“What were you doing?” Sidney asked with surprise.
“I was sitting in my pajamas last night,” he said without looking at her. “Ugly pajamas with ducks on ‘em. The late Mrs. Taylor bought them for me.”
Sidney was silent a moment then rolled her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Did you happen to look at the library anytime between three and eight o’clock.”
He looked out the window above his crossword puzzle. “S’pose so,” he replied.
“Did you notice any cars there after the library closed?” Sidney asked.
“Always cars in the lot after it’s closed,” he replied.
“Mr. Taylor, do you know Trisha Allister? She works in the library archives,” Sidney pressed, attempting to keep his attention focused on their conversation.
Mr. Taylor glared at her. “Of course I know Trisha. She’s that sweet child who brings me the morning paper af’er she’s finished with it. Every mornin’ she brings it over at nine o’clock.” He then looked at his watch and frowned. “She’s late,” he scoffed.
“Did you see her leave the library last night?” she pressed.
“She’s usually out by five,” he replied and scribbled something in the puzzle.
“She worked late last night.”
Harlan shifted while rolling his eyes then uncertainly touched something on the sofa. He pulled a half-eaten cheese sandwich out from between the cushions. Harlan made a face and set it on the arm of the chair.
“Oh,” he replied without looking at her. “Didn’t see her leave. Saw a couple lurking around just after eight last night. Left a little after eight thirty. Had some sort of blue car,” he said simply. “It was raining hard when they left. Probably screwing around in the parking lot.”
Sidney looked at Harlan with defeat. At least Mr. Taylor was able to distinguish Sidney’s car and that they had been there after eight. She looked back at the old man.
“But before that,” she prompted. “Do you remember seeing any cars there after closing and before eight?”
“That lesbian teacher was there,” he said simply. “What’s a word for distortions of perception?”
“Persha Palmer?” Sidney asked curiously.
Harlan smelled the area beneath him. He grimaced, stood, and approached Sidney’s chair. He sat on the arm of her plush chair.
“Only lesbian teacher I know around these parts,” Mr. Taylor replied simply then appeared thoughtful. “Psychedelic.” He scribbled the word into the book.
“What time did she leave?” Sidney asked.
“Bout quarter after seven,” he replied and continued with his crossword puzzle. “A sheath or container for a dagger or sword?”
“Was there anyone else?” Sidney pressed.
“There was a taxicab. Must’ve made a wrong turn. Pulled out of the parking lot,” he announced then pointed with his pencil. “Scabbard,” he said and wrote the word in his book.
“A taxi?” Sidney asked with some concern. “Did you get a good look at it?”
“It was yellow,” he replied coarsely without looking at her. “Had a huge dent on its front passenger side.”
“Are you sure it didn’t pick someone up?” Sidney asked.
“Didn’t see it pull in. Just saw it come out of the back parking lot and head out of town,” he replied.
“Did you notice anyone in the back?”
“Two people,” he informed her. “A couple. Sat really close together.”
Sidney and Harlan looked at each other then returned their attention to the old man. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” Sidney said. “You’ve been a tremendous help.”
As they stood to leave, Mr. Taylor looked at them over his crossword book. “Does your father know you took back up with that photographer fella?” he asked and nodded toward Harlan.
Sidney looked at Harlan with some surprise. Mr. Taylor had a fantastic memory for details when it suited his purpose. “If he did,” she teased, “he wouldn’t approve.”
Mr. Taylor laughed softly at the comment. “There’s an old bomb shelter in the basement of the school. Door’s behind the boiler now.” He winked at Harlan. “You can take ‘er there. Her father will never find you kids. Wish I knew about it when the late Mrs. Taylor and I were young.” He laughed lowly with a wrinkled smile.
Sidney looked at Harlan with alarm. “Bomb shelter,” she gasped softly.
