Dying To Teach Part 22

Rodriguez laughed.

"You think I'll find something dead there too?"

"No. I was already in there. It's clear." He took her arm and escorted her to the elevator and punched the down b.u.t.ton. While they waited for it to return, he scribbled his cell number on a sheet from his notebook. "I have the feeling you'll need this."

The doors slid open. He made an impressive gesture of leaning inside and peering into every corner, including the ceiling. Then he bowed grandly. "My lady. Your carriage awaits."

The doors swung shut. As the car descended, she tucked the phone number into the change compartment of her handbag. Then she hitched the bag onto her shoulder. But when the little white light flashed from 3 to 2 Angie realized something-she had told someone of her habit of using the stairs.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

Jarvis stood in the kitchen window watching the first sign of dawn morph over his backyard fence. The scene changed by the minute. Amazing how many colors of the spectrum showed up if you stood there long enough. Many times over the years, he'd run to get the camera to capture its magnificence, only to find that when he returned, it was all changed. Sometimes it was gone completely. On the lawn, in near darkness, Irish Red romped and sniffed. She finally selected a spot and did her business. Then she pranced to the back door. Jarvis let her in, unable to see but knowing wet footprints decorated the tile floor. He laughed imagining Angelina's reaction. Red raced to her bowl and crunched away at breakfast.

The coffeepot chugged the last drops into the carafe. He filled the largest mug from the cabinet and took it to his comfortable chair in the living room. He read the paper, watched the news, opened a book and shut it again. All to kill time. To keep from thinking about the most important thing on the docket today. The thing that had kept him awake all night.

It had nothing to do with work-related issues. It didn't even have anything to do with the danger Angelina might be in. The problem: Jarvis needed a suit, a dress suit, for tonight's performance. There was one in the closet. Angelina had bought it for him the night of the theater's first performance because he hadn't purchased a since item of clothing-not even underwear-since Liz died eleven years ago. The closet was full of worn jeans and sports shirts of all colors, except pink. He'd had one that Liz bought but Angelina hated pink and tossed it in the trash.

Did the occasion call for the rental of a tux? Angelina would know stuff like that. One small deterrent: he didn't want her to know he was apparel challenged. Okay, so she already knew, but this one time he wanted to do it right without her help. Maybe his dependence on her was what held her back from accepting his marriage proposal.

Who else was there to ask? It had to be somebody who wouldn't report back to Angelina. Sergeant Wilson? No, when not in uniform Ambrose was a jeans and sweatshirt guy. Same with all the guys at the department-even the captain. Jarvis could ask the dispatcher, she might know, but there was also a good chance she'd tattle to Angelina.

Funny that he had no dress clothes. He and Liz dressed up all the time. What was it with people these days? If it wasn't a wedding or funeral, people wore only jeans. A shame really. Nothing s.e.xier than a woman in spike heels and an evening dress-which had his insides pulsing at the thought of what Angelina might wear tonight. He hoped it was that teal dress she'd worn the night of Prince & Pauper's opening. It had a V back that went almost to her b.u.t.t crack. Jarvis adjusted his jeans and forced his thoughts to the issue at hand.

He could ask Rodriguez. The idea of the ponytailed detective knowing about evening wear had him laughing out loud. Last resort: Angelina's partner Tyson. He would definitely know what to wear. And just maybe he could be trusted not to rat him out.

Jarvis' cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the caller ID number, except that it came from another cell. He did, though, recognize the timid h.e.l.lo.

"Kiana."

"I'm sorry to call so early."

"That's all right, I was awake. Is everything all right?" Of course, everything wasn't all right. She wouldn't be calling.

"Um..."

"Just spit it out. What did you and Evan get yourselves into?"

"We um...we were..."

"Investigating. Yes, I get it."

"We were in Mine Falls Park. That's near the school."

"What were you doing there?"

"Talking." When he didn't reply, her tone grew defensive. "Really. We were talking about what to do next on the case. Anyway, this couple came and sat a few benches away."

Jarvis knew where this was headed. Either they recognized the couple or overheard something juicy. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. Irish Red appeared. She shoved her head in his crotch. He pushed her away and fondled her long ears while Kiana related the events from the park.

"You sure you recognized both of them?"

"Yes, well, I don't know who she is exactly. But she goes to my school. Tomorrow I'll figure out who she is."

"Describe her again, would you?"

