Dying To Teach Part 5

Angie went back to reading and making comments on the ma.n.u.script, and occasionally rubbing her sore fingers. At 2:30 the final school bell rattled the walls. Angie fitted the script back in the envelope. Though it needed work, it looked like Three Can be Deadly was a definite possibility as an upcoming Prince & Pauper production.

Angie stepped into the green room as the students clattered in and gathered around the long table.

"What happened in here?" somebody asked.

"The cops were here again."

"Why would they come back?"

"No idea."

"We can all pitch in and clean up later."

"Sure, but what are they looking for?"

How much to tell them? She could talk about routine police procedure in murder cases. She could say how it was normal to search all suspects' homes and work places-though not usually twice. The kids would know that from television anyway. They'd also know the spouse, or intended spouse, was always the first suspect. Chances were that the kids didn't know of Ted and Gwen's relationship. Ted had said they kept things low key because of the school.

Before Angie could formulate a reply, Evan said, "I believe it's a routine search. Since Ms. Forest worked here, they'd look for suspects among her friends and people she worked with."

Kiana nodded agreement, but one of the crewmembers said, "I can't believe anybody here would want to kill Ms. Forest. She was always so nice."

Everyone chimed in with something to say about Gwen's popularity and bubbling personality.

"I watch a lot of mystery movies," a girl said. A blush crept over her face and she shrugged. "I love those forensics shows. But what I wanted to say was that, on them, people always hide hate under a smiling face."

Unusual way to say it, but Angie had to agree. People were rarely what they seemed on the surface. That diva she'd left Tyson to deal with was a prime example. At the outset, Marie appeared meek and mild, a perfect person to play their leading lady. But as rehearsals progressed, her true personality poked through.

Neither Kiana nor Evan were here yet, so Angie moved to the head of the table and took a seat. A sharp snap and pain in her behind had her leaping up. The chair clattered to the floor. The nearest teens exploded in laughter seeing the mousetrap attached to her backside. The rayon skirt did nothing to deflect the spring-loaded mechanism. Her flesh was securely caught. Angie winced but managed not to squeal while one of the girls dislodged the thing and heaved it in the trash.

Okay, somebody had a morbid sense of humor. But she laughed along with the giggling group. Kiana and Evan arrived and Angie had to relive the moment as the kids described what happened. But neither Kiana nor Evan was amused. They were even less amused when Angie mentioned another police search of the place.

Kiana dropped her belongings on the floor near the long table. Instead of coming toward the group, she headed for a closet at the end of the room. All eyes watched her duck inside and reach high up on a shelf.

"What're you doing?" asked one of the girls.

Kiana's voice was m.u.f.fled. Angie thought she said, "Be right there. Start without me."

But everyone's eyes remained on the sounds coming from the closet. After a moment, Kiana stood on tiptoe and re-deposited whatever she'd taken from the shelf. Then she bowed back out wearing a look of satisfaction. Then she realized everyone had been watching. She grinned. "Sorry for the delay, I had to check something." Kiana shut the door and walked toward them.

What was on that shelf? Angie hadn't gone exploring. Hadn't thought it necessary, or appropriate. But she'd recognized the sounds coming from the closet. Kiana had been looking in a box of makeup tubes. They came twelve to a pack and were separated by cardboard part.i.tions. What had she been doing? Couldn't be anything nefarious, not with everyone watching. No-nothing underhanded, the girl was investigating. She'd probably just learned about the makeup tube taped into Gwen's mouth.

"Did you see that weird janitor on TV?" somebody said. "The one who works in her apartment building."

"You think he's the killer?" someone else asked.

"But he's the one who found the body," Kiana said.

"Perfect alibi, don't you think?" Evan said. "When the cops ask where he was at the time of the murder, he can say, 'Waxing the hallway-the floor above Ms. Forest's apartment.'"

"I suppose it makes sense," Kiana said with a shrug. "Everybody here loved her. Gw-Ms. Forest didn't have any family, and not very many friends. She spent most of her time here."