Both hurried from the house.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Harlan followed Sidney through the empty hall of the high school while classes were in session. They slipped through the door to the basement without being seen and hurried down the stairs. Sidney and Harlan wandered through the maze of machinery and storage space until Harlan spotted the boiler. They hurried toward it and easily slipped behind it. Mr. Taylor had been right; there was a metal door. They could hear a soft female moan coming from the other side. Harlan forced the door open. A teenage boy and girl jumped into a sitting position from the blankets scattered on the floor. The old bomb shelter consisted of a single, large room, which was lined with shelves and old supplies.
“Don’t call my mother,” the girl cried softly while frantically buttoning her shirt. “Please don’t call my mother.”
Harlan eyed the kids while shaking his head and motioned toward the door. “Get dressed and get back to your class,” he announced firmly.
Harlan and Sidney left the hidden bomb shelter and walked across the basement with mild disgust.
“So much for that theory,” Sidney said with a sigh while rubbing her chilled arms. Her concern for Trisha was tearing her apart.
“Since we’re already here,” Harlan announced with defeat. “Why don’t we talk to Persha Palmer?”
“She’s all yours,” Sidney muttered, dreading the thought. “I could never talk to that woman. She’s cold and unfeeling.”
Once they returned upstairs, they approached Ms. Palmer’s class and waited until she had a free minute. She gave the class a reading assignment then joined Sidney and Harlan in the hallway. Harlan immediately extended his hand to her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he announced cheerfully, diving into reporter mode. “My name is Harlan Brendan.”
Ms. Palmer shook his hand then raised a sharp brow on her prudish face. “Aren’t you that photographer fella?”
Harlan chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I used to work for Mr. McBride several years ago, but now I’m a journalist,” he announced, playing up the angle. “I’m doing a follow-up story on the murder of Emily Fisher since I had been in Marilina during that time. I heard from several sources that you were friends with her. Would you be willing to help me get some facts straight on the subject?”
Ms. Palmer folded her arms across her chest. “I’d be glad to give you the correct version of what happened that day,” she said sternly. “Not that anyone wants to know the truth. Let’s go outside to talk.”
They followed her out the back of the building through a nearby door and sat at some tables set outside. Ms. Palmer lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. She blew smoke across the table and looked sharply at both.
“The day of the murder, her boyfriend, Alec, came to the school. He started arguing with her in the hallway during one of her classes.” Her brow rose sharply. “Then he hit her.”
Sidney’s mouth opened with surprise then immediately shut. Considering she had witnessed the incident, she knew that was inaccurate.
“Of course, I comforted her,” Ms. Palmer insisted while practically inhaling her cigarette. “Told her men were rotten pigs.” She gave Harlan a wry smile. “No offense.”
Harlan shifted uncomfortably but remained polite. “Did she tell you what they had been arguing about?”
“Naturally,” Ms. Palmer replied then immediately lit a second cigarette off the first. “They had a fight over his infidelity. The man was a real womanizer. Emily would stay at home and cry herself to sleep while that barbarian was out skirt chasing.” She took a long drag on the sec
ond cigarette again and blew smoke past Harlan. “But getting back to the story. We talked about the fight, and she seemed convinced he was no good for her. She met up with him on her walk home. That’s when Alec beat, raped and killed her right there on the bridge.”
Sidney groaned to herself and looked away. Her story wasn’t accurate with any of the facts. She wondered if they were even talking about the same case. Without looking at him, Sidney gently nudged Harlan’s thigh under the table.
“Fascinating story,” Harlan announced with a pleasant smile, ignoring the false facts, and then flipped through his notebook. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d just like to ask you a couple of quick questions. Points of interest, if you will.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she replied then puffed on her cigarette and lit another from it. She crushed the old cigarette and lined the second butt alongside the first.
“What was on the letter Emily Fisher received the day of the murder?” he asked simply and stared at her for her reaction.
She stared at him a moment with a look of surprise. “Letter? What letter?”
