaged through the contents.
What was he doing? Saving her questions about his behavior for later, Marla hurried past, not wishing to get caught snooping. At an office labeled Faculty Only, she knocked on the door. When nobody answered, she twisted the knob. It opened easily. Inside, papers covered nearly every surface, but she was glad to see a personal touch. Potted plants provided happy contrast to the gray institutional monotony. Graphs and charts depicting teams and schedules hung on the walls. To a non-sports fan like herself, these were completely indecipherable.
The coach emerged from his inner office, a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“I’m Marla Vail, Brianna’s mother. We met at the haunted house.”
He hung his head, no small feat considering the beefy weight of it. “Sad business, wasn’t it? I still can’t believe we’ve lost Mr. Ripari. The kids all liked him.”
“Did they? Do you have a minute to chat, Coach? I have a few concerns about my daughter’s safety.” Not to mention those pills the kid mentioned, but we’ll let that go for now.
“Sure, ma’am, although I’m not clear on what I can do for you. Come inside.”
She sat in a chair opposite the desk. Framed certificates decorated the walls, while gleaming trophies filled the bookshelves. A splash of sunlight came from a window overlooking the parking lot.
“Do you teach classes in addition to coaching the football team?” she asked, trying to discern his role.
“Yes, I’m on the physical education staff.” He fingered a coffee mug on his desk.
“You’ve been with the school a long time?”
“Ten years. What’s on your mind, Mrs. Vail?”
Marla clasped her hands in her lap and dove in. “I’ll get to the point. A man was murdered at a school-sponsored event. Stabbed to death. It troubles me how you arrived with red stains on your boots that night.”
“It was fake blood. We’ve used it all the time in our haunted houses.”
“So you’d said. How does one tell the difference? I mean, if the cops used Luminol, would they see your footprints coming into the house?”
“What’s that?”
“Luminol is a substance used to detect blood spatter at crime scenes. I imagine it would distinguish between real blood and the fake stuff.”
“Mr. Lynch cleaned the floor. Why don’t you ask him how easily it mopped up?”
“I might do so. How did you get on with Bill Ripari?”
His lips flattened, and his brows drew together. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”
“My daughter’s security at this school is my concern. The sooner the killer is caught, the more quickly we can all rest easy. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable that a man died on our watch, so to speak?”
“Do you think it doesn’t bother me? It’s hard to know who to trust around here.”
“Your students must trust you, Coach. Football can be a tough sport. Lots of injuries and bruised egos. You need boys with enough physical strength to keep up.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Where are you going with this?”
“It’s always possible Mr. Ripari discovered something going on at the school that might be cause for dismissal of either a student or a faculty member.”
He leapt to his feet. “I hope you’re not implying that I—”
“Of course not, but a couple of those students might have had reason to resent him. Like, were there any kids failing his class who might have held a grudge?”
He gazed at her in a more thoughtful manner. “You might be onto something. There’s a couple…nah, I shouldn’t say anything.”
“Please, Coach,” Marla said sweetly. “You’d be helping the school catch a killer. That will make things safer for everyone.”
“Since you’ve mentioned it, we have one kid on our team who shied away every time Bill Ripari passed by. Patrick has some problems, but he’s a good boy.”
“Where can I find him?”
“It’s Patrick Evans, but you didn’t hear it from me. And don’t mention this to your cop husband, either. We don’t need him snooping around here and upsetting people. Patrick hangs out at Dee’s Diner after school. He likes their chocolate milkshakes.”
“Okay. Anybody else?”
The coach seemed willing to cast suspicion on others, perhaps to distract her from his own activities that were less than legal.
“Nope. I shouldn’t have said even this much.” He gestured toward the open door. “If you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”
She got the hint and rose. “Thanks, Coach. If you think of anything else, please give me a call. I’ve helped my husband solve cases before. Here’s my card with my phone numbers.”
Outside the office, she almost ran into Mr. Lynch, who was busy dusting the blinds on a series of windows overlooking the athletic field. Had he heard their conversation?
“Hi, we met at the haunted house last night,” she told him. “Do you have a minute to answer a few questions? Mr. Garsen says you cleaned up those boot prints he tracked into the place. Is red paint that easy to wipe away?”
His sharp blue eyes regarded her. He had a tanned face under a head of dark hair, making her wonder when he spent time outdoors. “It ain’t paint, miss,” he said, in a subservient tone that seemed in contrast to his quiet confidence. “You can buy fake blood at the party store. It mops up clean and easy.”
“Have you been working for the school a long time?”
“I’ve been here for two years, miss. Times have changed since I were in high school.”
“Tell me about it. Some places have guards patrolling their hallways. Maybe this school needs one. Do you think the students are in any danger from the person who killed the history teacher? My daughter’s safety is at stake.”
