Frances Macmillan saw them come in and hurried over. She looked even more flustered and harassed than she usually did.
“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked. “The police won’t tell us anything, they just say we have to wait here until we’re told it’s all right to leave. Can they do that?”
“They can if they’re conducting an investigation,” Phyllis said.
“An investigation into what? There are all sorts of rumors flying around. Most people seem to think it was a drug bust or something like that, but somebody even said they thought somebody died. That would be terrible.”
Ronnie started to say something, but Phyllis put a hand on the girl’s arm to stop her. The investigators probably wouldn’t want everyone in the cafeteria gossiping about the murder. It would be best not to say anything.
Besides, there might well be one person here who knew exactly what had happened. Phyllis looked around the room, trying to study all the students and teachers without being too obvious about it.
Unfortunately, no one was wearing a sign that read KILLER.
Frances wasn’t the only one who had seen them walk into the cafeteria. Walter Baxter came up to Ronnie and asked, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? I’d offer to fetch some punch, but unfortunately that’s moot now since the punch bowl broke.”
“No, I don’t want anything,” Ronnie said. She didn’t thank Walter for the offer or even glance in his direction as she spoke. Phyllis saw Walter’s lips tighten a little, but other than that he didn’t show any reaction to the casual dismissal.
Sam was looking around the room. He said, “I see Amber over there. Think I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”
Frances frowned after him as he walked off. She said to Phyllis, “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“What, Sam checking on Amber?” Phyllis shook her head. “No, because it’s Sam. She helped him when he started this long-term sub job, and he considers her a friend. And now that I look at her, she does seem a little upset.” She turned to Ronnie. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong is that—” Ronnie began, then stopped short at a stern look from Phyllis. “I know, I know.”
“Know what?” Frances asked. “Something bad is definitely going on here, and you know what it is, Phyllis. I’m supposed to be in charge of this dance, so I think I have a right to know, too.”
“I’m sorry, Frances. But for now, it’s probably better not to say anything.”
Frances looked like she was going to continue arguing, so Phyllis took hold of Ronnie’s hand and the two of them followed Sam across the cafeteria. Walter Baxter tagged along behind them. Phyllis could have told him he was wasting his time, but she supposed he would learn the lesson better if he figured it out for himself.
They came up to the spot near the far wall where Sam and Amber stood, talking. Amber summoned up a weak smile as Phyllis, Ronnie, and Walter joined them. Phyllis noticed that Amber was in her stocking feet and was carrying her shoes.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s ridiculous,” Amber replied, “and I know I shouldn’t be so upset about it, but when the police came in everybody got scared and upset and I was afraid it was going to turn into a riot. I was trying to calm the kids down and one of them bumped into me and made me stumble and break a heel.” She held up one of the expensive designer shoes, which indeed had the high heel barely hanging on. “It’s ruined! I know something terrible must have happened or there wouldn’t be all these officers here, and I shouldn’t be worried about a stupid shoe . . . but it was just so cute before this happened.”
Phyllis managed not to sigh in exasperation. Having seen a man die tonight, she didn’t think Amber should be upset about something so trivial, either. But of course Amber hadn’t seen Ray Brooks breathe his last and didn’t even know that he was dead.
That thought made Phyllis feel a twinge of guilt at keeping the news from the younger woman. Based on everything she had seen, she didn’t believe Amber still had any feelings for Brooks, but she supposed that was possible. The two of them had dated, after all, at least for a little while.
Appleton and the other investigator hadn’t specifically told them not to say anything about what had happened. She was considering telling Amber what she had found when Ronnie suddenly gasped beside her.
“Oh, no!” Ronnie said. “They can’t! They just can’t!”
Amber raised a hand to her mouth in shock as she looked in the same direction Ronnie was looking. Phyllis and Sam turned to see what was going on, too.
Chase and the two deputies who had been escorting him earlier had reappeared and were on their way through the cafeteria, followed by Appleton and the other detective. A stunned silence spread through the entire room as everyone noticed what was different this time.
Chase’s hands were cuffed behind his back.
Chapter 22
“No!” Ronnie said. “They can’t do that!”
She started toward Chase and the deputies, but Sam took hold of her arm to stop her.
“I know you’re upset, but gettin’ in a fight with the law won’t do any good. It won’t help Chase, and it’ll just get you in more trouble than you know.”
She tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too strong. “You don’t understand! They’re arresting him! But I know he’s not guilty. He didn’t kill Mr. Brooks, he just couldn’t have.”
That settled the question of whether or not to tell Amber what was going on, Phyllis thought. And everyone else nearby, for that matter, because Ronnie was upset enough that her voice was pretty loud. Surprised, excited talk started immediately as the news began to go around the room.
Amber reacted strongly, her precious shoes forgotten as she let go of them and they thudded to the tile floor at her feet. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Ray?” she said. “Ray is dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Phyllis said. “I found his body back in that little downstairs hallway.”
“That’s crazy. What could have happened to him down there? There’s nothing that could hurt any—” Amber broke off and started shaking her head. “Wait. Chase is being arrested. The police think that he . . . No! I don’t believe that! He’s not a . . . a murderer.”
