Band Room Bash

by Candice Speare Prentice

  “Yes. Your mother called. Then your father called. Then your mother called again.” Shirl felt the same as I did about Max’s mother, and that was obvious by her slightly sarcastic emphasis on ‘mother.’

  “Okay. I’ll call her in a minute.”

  He entered my office smiling and kissed me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, especially now,” I said. “This is a nice surprise.”

  He grinned, but it faded when he noticed my notebook. “Clues?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s why I love you, though.” His grin returned.

  “Because I’m incorrigible?”

  “Because being married to you keeps life from becoming boring.” He kissed me again, this time longer, and I felt it all the way to my toes.

  When he was done, I couldn’t speak.

  He stepped back and winked at me. He knows exactly how he affects me. “Anyway, I have a couple of things to do. Is that Connie Gilbert I see unloading things?”

  I nodded. “Did you know she’s related to Georgia?”

  Max nodded. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He seems to know everybody and everything.

  “I was a little shocked that she was out so soon after Georgia’s death,” I said, “but she’s got a bunch of costumes to store. She says she has to take care of Nettie now. Connie doesn’t seem to be doing very well.”

  “I can understand,” he said. “Does she have help unloading?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Hmm. It looked like she has some heavier boxes. I’ll go give her a hand for a couple of minutes.”

  “That’s sweet of you. You want me to come?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you lifting anything.”

  I settled down to work. Max returned twenty minutes later and disappeared into his office. I needed to get busy getting advertising commitments for the play program. I’d have Max fill out a form for Cunningham & Son. I’d fill out one for Four Oaks Self-Storage.

  I took one of the forms and went to Max’s office. His door was open a crack, so I pushed it and walked in. He was on the phone and looked up with a frown, holding up a finger to tell me to wait.

  He shoved some papers around on his desk. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Because of who I am, how I am, and how I’ve always been, I recognize a cover-up when I see it. That’s because I have the regrettable ability to cover up with the best of them. Something I’m working hard to change.

  He mumbled a few uh-huhs then said good-bye and hung up. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m in a hurry to finish something here.” As he spoke, he placed a leather portfolio on the desk in front of him over the papers. “I’ve got a lot to do, and I hadn’t planned to come to the office today. I have one more phone call to make. Can you give me just a couple minutes?”

  That meant he wanted me to leave. I sighed my objection, but he ignored it and just stared at me.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be in my office.” I didn’t move.

  “Great. I’ll be there in a minute. And would you please shut the door on your way out?” He picked up the phone again.

  I knew when I was defeated. I turned and shut his office door. What was he hiding from me?

  At my desk, I tapped my fingers on the desk and watched the lights on the phones. The diamonds on my wedding ring glittered, and I remembered I needed to have the ring cleaned and checked, but before I could write a note to remind myself, Max’s phone light turned dark. Then I heard him leave his office and shut the door.

  He appeared in the doorway of my office. “I have to get going.”

  “I need you to fill out this form for advertising for Cunningham & Son.” I held it out to him.

  He put down his briefcase, crossed the room, and took the form and flipped through the pages. “All this for advertising in a school play program?”

  “Yep,” I said. “That’s Carla. Obsessive.”

  “I’ll say.” He stuck the form in his briefcase.

  “Max, is everything okay?”

  He pecked me on the cheek. So different from the passionate kiss of a few minutes before.

  “Yes. I’ll be home tonight, hopefully at the normal time. I told Tommy that Sherry could come over to dinner tonight. They want to practice for the play.”

  I wanted to say, “Thanks for asking me first,” but I didn’t. I just nodded. He turned and left. I didn’t understand. One minute he was kissing me with feeling; the next he was like a cold fish. What was going on? I buried my nose in work, trying to ignore my swirling thoughts. Then Shirl hollered from the outer office that she was going out to lunch, emphasizing she had an important appointment.

  Normally I would have been curious, because Shirl never goes out to lunch. Instead, she frugally packs a sandwich, which she eats in the conference room in front of a tiny television we had installed for her. There she reads a romance book while she watches one of her favorite daytime shows.

  Today, however, I was too busy wondering what Max was hiding to think about Shirl. When her car pulled from the lot, the war began. Bad Trish began to argue with Good Trish.

  I wanted to search Max’s desk to see if he had left anything behind that would give me a hint about what he was hiding. I could temporarily turn off the security cameras and lock the front door so I wouldn’t be caught.

  I took a step toward the front door then stopped. My mother raised me on clichés. They still live in my brain and come back to me in her voice at the appropriate moments. Like when you hear an annoying song on the radio, and the dumbest line in the whole thing repeats itself over and over again in your mind until you think you’ll go crazy.

  I could hear my mother speaking right now. “Trish, one day your curiosity is going to get the best of you. You know what they say, don’t you? Curiosity killed the cat.” When she told me things like that, she added object lessons when she could, like smashed cats in the road. “See?” She’d point with great enthusiasm. “That cat just had to cross the road. Too busy being curious to watch for cars.”

