Dying To Teach Part 26

"So, what do you do in your spare time?" Kiana asked.

The girl didn't seem to think it an odd question. "I play the trombone. I volunteer at the senior center. And two afternoons a week, I a.s.sist a music teacher with her fourth grade musical group."

"When do you find time for all that?"

"Probably the same way you do it. You squeeze it in every available minute."

"I get up at five every morning," Kiana said.

"I get up at four thirty," Nina said with a grin. "I take my father to work so Mom can have the car. I have a new baby brother-this way Mom can stay in bed a little longer."

Yes, and while Mom sleeps you go meet your adult lover. Out loud, she said, "That's very nice of you."

"Evan is so fly," she noted as he bustled about backstage.

"He is."

"He your baby?"

"N-no. Not really."

"So he's..."

Was she asking what Kiana thought? Did she want to move in on Evan? Wasn't any of her business. She had no claim on Evan. Still, the thought didn't make her feel good.

"Yes. He is."

With a lighter step than she'd arrived, Nina danced off.

Suddenly, this night couldn't get over fast enough to suit her. She shoved pictures of Evan and Nina to the back of her mind and shuffled toward the school.

Till this morning she'd convinced herself that Gwen's murder was unrelated to school business. Till this morning. The attack on both she and Mrs. Deacon made further avoidance impossible. Either of them could've been hurt badly. Or killed, though she didn't think that was the person's intention. She and Mrs. Deacon had both been unconscious. The intruder had plenty of time to finish them off. Which sent a shiver straight to her pink painted toenails.

Was what Evan overheard the catalyst for the murder? Couldn't be. That would mean Mr. Chalmers was involved. No. He'd been in love with Gwen. He wouldn't hurt her.

She couldn't stop the next thought, that sometimes love died, or got overshadowed by life's events. Ms. Forest's life was a perfect example. When things got too hot, she'd dropped out of college in Ma.s.sachusetts and moved all the way to the west coast. What had made life too hot, Gwen never said, but last summer, she admitted to Kiana that she was sorry she ran away. Sorry for most everything that happened during that time of her life.

Kiana had said she understood, that she knew people often did things they later regretted. But she'd lied. Sometimes in life, you had to go back, to try and undo things you did wrong. You had to swallow your pride for the good of others. That was one place Gwen had been weak. She hadn't been able to do that.

Was her murder related to that weakness? Probably not. But Kiana would find out. She would try and put right what Gwen had been unable to do.

So, what were the facts in the case? Somebody wanted something. They thought it was in Gwen's possession, or at least somewhere in the auditorium area. And it was well hidden because they were obviously still looking for it. They were willing to hurt people, which wasn't good. It meant things were escalating for this person.

It might be a good idea for her and Evan to tear the place apart. If they could find whatever this item was... How to get in? With all the extra guards on duty... No matter right now, she'd worry about it on Sunday. Tonight and tomorrow the shows were more important. The future of the drama program depended on their success.

Kiana stepped into the narrow pa.s.sageway between the rows of bleachers. This was the area through which the football team erupted before a game. This alley would be lined with cheerleaders and fans, everyone cheering and whooping for the team to play hard and win. The team only played day games. No lighting had been erected in this area and it was almost dark, which made her mind switch gears-to worrisome thoughts. Here would be a perfect place for somebody to lurk...

Was there danger onstage tonight? Could she be shot while standing on that makeshift platform? Chances of that were slim, Kiana supposed, since more than a dozen people would be standing guard. But she didn't kid herself, the Secret Service themselves couldn't guarantee her safety. Look what happened to President Kennedy. There were too many ways to kill somebody these days. Poison darts, poison in her water bottle-no, no, no. If authorities thought there was real danger, they'd insist on canceling the performance.

Her foot kicked a clump of gra.s.s and she tripped. She caught herself before falling, righted herself and hurried toward the yellow rectangles of light in the double doors. As her fingers touched the right handle, the other door burst open. She staggered back. She couldn't stop the squeal from exploding out of her throat. This time she did stumble. And fall. Rocket-bursts of pain from her shoulder landed in every molecule of every extremity.