“She had received a letter the day of the murder. Two witnesses saw her read a letter and place it in her pocket just before she left school for the day,” Harlan explained.
Ms. Palmer shook her head. “I don’t know anything about a letter.”
“She didn’t mention the letter to you when she spoke to you after school?” he asked with surprise.
“No, we didn’t talk after school the day she was killed. She left here in a bit of a hurry,” Ms. Palmer announced then hesitated. “Although when I went out in the parking lot, I saw her around the back of the school talking to Paul. At least I think it was Paul. They were around the corner of the building, and his back was to me. No, I’m quite positive it was Paul.”
It would make an interesting theory, Sidney thought, except her recaps of the murder were less than accurate. It would seem they’d be asking Mr. Malcolm a few more questions.
“Yes, you’re probably right. My facts have been a bit sketchy from the start, but you’re helping clear up a lot for me,” Harlan said with a smile that mocked her. While studying the notes he had written from Trisha’s journal on his pad, he let out a slight laugh and scratched his temple with the back of his pen. “On a more personal note,” he announced and looked at her. “There’s quite a difference between your story and the version I heard the other day.” He skimmed his notes. “Sidney’s friend, Trisha, insists the real killer is still free.”
Ms. Palmer groaned lowly and rolled her eyes. “That little parasite has been spreading that rumor for nearly two months.” Ms. Palmer then eyed Sidney as well. “Forgive me. I know she’s your friend.” She leaned across the picnic table toward Harlan and motioned him closer with thin fingers pinching her cigarette. He leaned forward. “She actually went to the prison and talked to that murderer. If you ask me, I think she has feelings for the bastard. She’s half psycho. I feel a little sorry for the child.” She shook her head and leaned back. “I know she went through a lot, but the murder was traumatic on all of us. I adored Emily. She was like a sister to me.”
“So you’re certain there couldn’t have been anyone else responsible for her death?” Harlan asked while tilting his head with a curious stare.
She leaned on the picnic table, laughed softly, and waved a hand at him. “Not unless you killed her, Mr. Brendan. You were the only other suspicious person in town.”
“Suspicious? You mean a stranger?” he asked with raised brows and sarcasm in his tone.
“Well, it was no secret Emily wanted you,” Ms. Palmer remarked simply and added a knowing smirk. “Young, good-looking, and European. She said she loved an English accent. If you ask me, I think she enjoyed the uncut member.”
Sidney was confused by the comment, not sure she understood. The way Harlan shifted uncomfortably and avoided looking at her, Sidney immediately figured it out. She looked away and held back her embarrassed smile. Harlan scratched his goatee with the back of his pen then looked to his notepad.
“I’d like to hear your version of what happened last night at the library. Since it sort of involves the murder,” he said bluntly then looked at her.
Ms. Palmer stared at him with some confusion. “The library? What version?” she practically gasped. “Nothing happened at the library last night.”
Harlan’s brows knitted in confusion as he flipped back in the notepad. “I could have sworn--” He pointed to the page with his pen. Sidney stared at the blank page over his lower arm. “Yes, here it is. According to Miss Allister, you approached her in the library archives and said to her, ‘This town isn’t interested in the truth. No one will ever believe you. They will never know the truth. I’ll make sure of it.” Harlan lowered the notepad. “Just what did you mean by that?”
Sidney held her straight face. Harlan deserved an award for the role he was playing.
“Well, well.” Ms. Palmer fumbled as the color rose to her cheeks. “That’s all a lie,” she exploded. “I never said any of that. It’s obvious she’s lying!” Ms. Palmer was breathing rapidly and puffed nervously on her fourth cigarette. “That little bitch! It’s obvious she’s trying to turn everyone against me or use me to make others believe her ridiculous stories!”
Harlan scribbled something on the notepad.
“You just wait until I see that little bitch,” Ms. Palmer scoffed in anger and shook her head defensively. “I’m going to set her straight for ever saying those things!”