  Yes, but this is my husband. I argued pointlessly with her in my head. He shouldn’t keep secrets from me. I’m not a cat, and I’m not crossing the road.

  I looked around the empty office. I didn’t have to worry about being smashed by a car unless someone accidentally came barreling through the front window.

  No one would ever know. Except me and God.

  Chapter Seven

  Good Trish triumphed over Bad Trish. I didn’t search Max’s office. To reward myself, I got three different flavors of ice cream when I stopped by the Shopper’s Super Saver after work to pick things up for dinner.

  At the checkout, a young man with more piercings and tattoos than I cared to look at was shoving my purchases into plastic bags with abandon.

  “Um, those are eggs there,” I said.

  “Sure are.” He crammed more items into the bag. I was too tired to argue. Besides, trying to write my check and simultaneously recall whether I had hot fudge at home for the ice cream was daunting enough. That’s when I heard Georgia’s murder being discussed with great relish at the checkout behind me.

  “. . . We’ve never had a tragedy like this at my school before, and I don’t intend for it to ever happen again.”

  I recognized Carla Bickford’s voice and turned around to look at her. She was holding court two checkouts down from me like the queen of England, with a sensible purse that coordinated with her proper suit. The whole outfit was an echo of what she’d been wearing the day before.

  She met my gaze, and her eyes widened. “Why, Trish. I didn’t recognize you from behind.”

  What did that mean besides instant insecurity for me? Was my behind different than it used to be? Had I gained so much pregnancy weight that I’d become unrecognizable? Or did it mean she just never really saw me from this angle before?

  With a small wave of her hand, Carla motioned toward me then gazed slowly from p
erson to person, acknowledging her subjects. “Trish is the one who found Georgia.”

  Everyone’s eyes fell on me. The low, confiding pitch of Carla’s voice had given her words just enough drama that I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear everyone ooh and aah.

  I recognized one of my mother’s friends in line, and she nodded and smiled at me, as though I had done something terribly special by finding a dead woman.

  “Oh wow,” my cashier said.

  “Dude,” the bagger said, looking at me with a sudden new respect in his eyes.

  I felt like saying, “Aw, shucks, ’tweren’t nothin’.”

  “Did you throw up?” my cashier asked me breathlessly.

  “No.” I hated this kind of attention, particularly since it was at Georgia’s expense.

  My mother’s friend had to add her two cents. “Well, everyone should remember that Trish is the one who found Jim Bob in the milk case of this very store last spring. She’s used to this by now.”

  “Dude!” The bagger eyed me with awe and carefully bagged the rest of my groceries.

  What a thing to be known for. Finding dead people.

  My mother’s friend wasn’t done. “Not only that, but she solves crimes.”

  “Well, not exactly,” I said.

  “That’s not what your mother says.”

  The air stilled, as if all the people around me were holding their breath. All eyes were on me. I wanted to disappear. Solving crimes was one thing, but to have the fact advertised all over the county could be dangerous.

  “So will you cancel the play?” a woman in line behind Carla asked her.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. That got everyone’s focus off me.

  “Absolutely not,” Carla said. “The show must go on. We can’t let anything take us from our duties.”

  I waited for applause, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Carla sniffed, put her purse strap over her shoulder, and picked up her grocery bag. “We need to get to the bottom of this crime. I’m upping the security in the school. I told the school board at the beginning of the year that we were at risk and needed a school resource officer. We also need cameras in the halls. You never know when a crazy person is going to break in and hold the children hostage. Now I have proof that we are susceptible to attack from the outside.”

  That was the third time I’d heard someone say a stranger had broken into the school. Was I the only one who didn’t believe that?

  The bagger dude offered to push my groceries outside to my car. I agreed and ended up walking next to Carla. “So you think a stranger broke into the school?”

  “Certainly. You don’t think anybody we know could be guilty of this, do you?” Her gaze was challenging.

  I shrugged and decided not to give her my opinion at the moment. “Did you know Georgia well? I didn’t, although she did grow up around here.”

  “Well, I knew her better than the other teachers on staff. We ate dinner together on occasion. She was dedicated. Determined that the children should be well educated.” Carla’s purse slipped off her shoulder, and she shoved it back. “She was under a great deal of pressure to take care of her grandmother, though. I wondered if she should take a leave of absence.”

  “Did you know that she and Connie were cousins?” I asked.

  Carla blinked. “Well, of course I knew that.” She stopped in front of a smoke-gray Volvo and opened the front door, leaning over and placing her bag on the passenger seat.

  Bagger Dude hovered behind me, listening.

  “Aren’t you worried about the football team?” I asked.

  “The football team?” Carla stood up, gripping her purse with both hands, and stared down at me. “Why? Just like our band, our football team is one of the best in the tri-county area. As a result, we get attention from some of the best colleges in the area.”

  Rah, rah, rah. Sis boom bah. I was getting the party line and decided to grab the bull by the horns, to quote another one of my mother’s oft-used clichés. “Well, I heard that Georgia was threatening to fail Jason, the star quarterback. Wouldn’t it be possible that he or Coach Smith had something to do with the attack on Georgia?”