"Are you all right?" asked a male voice.

"Yes," Kiana managed to choke out and tasted blood; she must've bitten her tongue. She lay there waiting-hoping-whoever knocked her down would help her up. She wasn't sure she could do it on her own. When help didn't come, she rolled up onto her backside, tucked her legs and struggled to her feet, somehow keeping her arm close and the pain bottled inside. Kiana planted her shoes solidly, straightened knees and spine. Took in a breath. Okay, she'd survived. She looked around.

And realized she was alone. What just happened? Kiana clearly remembered the door knocking her down. Recalled the acute pain. Remembered a voice. A familiar voice. Well, it sounded familiar. It was m.u.f.fled by the noise going on in the field behind her, but it was a voice she'd heard before. Whose?

And why had he left?

Okay, think about it later. Right now, get pain pills.

All the way from the hospital her mother kept urging her to cancel tonight's show. "Your father will be furious at me for letting you go through with this. Kiana. Please postpone, at least for tonight."

Kiana had kissed her mother's cheek. "When Dad gets here, give him one of these from me. I will see you both after the show."

She couldn't cancel. Kiana Smith was not a quitter. Not like Gwen.

She peeked through the small window, made sure no more battering rams were coming, and opened the door. The hallway stood empty. But the locker room wasn't. Somebody moved around in the bowels of the metal jungle. Somebody spoke. It sounded like Mrs. Deacon. Then a man's voice boomed off the lockers. Feeling safe now, Kiana turned left and pushed through a newly hung curtain into the area sectioned off as the female actors' dressing room. She chugged two painkillers and a quarter of a bottle of water. As she twisted on the cap and set the bottle on the bench overflowing with clothing and props, Kiana remembered one of her recent thoughts about poison in her water. She held the clear plastic up to the light. Looked all right. But it would, wouldn't it? Okay, never mind, she had to trust the security did its job. Couldn't jump at every shadow.

Somebody parted the curtain behind her. Kiana whirled around, realizing with dismay that yes, she was afraid of every shadow. A tall man came in. She recognized him as the detective who'd questioned her at the station. He really shouldn't come in here without announcing himself. She opened her mouth to tell him so when he stepped close.

"Come on, let's go."

"Wh-" The word was cut short as he gestured toward the doorway. She was being arrested? This couldn't be happening.

"You have to leave. Now."

"I-" was cut off also when he touched her shoulder. The word turned into a screech of pain, and he was instantly apologetic.

"I'm sorry. Really. But you have to get out of here. Now."

Get out? Those weren't words used in an arrest. Kiana clutched her right elbow with her left hand, eased through the curtain and out into the corridor.

"Anyone else in there?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is anyone else in there?"

"I d-don't know. I just got there."

He shouted "Angie!" and Kiana winced.

She wished for the medicine to work so that every little sound didn't hurt. Like magic, Mrs. Deacon appeared. Kiana briefly wondered why Mrs. Deacon hadn't been the one to come get her rather than the male cop. Then she wondered about him calling the teacher by her first name but the thoughts were stifled when Mrs. Deacon bent over her with soft words that worked almost as well as the painkillers. As soon as the words were spoken Kiana couldn't recall them but the important thing was their resulting calm.

"What's going on?" Kiana asked.

"The detective found a gun," Mrs. Deacon said to everyone. "He's got to clear the place and double check there aren't any others."

Kiana didn't mention that they were all proverbial sitting ducks out here in the wide echoing hallway. She hoped this was a mere formality, that there was no killer on premises, and the gun belonged to-who? One of the kids in gym cla.s.s? Yes, that thought was much more comforting.

Kiana leaned against the cinder block wall while the security team searched and re-searched. The rest of the cast arrived at some point. Mrs. Deacon bounced around keeping everyone calm, which Kiana thought was a harder job than the detective's.

Finally, a few minutes past five they were all allowed back inside. The excited atmosphere had been squashed. An air of trepidation had settled over everyone. Time for another pep talk. Kiana stepped forward.