Harlan’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward on his elbows. “What was your conversation with her last night?”
Ms. Palmer frantically shook her head. “Very casual. We don’t get along.”
“Would you mind telling me exactly what had transpired? We should get the facts straight,” Harlan remarked simply without looking at her and literally began to scribble on the notepad to convey the illusion of writing.
“That little bitch,” Ms. Palmer snapped and crushed her fourth cigarette. She blew out the smoke and lit another with angry, trembling hands. “I went into the archives to look at some old yearbooks. I’ve been helping with the school paper. One of the teachers is retiring, so we wanted to find a picture of him from his first year as a teacher here at Marilina. I asked Trisha about that particular year. I couldn’t even find the damned yearbooks. It’s her job to know where these things are. She found the book I needed and even photocopied the page for me. Nothing happened between us. Neither of us ever says more than we have to. I just can’t believe she’d stoop that low.”
“I see,” he replied then eyed her. “What time did you leave the library?”
“About seven fifteen,” she replied sternly and inhaled on the cigarette. “I also checked out another book for my personal reading, but that wasn’t anywhere near the archives.”
“Did anyone else happen to hear your conversation with Trisha? Was there anyone else in the archives with you?” Harlan asked while raising a brow.
“No, not a soul,” she remarked. “But I assure you, what I’ve told you is the truth.”
“Was there anyone else in the library at that particular time? Perhaps someone coming in when you left?” he asked.
“No one else came in. The library closes at seven, but they don’t rush you out if you’re looking for something in particular,” Ms. Palmer informed him. “In fact, after closing is when they’re the most helpful.”
“Who was working that night?” Harlan asked.
“Just Trisha. At least, she was the only one there from six until seven while I was there,” Ms. Palmer remarked then pointed at Harlan with realization. “Now that I think about it, there were a couple of kids doing some research for Paul’s report due today. Damned kids wait until the last minute. I remember seeing some guy in the back corner of the self-help section, but I didn’t see who it was. I’m not the type to mind other people’s business--like some. But I didn’t see anyone after seven.”
“Did you rec
ognize any of the cars in the parking lot?” he pressed.
She shook her head. “Mine was the only car in the lot. I don’t believe there was any parked out front either.”
Sidney gently nudged Harlan’s foot with hers.
Harlan cleared his throat and smiled. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Ms. Palmer,” he announced then stood. “I hope we haven’t disturbed you too much.”
Sidney stood also.
“No, not at all, Mr. Brendan,” Ms. Palmer replied with a slight smile. “Glad I could help with your article.”
He thanked her again, and they walked away from the table. Harlan then paused about ten feet away, surprising Sidney. He turned toward Ms. Palmer as she crushed her last cigarette and pointed his pen from his temple to her.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Palmer. There’s just one more question I really think I should ask,” he said and looked back at his tablet. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course. What would you like to know?” Ms. Palmer asked with a slightly flustered look about her as she stood.
He lifted his head and met her gaze from several feet away with a serious look. “When did your romantic relationship with Emily Fisher end?”
Ms. Palmer’s face drained of all its color, and her mouth fell open. Harlan stood his ground and maintained his straight expression. Sidney shot a stare at Harlan with disbelief as her mouth fell open with surprise.
“I--I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ms. Palmer gasped softly. “We were just friends.”
“But you did have romantic feelings for her?” he pressed sternly.
Her stunned expression didn’t change, and she remained nearly speechless. “Well, I--”
Harlan walked toward her and paused by the table. “In Alex’s interview from prison, he said Emily told him you had romantic feelings for her.”
Ms. Palmer stared at Harlan a long moment and placed a trembling hand to her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. “We were just friends,” she said softly then looked back at Harlan. “I had nothing but respect for Emily.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I never should’ve brought it up in the first place.” He managed a smirk. “I’ll just write that you were an admirer of hers as a teacher and a friend.”
The Deadliest Institution Collection Page 82