The kids didn't seem to notice Kiana's slip with Gwen's first name. Had they really been that close? Angie remembered from school-there was this one teacher she had a crush on. In private, she always referred to him by his first name. Occasionally she slipped up when saying his name.

"Something funny?" Evan asked.

Angie caught her breath and smiled. "No. Sorry for the distraction."

"So," said a dark haired boy in a blue windbreaker, "the killer had to be one of her neighbors."

"She had to have some friends," one of the others said.

"She was good friends with Mr. Philmore's wife," ventured Kiana, then seemed to regret her words, probably feeling like she'd drawn attention to Mrs. Philmore as a suspect.

"I know Mrs. Philmore!" a dark haired girl said. "Our family shops in her store all the time. She's wicked nice. No way she'd kill Ms. Forest."

"Of course not," agreed a relieved Kiana. "Friends don't kill each other."

Man, did she have a lot to learn.

"Besides," added Evan, "she's too small to overpower somebody Ms. Forest's size."

"Ms. Forest wasn't very big," said the dark haired boy.

"No, but she was strong. You get that way working around the theater. There's things to lift and fix. Besides, she was active in lots of outdoor sports."

"She and Mr. Philmore's wife did a bunch of outdoor things together," Kiana said. "They went canoeing and hiking and-oh yes, Mrs. Deacon, did you have any trouble getting the costumes?"

"No," Angie said. "Cilla remembered a brown dress too."

Kiana slapped a palm to her forehead. "I forgot all about that one. Good thing somebody's on the ball."

Good thing, indeed. Poor Kiana really should be at home, not supervising a major school production. Amazing that she remembered anything. But one thing was clear, Kiana Smith knew a lot about her teacher's private life.

"Look guys, we could discuss this all day," Kiana said, "but the truth is, we need a professional to sort out the clues." She didn't actually look at Angie, though one of her dark eyes did flicker in Angie's direction.

"Trouble is, there aren't any clues. None we know about anyway." Evan wasn't as gentile as Kiana in his guilt-flinging; he gazed right at Angie. "I tried to talk to one of the cops doing the search. Wouldn't hardly speak to me. Ms. Deacon, we really need you to help with this."

"Guys. I don't think you realize how dangerous investigating can be," Angie said. "I got involved, inadvertently, in a case recently. My home was blown up. My boyfriend and I barely got out alive."

Several oohs followed this information.

"You can bet that someone willing to murder Ms. Forest would be willing to kill anybody who threatened to expose them." Angie made eye contact with each teen around the room. "Now please, let the authorities do their jobs. It's what they're trained for."

"We really want to help."

"You can."

"You're gonna say we can help by staying out of the way."

Angie couldn't help smiling. "That would be one way. But there is another." Now she had everyone's attention. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Don't misunderstand what I'm saying. I'm not telling you to snoop or follow people around but you, as a group, are in a perfect position to watch and listen. Report what you see to the police or to Mr. Reynolds." As an afterthought she added, "Or to me."

There were several nods of agreement, and two faces full of disappointment.

Angie shook off two things. First, guilt. They all knew she was in an even better position to look and listen. She had access to Gwen's a.s.sociates and the inner workings of the school. Second, Angie shook off the explosion of energy that made what Hercule Poirot called 'zee little gray cells' surge into overdrive. Something she'd seen today was wrong. How? What?

No. Stop. It was probably the stupid mousetraps that put her on alert. Angie flexed her sore fingers. It was not a clue-just mousetraps.

That so-called explosion of energy was a physical reaction she could no more control than a reflexive knee-jerk. She would not succ.u.mb to its demand for attention. She would perform Gwen's job to the best of her abilities and then go home to Alton. "Now can we get to work-we have a performance to prepare for."

After that, except for two more mousetrap incidents-one on a tall table in the wings that got her in the elbow and one in the pocket of the costume she'd brought back from Cilla's shop-things went smoothly. Being more familiar with the play and the kids, Angie was able to give more guidance, feel more useful.