"I didn't see her up close, and it was dark. She was tall and kinda thin. She had on a hat, knitted, a dark color. It looked bulky so I figure she had a lot of hair or it was long and all pushed up inside, you know?"

"Did she have any distinguishing characteristics?"

"Like an accent or walking with a limp? Not that I could tell."

All at once Jarvis felt like he'd seen her also. He'd only been to the school once, just after the fire. He'd met up with some of the kids in the parking lot as they were leaving. He had to have seen her then. He wracked his brain but couldn't come up with a solid image.

"What happened after that?"

"I sneaked up on them. I had to hear what they were saying." When Jarvis made no response she added, "You would've too. Wouldn't you?"

"What I would've done isn't the issue."

"I know. But I had to hear what they said. It could've been related to Gw-Ms. Forest's murder."

"Was it?"

"I...I don't know." She repeated the conversation she'd overheard. Unfortunately Jarvis could see no connection between their words and the case and he said so.

"You have to agree it bears looking into."

"I will. If you'll promise one thing."

"I won't promise not to investigate any more so don't even ask."

"I want you to promise to stay away from those people. Just in case they figure out you were the one in the park."

"I can only stay away from one. The other-"

"Yes, I know. Just promise, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, go to school. If I don't see you before the show, have a great time."

"You're supposed to tell me to break a leg."

"I know, but the way things are going, you just might."

They hung up laughing. As Jarvis went to finish getting ready to go out, he tried reaching Rodriguez. When the call went to voice mail he hung up.

He loaded Irish Red into the Jeep and headed for the station, praying nothing had come up that'd keep him in town tonight. He wished he lived closer to Carlson. Being this far from Angelina-and now worrying about those reckless kids-made him uneasy.

For once the only person in the police station was the dispatcher. She looked up from a crossword puzzle. "What's an eight letter word for food of the deities?"

Jarvis thought as Red scampered around the small dispatch room, sliding on the tiled floor. Finally he said, "Ambrosia."

She checked to see if the word fit in the available s.p.a.ce. "Thanks. Hey, I got something on that search you asked me to do." She handed him several sheets paper clipped together.

"Thanks. I'm going back to check my messages, want to keep an eye on Red a few minutes?"

She ruffled the dog's ears. "'Course." She picked up the new toy, wiggled it under Red's nose, said, "Get it, girl!" and flung it down the hallway. Red's big brown eyes followed the sailing toy. When it thunked off the far wall she tilted her head at the dispatcher as if to ask what the heck was going on.

Jarvis laughed and headed for his office where there were no voicemails.

He strode back down the hall, picked up the toy, waved bye to the dispatcher, called to Red and went outside. He hefted the dog into the Jeep then dialed Rodriguez's cell number. Again there was no answer. How odd. Last night at the diner, the phone had been strapped to his belt. He'd made a joke about it being a permanent appendage. Jarvis's adrenaline spiked. With trembling fingers, he dialed Angelina's cell, even though she most always kept her phone turned off. He left a message saying he couldn't wait to see her later.

Then he drove to the Alton diner and took the sheaf of papers inside. The owner, Margie was already pouring a mug of coffee on the back table. They chatted a moment about the weather, and about tonight's performance, then Margie headed to the kitchen, calling to husband Joel that they needed to order something-once she disappeared from sight, her words got absorbed into the sound of the exhaust fans.

Jarvis pulled off the paperclip and spread out the six pages. They appeared to be a compilation of the interviews Rodriguez's men had done. From Gwen Forest's school acquaintances to her neighbors, and owners of shops she was known to frequent.

Two looked like they hadn't been followed up properly: Gwen's college roommate Debbie Fingerman, and the gym. It appeared that Gwen had gone there nearly every morning before school. Already several days into the case, this should've been done. Since he couldn't reach either Angelina or Rodriguez, he decided to head for the gym on his own. But first, the tux.

On the short drive to the theater, Jarvis couldn't get out of his head that something was wrong. Something had happened to Angelina. Or one of the kids. Rodriguez didn't answer his phone because he was on-scene, and didn't want Jarvis worrying.

No. Calm down. Somebody would call. To be sure, he checked messages in his cell. He also dialed the answering machine at his house and the voicemail at the office.

Of course! The reason Rodriguez didn't answer was that he was sleeping after working the night shift. Not everyone was like Jarvis and didn't sleep a wink till the case was tied with a pretty red ribbon.