Mrs. Deacon appeared beside her looking strong and pain free. How did she do it? She had to be nearly paralyzed from that concussion. Kiana stood taller. If the teacher could do it so could she. Which was a testament to the power of positive thinking because, as she straightened up and encouraged her cla.s.smates, Kiana actually did feel better. By the time they dismissed everyone to get into costume, Kiana felt pumped and ready for the show.

Evan appeared from the makeshift wings and introduced the play, the performers and the band. Kiana stepped on stage for her introduction amidst loud appreciation from the large crowd. She couldn't keep from checking the cross bar holding up the curtains. Had the builders mended it well enough? Or would it topple down on someone as they spoke their lines? Trust. She had to trust. She had to believe things would go smoothly. Too much was riding on it.

The play did go smoothly. There were no forgotten lines, no misplaced props, no wardrobe malfunctions. And no disruption from the audience. No guards shouting "Stop Killer!" No poisoned water, no snipers.

For most of the show, rather than relax backstage in a chair Evan had left for her, she stood on the sidelines beside Mrs. Deacon. Was she really as at ease as she appeared? Kiana didn't think so. She flashed the subst.i.tute teacher a confident smile.

From this perspective Kiana could see both the stage and backstage. Everyone went about their business with preprogrammed accuracy. Ten feet away Nina talked to two stagehands. Nina was personable and pretty. Not Evan's type though. He needed someone who was...

Was what? Like her?

All at once the crowd erupted in applause. The band launched into the final chords of the closing song. But it couldn't be heard over the enthusiastic audience.

They had made it through the show. The enormity of the accomplishment hit. She felt like...well, like a mother who'd just birthed her firstborn. In a way, she guessed she had. Was this a beginning? Was she on the way to her future? Gosh, what was she thinking-the show could very well be a flop of the most gargantuan proportions.

Though the crowd didn't seem to think so. The cheering went on. Kiana's alert-mode faded, Mrs. Deacon visibly relaxed.

Somebody shouted for an encore.

Mrs. Deacon nudged Kiana in the side. "Go take your bows." But before Kiana could move, Evan ran to center stage and put up his hands for quiet.

Little by little the applause died. "Folks," he said, "I hope you enjoyed the show."

He waited till more applause faded to quiet. "I'm sure you're all aware of the obstacles we've faced this week in the death of our drama teacher. But only a few of you are aware of the strength of our leader. She's been our rock in the face of adversity. She's provided support when she surely felt weak herself."

Kiana stood taller as Evan embellished his accolades to Mrs. Deacon. She had made incredible sacrifices to come here and help a group of kids she'd never met. She didn't have kids of her own, had no vested interest in this school. Yet, here she was.

"And so I'd like to present to you-at the risk of sounding like a dork-our fearless leader." Evan's right arm raised and pointed toward the wings. "Kiana Smith!"

The crowd burst into raucous applause. A hand b.u.mped her back, propelling her forward. On wooden legs she moved to center stage. Mr. Reynolds approached from the other side of the stage, and stopped beside her. He presented a huge bouquet of roses to Kiana, and a smaller one to Evan. He gestured for Mrs. Deacon, who came forward.

"I'd like to introduce the person who brought this whole team together," Mr. Reynolds said. "Angie Deacon, as I'm sure you all know by now, owns the Prince and Pauper Theater in Alton. When I called, she unselfishly dropped what she was doing-and folks, she was in the midst of preparing her next show-and generously came to help us out."

"Go Angie!" someone, who sounded suspiciously like Jarvis, shouted from the back of the crowd.

Kiana suddenly realized she was crying. Somebody pressed a tissue into her hand. "Are you all right?" Mrs. Deacon asked.

"My mother is here."

Kiana moved forward on the stage, alone now, the focus of attention, and raised her arms skyward. She waved the bundle of roses in her right hand and peered up in a gesture everyone seemed to know referred to their esteemed drama teacher. Behind her, every cast member raised their hands also. Unbelievably the cheering grew louder. The audience rose to their feet. And sang Amazing Grace.

THIRTY-TWO.