That was one thing—maybe the only thing—Amber and Ronnie agreed on.
“Might not be murder,” Sam said. “Those two had had trouble. Could be they got into it again, and things went farther this time. That’d make it manslaughter, or maybe even self-defense.”
“Except he didn’t do it,” Ronnie said, tight-lipped.
“But they have him in handcuffs,” Amber said, staring toward the exit where Chase and the officers from the sheriff’s department had left the cafeteria and gone out of sight by now.
“Just because he’s been taken into custody doesn’t mean he’ll be charged with murder,” Phyllis said. “That won’t be determined until later in the investigation.”
Walter said, “Or unless he confessed.”
The others all turned to look at him, which made him take a step back and add, “I’m just saying that’s a possibility.”
“No, it’s not,” Ronnie told him coldly. “Chase wouldn’t confess to something he didn’t do.”
Frances Macmillan joined them and said to Phyllis in an accusing tone of voice, “You knew about this. You knew Ray Brooks had been killed.”
“I’m sorry,” Phyllis said. “I believed the detectives would want that kept quiet for the time being.” She shrugged a little. “Clearly, at this point it doesn’t matter.”
Phyllis saw one of the deputies still posted at the exit lean his head toward the shoulder where his radio was. A moment later the man raised his voice to be heard over the continuing hubbub in the room.
“You’re all free to go,” he told the students and teachers assembled in the cafeteria, “but as you leave you’re going to need to give your name and phone number to the officers at the front
door, in case we need to get in touch with you again.”
That announcement started a bit of a stampede toward the exit. The deputy held up his hand to slow the exodus.
“Take it easy,” he said. “There’s no need to rush. All the excitement is over.”
The excitement might be over, Phyllis thought, but the ordeal was just getting started for Chase Hamilton.
◄♦►
Before leaving, Phyllis went to the table where the snacks had been. Frances had gone back there, too, and while she still seemed a little miffed, she said, “Everything you brought went over really well. In fact, it’s all gone. I thought the cookies and cupcakes would disappear first, but as it turned out, a couple of the cookies were the last things left. Somebody got them just a little while before all the trouble broke out.”
Phyllis looked at the puddle of spilled punch, which had turned into a sticky mess with pieces of broken glass in it.
“No one ever cleaned that up,” she said. “Have you seen Mr. McCracken?”
Frances shook her head. “I wonder where he’s gone to.”
“You remember, I went to look for him earlier—”
“And found a dead body instead.” Frances sighed. “I know. But you never found Mr. McCracken.”
“No, I didn’t. Whose punch bowl was that?”
“Mrs. Chamberlain’s. The art teacher.”
“Is she going to be upset that it was broken?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not a family heirloom or anything like that. She told me she bought it last year.” Frances frowned and added, “I suppose the student council should reimburse her from the money we made on the dance. It was going to be a pretty successful fundraiser, you know. I’m just sorry we’ll probably never get to have another one.”
“Why not?”
“Who’s going to want to come to a dance if there’s a chance there’s going to be a murder?”
Phyllis didn’t have an answer for that question.
As she gathered up the containers she had brought her snacks in, she wondered if she ought to find one of the deputies still in the building and say something about George McCracken’s mysterious disappearance. She would hate to think that the kindly custodian had fallen victim to the killer as well, and even now, his body might be hidden in some out-of-the-way place.
But while she was thinking about that, Tom Shula walked into the cafeteria again, and this time, Mr. McCracken was with him.
The white-haired man had a miserable look on his face, not like anything was wrong, necessarily, but more like he was embarrassed. Phyllis set the stack of plastic containers back on the table and went over to them.
“Mr. McCracken,” she said, “are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure, Missus Newsom,” he said, clearly not wanting to meet her eyes.
Shula said, “I found him in the band hall just now.”
“But I looked in the band hall,” Phyllis said with a frown. “I called your name, Mr. McCracken.”
“He didn’t want to answer you,” Shula said. “And he wasn’t really in the band hall, but in one of those little practice rooms on the side. Evidently he had a bottle hidden in there.”
“Just a little bottle,” McCracken said, shuffling his feet and shrugging. “And it’s not like I ever got drunk, Mr. Shula. Just a nip now and then to help get through the nights workin’ here.” He finally looked at Phyllis. “I’m sure sorry I didn’t answer you when you called me, Missus Newsom. I heard you, but I’d just slipped in there and taken a drink, and I was afraid you’d smell it on my breath if I came out then. So I figured I’d wait a while, and then when I started to come out, I heard a bunch of people talkin’ and it sounded like somethin’ bad had happened, so I, uh, I went back in the practice room to wait some more.”
“I was going to tear the school apart to find you if I had to, George,” Shula said. “I was afraid something had happened to you, too.”
Phyllis said, “So was I. In fact, I was just thinking about reporting that you were missing to one of those deputies.”
“Mr. Shula told me what happened.” McCracken shook his head. “Sure hated to hear it.”
“Were you and Ray Brooks friends?” Phyllis asked.