Jarvis parked in the Prince & Pauper lot and got out, telling the dog he'd be right back. He was ten feet from the building when he heard the first angry shouts. Wow, that was some realistic rehearsal. He wondered if he sounded as authentic when he acted in that first show. The front door was unlocked.

n.o.body was in the lobby. Nothing unusual there, the action was at the back of the building.

He pulled open the door at the top of the auditorium and stepped onto the left-hand aisle. There was n.o.body in the auditorium. Odd, he'd a.s.sumed they were on stage.

Jarvis picked up his pace, taking long strides down the aisle and up the three steps leading to the hallway, which led to the backstage area. He was thoroughly familiar with the layout of the place since he'd been hoodwinked into acting in the company's first show. It was laughable that they'd cast him as a burglar. But the newspaper reviews had been flattering. There had even been a picture of him wearing the worn leather jacket and black hooded mask. Angelina bought several copies. She'd framed three: one for the theater's front lobby, one for her front entryway. The third she'd presented to him. He'd left it on the table under a pile of old mail, then finally, when she mentioned it, hung it in a remote corner of his kitchen.

The shouting was louder now, and angrier. It seemed to be coming from the green room. There were so many voices he couldn't pick out specific words. Sounded like a brawl brewing. Something heavy thumped the wall to his right. Were they throwing things? Cop training brought him alert and he hurried into the dimness of the long hallway that joined the stage to the dressing areas. He warned himself to be careful; he'd look pretty silly bursting in on a rehearsal.

Something whizzed past his right ear. Jarvis ducked. Okay, probably this wasn't rehearsal.

"That's enough!" Tyson yelled.

"You can't do this to me!" said a female voice. "I won't stand for it."

Then came a chorus of shouting mostly trying to calm the situation.

Jarvis had the idea one person had gone on a rampage and a bunch of others were trying to stop it. And they were losing.

Something flew through the air. It struck the left hand brick wall, shattered and struck the floor. Jarvis patted his hip where his gun would be, remembered he wasn't on duty, and stepped into total bedlam.

A dozen or so people were gathered in the long narrow room that spanned behind the main stage. All the people were in varying stages of dress and undress. Most all were shouting. A tall, lean woman, with her back to him, moved left one step at a time, coming ever closer to him. He realized she was making for the exit.

She held a crystal vase over her head. It was obvious she planned to heave it. Jarvis leaped forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed the thing from her hands. A growl erupted from her throat and in one movement she spun and launched herself at him. Jarvis raised an elbow and jabbed her in the throat. She dropped like a stone. He handed the vase into nearby hands and stood over the p.r.o.ne and very angry woman. Even in a position of defeat she'd lost none of her s.p.u.n.k. "Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are!"

Jarvis displayed his badge. Her anger wilted, but only a bit. "Get up," he told her.

She obeyed, fire shooting from her bright green eyes-he'd bet they were contacts. A red-faced Tyson elbowed through the gathering of people, who'd quieted. Help had arrived.

"What's going on here?" Jarvis asked.

Everyone started talking at once. He caught a few words. Enough to know the woman on the floor had caused a heck of a lot of trouble-and not only today.

Tyson raised a hand and the noise shushed. "Everyone, let's call it a day," he said softly. He waited a moment as the crowd backed away, some disappointed not to be able to see the outcome. The angry woman moved back also. Tyson shook his head. "Except you, Marie."

She kept moving anyway. Jarvis physically stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.

"Don't touch me you piece of-"

"Tyson, are you filing charges for any of this?"

He thought a moment. Jarvis thought it was more to calm himself than a hesitation. "No, I just want her out of here."

"You can't do this to me, I'm the star of this show!"

Jarvis winced. "Did you officially fire her?"

"That's what started this whole thing. She won't leave. The rest of the cast was 'helping' her go."

"You were instigating trouble," she said. "They don't want me to go. Neither does Angie."

"Yes we do," came shouts from the dressing rooms.

"So does Angie," Tyson said.

"No," she said but the steam had gone from her, even her bouffant hairdo seemed to droop.

"This isn't Broadway," Tyson said, his mood gaining momentum. "From day one you started telling me how to run my show."

"Because you don't know what you're doing."

Tyson continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I put up with it because it's easier when things go smoothly and frankly, when you behave, you're a d.a.m.ned good actress. But lately it's gotten so I hate coming to work because I'll have to listen to your complaining and the rest of the cast's grumbling about you."

"Well I never-"