“Is that why you be talking to the coach?” He gave her a hard stare that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“He’s the one who tramped in with red stains on his shoes shortly before Mr. Ripari’s dead body was found.”
“You’re the lady who found the poor gent, ain’t you?”
“Yes, and it was horrible. I can’t help wondering who might have hated him enough to shove a knife in his chest.”
“Could be lots of folks.” Mr. Lynch gripped his duster, glancing at the blinds as though eager to get back to his menial task. Or was he looking away because he had a motive to hide?
“Do you have someone particular in mind? I’ve heard Mr. Ripari was well-liked by his students.”
“Not all of them. He might have appeared like the right sort, but he weren’t a saint. He owned stolen property, he did.”
“Who e
lse would want that piece of land out in the middle of nowhere?”
“That be a big house, and it has historic value. Plus, the land itself is worth plenty.”
The bell rang. Any minute now the hall would be invaded by hordes of students. Marla rushed her final question. “The principal mentioned that another family might have a viable claim on it.”
The janitor regarded her with a peculiar light in his eyes. “Rumor says Mr. Ripari’s uncle was secretly married to one of the Conroy gals. The house should rightfully pass to her kin.” With those words, he turned away to resume his job.
Doors slammed open, and high schoolers poured into the hallway. Marla jostled her way toward the exit, hearing snatches of conversation that made her glad to be long gone from this phase of her life. She’d never again want to return to the insecurity of her teen years.
Marla signed out at the front office and returned her visitor’s badge. Once outside, she heaved a sigh of relief. She ought to get more involved in Brianna’s school, but part of her remained reluctant to get sucked into the world of soccer moms, bake sales, and prom night.
She settled into her car and pulled out of the parking space to head to work. Or maybe she should go talk to one of the mothers present at the haunted house. A glance at her dashboard clock told her she still had time before her first client arrived. It couldn’t hurt to pay a visit to Ricky’s mom. Hannah had been friendly to her at the event.
Marla pulled over to the curb and looked up the woman’s address on the parent volunteer roster. She didn’t live that far away. It would be worth a stop to see if the other parent was home.
Hannah answered the doorbell on the first ring.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Marla said with a bright smile. “I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by to see if you were okay. Brie and I are still upset by what happened.”
“How thoughtful of you. Please come inside. I’m in the middle of making a vegetable stew for dinner.” She eyed Marla’s skirt and sweater ensemble. “You look nice. Surely you didn’t dress up just for me?”
“No, I’ve been to the school, and now I’m on my way to work. I won’t keep you long.”
Hannah led her into the kitchen, where she picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the ingredients in a Dutch oven on the stovetop.
“That smells great. What’s in it?” Marla asked, watching steam rise from the simmering vegetables.
“Eggplant, onions, zucchini, tomatoes, and chickpeas. It’s easy to make.” Hannah put the spoon aside and replaced the glass cover. “So is checking on me the only reason you’re here?”
“I’m wondering who will take over Mr. Ripari’s class. Will they assign a substitute teacher or someone else?”
“Didn’t you ask when you were there?”
“No, I was more concerned with security. Maybe they should hire a guard.”
Hannah propped her hands on her hips. “Whatever for? They already have cameras everywhere.”
Maybe so, but apparently not in the locker rooms. “I don’t mean to scare you, but consider the people at the house last night. Mr. Ripari’s murderer could be one of them.”
“You’re thinking a student or a parent we know might have killed the man? That’s ridiculous. It has to be somebody who’d been hiding in the woods.”
“For what purpose? Was he waiting for Mr. Ripari in particular to come outside? Or was the teacher merely a random victim? If that were true, more of us would have gotten the axe.” A mental image of the box of fake weapons came to mind. What if they hadn’t all been props?
“I don’t know why you aren’t letting the police do their job, dear. Isn’t your husband a detective?”
“Yes, but the crime took place in another district. It’s not his case, but he’s interested because of our daughter’s involvement. Her world has been disrupted by this loss. How is your son doing?”
Hannah shot her a narrowed glance. “He’s upset, even though he didn’t like the man.”
“Why is that?”
“Ricky wasn’t doing well in his class.”
“Oh, really? Perhaps a new teacher might be more lenient.”
“What are you implying?” Hannah said in a tight voice.
“Nothing that matters at the moment. Tell me, have you met a student named Patrick Evans? I understand he got skittish whenever Mr. Ripari came around.”
“We’ve met, but I barely know the kid. I believe Mr. Ripari was tutoring him.”
“Didn’t Mr. Ripari tutor your son? It might have helped raise his grade in history class.”
“No way. I wouldn’t want them alone in a room together.”