  “What?” Carla blinked like a toad in a hailstorm. Her fingers clenched spasmodically on her bag. I’d plainly caught her off guard, so I pressed my advantage. “I heard that Jason was going to be removed from the team.”

  She took two steps backward. “It’s absolutely ridiculous to think our football team is good only because of one player. Besides, if Jason could be guilty, then any number of our other young people could be guilty.” She took several deep breaths. “That would mean her death was some kind of personal vendetta. . . . No, I’m sure this was a stranger.”

  I thought she was protesting too much. “Well, you never really know what people are going to do. There are rumors—”

  “Hearsay,” Carla snapped. “You shouldn’t be listening to it.” A red flush worked up her cheeks. “I don’t care if you do solve mysteries.”

  Her hostility seemed a bit over the top to me. Still, I didn’t want to stress her out any more than I already had. I forced myself to laugh. “Yep, gossip can be a killer, all right. Especially in a small town.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Remember our rescheduled meeting tomorrow afternoon. I don’t want anything to distract us from our goals. I want to discuss the advertising for the school play. I’d like to see the paid ads throughout the program. And I want the whole thing professionally printed on heavy, good-quality paper.”

  I nodded even though I thought the idea was ridiculous. This was a school play in a public school, for Pete’s sake. But what did I know?

  “This will raise money for the drama club as well as present our high school in a good light.” Carla slipped into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the meeting.”

  I turned away and wondered what was wrong with our high school that it had to be presented in such a good light. Well, other than the fact that it had been the scene of a murder.

  My spiky-haired bagger followed me to my car with my basket. “Dude, that woman is a freak.”

  “What?”

  He motioned with his head at the back end of Carla’s car as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Her. She’s a freak.”

  “How come?” We halted at the back of my SUV, and I popped the back door open.

  “Too good for everyone. You know? Like those old bags on the BBC.” He started loading my groceries. “She acts like she’s on drugs, man.”

  I had a feeling he would know.

  “You know what they say about the coach, don’t you?” He turned to stare at me.

  “No.”

  “Steroids.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “Steroids? You can’t be serious.”

  “Serious as a heart attack.” He shrugged. “Took ’em a long time. Affected his head.” He tapped his temple then slammed the car door shut. “Now he makes sure his players do well on tests, if you get my drift.”

  “Steroids?” I asked. “Do they help on tests?”

  He laughed and stared at me. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “He has other ways.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “I hear things. Listen, I gotta get back to work.”

  “Okay.” I turned to my SUV and used the remote to open the locks.

  “Hey, lady.”

  I turned.

  Bagger Dude scratched his arm. “Be careful about askin’ questions.” He swiveled on his sneakered foot and headed back to the store.

  That sounded like a threat. I shivered, got into the car, and locked my doors. I needed to write down what I’d just heard. I pulled a pen and my steno pad from my purse.

  Bagger Dude says Coach used steroids and they messed up his head. He arranges for players to pass tests in order to stay on the team. How?

  Carla is defensive. Team isn’t dependent on just one player. I stopped and thought carefully about her words. C
arla never denied that Jason or the coach had done anything wrong. But she insists that it was a stranger who killed Georgia.

  After staring at the words, I shut the steno pad and tucked it in my purse, along with the pen. As I started my SUV, I noticed my engagement and wedding rings again. They really needed to be cleaned and checked. I would hate to lose a diamond from neglect. And that’s when it dawned on me that Carla hadn’t been wearing any rings. Not even an engagement ring. Strange. I thought she had a fiancé.

  I drove home, mentally reviewing all my clues. Murder investigations have a way of peeling away people’s veneer of civility. Before I was done, I was going to know some people in my town a lot better than they wanted to be known.

  Water flew from my salad spinner as I twirled it in the kitchen sink. I had my Bible study open on the counter, trying to concentrate on the Scripture. Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage, be strong. Do everything in love. As I thought about that, the back door opened. I turned. Tommy and Sherry walked into the room frowning, bringing with them a dark atmosphere of despair.

  Sherry met my eyes. “Hello, Mrs. Cunningham.”

  “Hey, Mom,” Tommy said.

  Neither smiled.

  “I hope you like steak, Sherry.” I needed to use the steaks I’d thawed the night before, so I had bought a couple more for dinner tonight. They were cooking on the gas grill out on the patio, manned by Max, who was in slightly better spirits. At least he’d seemed that way when he pulled me into an enthusiastic kiss a few minutes ago that ended only when Sammie interrupted us.

  Sherry offered to help me, and Tommy left to take his books to his room. Karen came traipsing in and gave Sherry and me a hand carrying things to the table.

  In a couple of minutes, we were all seated at the dining room table except Charlie. He came straggling in, a sour expression on his face.

  “You okay?” I asked as he sat down.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  Max asked the blessing. For a few minutes, no one said a word. Tommy and Sherry kept exchanging glances, then Sherry dropped her fork on her plate with a clatter.

  “I’m going to ask her, Tommy.”