“No, I hated the nasty son of a—Beg pardon, ma’am. But Brooks and me, we didn’t get along very well. He said some things about custodians that got me mad. Called us puke-moppers and toilet-scrubbers.” A defiant look appeared on the older man’s face. “Well, maybe so, but somebody’s got to do them jobs. Brooks sure wouldn’t have been happy if they didn’t get done, let me tell you.”
“No, I don’t imagine he would have been,” Shula said. “None of us would have.”
“Anybody who stops to think about it knows that what you do is important, Mr. McCracken,” Phyllis added.
“I appreciate that, ma’am.” McCracken shot a glance toward Shula. “Are you gonna fire me because of what you found out?”
“About the drinking?” Shula took a deep breath. “I ought to. But I probably won’t. You need to make certain that it never happens again, though.”
“It sure won’t,” McCracken said as he shook his head solemnly. “I can promise you that, Mr. Shula.” He looked over at the spilled punch and pointed. “I’d better get to cleanin’ that up before it dries even more.”
“Is it going to leave a stain on the floor?” Shula asked.
“Maybe. But not if I can do anything about it.”
McCracken started to walk off, no doubt heading for one of the supply closets to get something he could use to clean up the spill, when Phyllis stopped him.
“Mr. McCracken,” she said, “when you were going to the band hall earlier, after you left the cafeteria, did you see or hear anybody back in that part of the school?”
“You mean, did I see Brooks?”
“Or anybody else.”
“No, ma’am.” McCracken lifted a hand and rubbed the silvery beard stubble on his chin. “Come to think of it, though, the light was on in that main rear hall, and in the side hall down at the other end from the band hall. So somebody could’ve come through there just a minute or two earlier.”
“And at the far end of that other side hall is the stairwell leading down to The Dungeon.”
Shula made a face and said, “I wish people wouldn’t call it that. I don’t want to be the principal of a school with a Dungeon in it.” Then he laughed humorlessly and added, “But what does it matter now? I’m the principal of a school where a murder took place.”
“You didn’t see anything,” Phyllis said to McCracken, “but did you hear anything? Voices? Footsteps?”
McCracken didn’t answer immediately, but after a couple of seconds he said, “Maybe some rats tippy-tappin’ along in the wall. Hard to say, the way those halls echo when they’re empty.”
“Rats!” Shula repeated. “We have rats already? The school just opened.”
“Any place there’s a kitchen, you’re gonna have to fight the rats. There’s just no gettin’ around it. The school’s been open long enough to attract ’em.”
“But nothing else?” Phyllis said. “No people?”
McCracken shook his head again. “No, but I wasn’t really payin’ that much attention, you know. I had somethin’ else on my mind.”
“That bottle,” Shula said.
A shame-faced look came over McCracken’s weatherbeaten features again. He all but hung his head as he said, “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
“Thank you anyway,” Phyllis told him, even though he hadn’t given her any information she didn’t already know. This time when he shuffled away, bent on cleaning up the spilled punch, she didn’t stop him.
She wondered if later, when the forensics team was through, he would have to clean up the spilled blood.
She could understand why he might need a drink after that.
Chapter 23
Sam and Ronnie were waiting near the cafeteria’s main exit. Phyllis picked up the empty snack container
s again and went to join them.
“You need some help with those?” Sam asked.
“No, they’re lightweight and no problem.” Phyllis smiled. “The one thing that went well tonight. The snacks Carolyn and I made were popular.”
“You know Carolyn’s gonna have somethin’ to say about somebody gettin’ killed while you were around.”
Phyllis sighed. “I know. But it’s not my fault. It just seems to work out that way.”
They walked out of the school, pausing at the front entrance to give their names and phone numbers to one of the deputies on duty there. The man entered the information into an electronic tablet and then nodded that they could continue.
“Where have they taken Chase?” Ronnie asked as they headed toward Phyllis’s car.
“The county detention center is on Fort Worth Highway,” Phyllis said. “We’ll pass it on our way home.”
“But don’t get any ideas about stoppin’,” Sam told his granddaughter. “They won’t be lettin’ Chase have any visitors tonight except his lawyer.”
“His lawyer!” Ronnie exclaimed. “That’s it! You can get that lawyer you work for to help him. He’s really good, isn’t he?”
Phyllis said, “From what I’ve seen, Mr. D’Angelo is an excellent attorney. We don’t actually work for him, though, except as consultants now and then.”
“But you know him,” Ronnie insisted. “He’ll help Chase, if you ask him to.”
“Chase is the one responsible for asking for an attorney. They’ll make sure he knows he’s entitled to one.”
Although Phyllis didn’t see how anyone could be unaware of their Miranda rights in this day and age when they were repeated on TV shows all the time.
Ronnie caught hold of Sam’s arm. “Please, Gramps. I’m sure Chase is alone and scared.”
“What about his folks?”
“He doesn’t have any family. Not down here, anyway. He said something about living with, like, an aunt or uncle or maybe some cousins, up in Pennsylvania, but I’m pretty sure both of his parents are dead. He’s eighteen, so he didn’t have to get anybody’s permission to move down here. Well, I guess he’s probably nineteen by now, but you know what I mean.”
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