“Why is that?” Marla wondered if there was a reason why Patrick might be uncomfortable around the man.
Hannah picked up a dishtowel to dry some dishes in the drainer. “I’d rather not say. I respected Mr. Ripari. He had a deep fondness for the region’s history.”
“Did that extend to his own family? Do you know if he dug into his family roots to see if the claim against his property had any validity?”
“How would I know, Marla? Anyway, I don’t care. The poor man is gone.”
“The school receptionist told me he left his estate to the school in his will. Is that true?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it. That would be most generous of him. The school needs renovations but hasn’t had the funding.”
“Yes, I could see the need for it when I was there. It’s too bad Mr. Ripari never married and had a family of his own, though.”
“You should ask Rose Sweetwater’s mother, Vicki. She seemed to have some sort of hold on him. Her daughter got perfect grades in his class, and Ricky told me she wasn’t any ace student.”
“Wasn’t Vicki there last night? I recall meeting her, but we didn’t have a chance to chat.”
“Yes, she’s super protective and follows her child around like a mother hen. Vicki is always the first parent to buy tickets whenever there’s a school performance. Rose acts in the drama club,” Hannah explained.
Marla watched as Hannah lifted the pot’s lid, tossed in some freshly chopped parsley, and replaced the glass top. The aroma of sautéed onions made Marla’s mouth water. Aware she’d better grab lunch before going to work, she gestured toward the exit.
“I won’t keep you any longer. I’m glad you and Ricky are okay. And thanks for taking me under your wing yesterday. It was my first volunteer effort as a parent and I felt awkward.”
“No problem.” Hannah wiped her hands on the dishtowel and accompanied Marla to the front door. “It’s a shame the haunted house got cancelled. The kids will have to come up with another fundraiser to subsidize their prom.”
“How much money do they need?” Maybe Marla could do a charity event at the salon. She’d sponsored them before, where her stylists gave free cuts and blowouts and the money went to good causes. It also brought in new customers, and so was a win-win either way. She mentioned her idea to the other woman.
Hannah smiled at the notion. “That would be wonderful, Marla. You’re kind to offer.”
“I’ll look into it. I’m not sure how much of a dent our contribution would make, but it’s an option. If it’s doable, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 4
On the way to her salon, Marla reconsidered her offer to hold a school fundraiser. It would be selfish of her to expect the other stylists to contribute their portion to Brianna’s class. Usually, their charity events benefitted non-profit organizations like Locks of Love. She’d have to rethink her idea.
She parked near her salon and day spa, detouring into Bagel Busters to speak to her friend, Arnie Hartman. His deli was a couple of doors down from the Cut ’N Dye Salon.
Arnie stood behind the cash register wearing his customary apron over a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. His mustached face broke into a grin when he spotted her.
“Marla, my shaineh maidel. It’s good to see you, pretty lady.” He came around the counter to give her
a quick embrace, and she returned his hug.
Marla stopped a passing waitress to put in her lunch order, and then inquired about Arnie’s wife and kids. The pleasantries out of the way, she spoke to him in a low tone.
“Guess what? A dead body turned up at one of Brie’s school projects.”
“Oy, vey. You’re joking, right?” He noticed her serious expression. “Don’t tell me you’re the one who found it?”
“Yep, that’s me.” She gave him a quick rundown of events. Arnie had served as her sounding board on murder cases before, and he always made her feel better about things. Despite her cool, she did worry about Brianna being at school until they unmasked the killer.
“You should keep a low profile,” Arnie advised. “It’s safer that way. It sounds as though you have a number of suspects, and you don’t want the guilty party threatening Brianna because you’re making waves.”
“I know, but this case is eating at me. I can’t help feeling our bad guy had to be present at the house. Dalton is looking into claims against the property. We’ll see what he learns.”
After catching up on more of Arnie’s news, Marla collected her meal and headed to the salon. Work claimed her attention for the rest of the day. By the time she finally went home, ate a late dinner, and got ready for bed, it was ten o’clock.
She peeked in on Brianna to ask how her day had gone, but the teen was already asleep. Too tired to think straight, Marla postponed any discussion of events with Dalton until the next morning.
He brought up the subject on Friday at the breakfast table. “I haven’t had time to check into the property claim against Mr. Ripari,” he told Marla, while unfolding the newspaper and separating its sections. “I have other things to take care of today, and then hopefully I can do some research.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be busy this weekend anyway. We’re solidly booked at work.” Marla stood at the sink and washed the frypan she’d used to make scrambled eggs. “Let’s exchange news on Sunday when we’re both off. I have to tell you what I learned yesterday at the school.”
“What school?” Brianna bounded into the room, book bag in hand. Her dark brown hair swung in a braid down her back.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 45