An hour later, the standing room only crowd had gone home. The sky was black, the only light came from streetlights around front of the building. Or maybe the light came from the glow of success oozing from each cast member. The entire group-n.o.body had wanted to leave yet-lounged on the bleachers in air cold enough to make gooseb.u.mps, but the lingering euphoria kept all chills away. Security's presence was an occasional shadow patrolling the fringes of the football field. It wouldn't be hard to forget they were there. For this wonderful October evening, this single moment in time, it was almost as though the events of the past week never happened. Kiana's pain had faded, whether from medication or pure exhilaration, she didn't care. For this very moment, all was right with the world.

A few moments ago, Mrs. Deacon presented a congratulatory speech that lifted every little hair on Kiana's body. It had her feeling talented and invincible, and ready to perform again-right now. Mrs. Deacon finished to a standing ovation that she focused back on them. "All I did was stay out of your way." Which brought more applause. Kiana hoped that someday she could inspire people like that. She couldn't wait to start working at Prince & Pauper.

The group lapsed into contemplative silence broken only by an occasional huff of breath or shuffle of feet on the cold bleachers. Kiana knew with absolute certainty that Gwen had been there, had seen the performance. And had been pleased. Kiana also knew it was the last she'd see of her beloved mentor. Tears fuzzed up her vision and her thoughts wandered to places she'd sworn to avoid because sometimes your fate is set and nothing can change it. No, she would not think about that right now.

"You all right?" Mrs. Deacon asked, touching her arm.

"She's gone."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." If she explained about Gwen being there, Mrs. Deacon would think she was off her rocker and renege on her offer of a job.

Mrs. Deacon stood up and came around to where Kiana sat. She pressed a wad of tissues in her hand, then stepped back and called, "Anybody hungry?"

A rousing shout came from the group-mostly the boys. "I'd like to treat you all to Chinese food."

"We can't let you do that," Evan said. Others voiced agreement but not very vehemently.

"It's all been arranged, so go inside, gather your things and meet me at the Lilac Blossom. If anyone needs a ride, either buddy up or meet me at my car."

Kiana hurried inside to collect her purse. No need to change from the costume since in the last scene she'd worn regular street clothes. Though she could have, and normally would have ridden with Evan, tonight she wanted to go with Mrs. Deacon. Since learning about Mr. Reynolds being gay, Evan had been all weirded out, like he was looking at everyone, even her, in a different light.

Cars zipped out of the parking lot as if on the way to a fire. Two boys stood beside Mrs. Deacon's car. Kiana waited for them to get in the back. Suddenly her pain came back with the intensity of a freight train. She gripped the hood of the car and waited for the wave to pa.s.s.

She felt a hand on her arm and opened her eyes. Mrs. Deacon eased her around the door and into the pa.s.senger seat and shut the door. Her hazy figure crossed in front of the car, and she got in the driver's seat.

"What is your address?" Mrs. Deacon asked.

"Wha-"

"Where do you live-I'm taking you home."

That sounded like the best idea she'd heard all day. Moments later two boys were escorting her into the house where her mother took over and put her to bed.

The next morning, she still felt washed out but got up at five and left without breakfast, telling her mother she planned to meet Evan at the coffee shop-a lie. They needed some time apart. He needed to come to terms with Mr. Reynolds' h.o.m.os.e.xuality and she needed... Right now, Kiana only wanted to find Gwen's killer.

She and Evan had planned to go to the janitor's house early this morning. The man's extraordinary interest in that picture needed looking into. His home address, gleaned from the job application she'd stolen from Mr. Reynolds office, was tucked in her jacket pocket. She headed for Farina's but a last minute change of thought that she might meet up with Evan there had her heading for a fast food place nearby.

Kiana bought a hot chocolate and two orders of hash browns and took a seat near the window, rubbing her frozen fingers together. Why hadn't she brought gloves? For a while she alternated between watching cars slog past and making notes on her finding the murderer list. She didn't take much notice of the person who slid into the seat two booths away. Until the woman reached up to take off her hat. She laid it on the table near a beat-up cloth handbag.