She straightened the ma.n.u.scripts the kids had left and picked up some wadded candy wrappers. As she pa.s.sed the closet door, curiosity kicked in. What had Kiana been looking at? Angie opened the door to shelves packed with odds and ends: packages of needles and threads, rolls of duct tape, safety pins, chalk, a plastic box of costume jewelry, a small tool box. On the top shelf, as expected, were four boxes of makeup. Someone had probably ordered several to save money. One was still sealed. One was open but full. Another had three empty compartments. A fourth held one partially used tube. Angie shut the door and went to her office feeling a little sick. She had no doubt Kiana had discovered a clue in one of those cartons. There was also no doubt the discovery would get somebody hurt.

Angie was packing her things to head back to the hotel when her cell phone rang. Tyson's name glowed on the caller ID screen. "Hey partner," she said.

"Hey yourself. You missing us yet?"

"Yes and no." She didn't miss the diva. She refrained from saying so because the hiring mistake could just as easily have been hers. "What's up there-everything running smoothly?"

"Mostly." He was silent a moment and Angie waited for him to dump his problem over the airwaves. "Promise the next time I insist on a particular actor you'll whack me up-side the head with a baseball bat."

"I promise." Then she couldn't help asking playfully, "Are we speaking of any specific actor?"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about. That's why I called. I hope I didn't catch you in the middle of anything."

"No. Your timing was good."

"I needed to blow off steam. To keep myself from firing her. Or worse."

"We decided to talk to her first. To give her one last chance."

"I know. I was hoping you could do it."

Angie smiled. Tyson was great with the women, so long as things moved forward in a positive manner. He shied away when something bad had to be done. "I can take care of it. Want me to drive back now?"

"No. No. It can wait till you get back."

She laughed inwardly at the pain in his voice. Then she laughed out loud. "Really Tyson, I can come tonight."

"No. I appreciate you doing the school gig. I wouldn't have the patience with the kids."

"If you have this amount of patience with Ms. I-think-I'm-better-than-everybody-else, you'd be a shoo-in with the kids. They're great."

"I have one diva, you have what-twenty?"

"Eighteen."

Tyson groaned.

"I have an idea. Why don't you pretend Ms. I'm-better-than-everybody-else is Sally?" Sally was a playwright, and Tyson's ex girlfriend. He'd found the courage to speak out to her. Granted it was after she tried to kill Angie. But still...

"I might just do that. Have you talked to Jarvis?"

"Not today. Why?"

"He came here. Pretended he was on his rounds. I'm sure he just wanted to know if I'd heard from you. I think he was dying to call but afraid to interrupt a cla.s.s or something."

A scuffling sound came from out in the hallway. She held the phone away from her ear to listen. The green room door opened. She didn't hear it per se, only felt the change in air pressure. Maybe the mousetrap fiend was coming to collect the evidence. Good, she'd lined them up on the front of the desk, like horizontal wooden soldiers. She wondered if she and the kids had found them all, then realized something a bit unnerving: the person who'd placed them had to be backstage when she arrived because one of the traps ended up in the dress just brought from Cilla's shop. As a matter of fact, that was probably the noise she'd attributed to mice in the first place. The bothersome part was this person had gotten into the locked office. Of course, any one of a dozen people might have a key, but was there a specific meaning to the mousetraps? Which led to a sobering realization: the prank couldn't have been directed at Gwen Forest.

Tyson's voice shouting through the phone made her put the cell back to her ear. "Yes, I'm here. I was listening to a noise in the hallway."

"Angie, when you hear noises it's usually danger with a capital D. I'll hang on while you check."

She almost told him things were fine, that there could be no danger because she was not involved in this murder. But a footstep in the green room on the other side of the office door had her hesitating. The k.n.o.b rattled. Angie's hand clenched around the tiny cell phone that would only make a weapon if you could redirect the microwaves it sent into your brain.

No knock came on the door. Angie picked up her briefcase-a much better weapon-and waited.

"Angie, is everything all right?" Tyson asked.

"Yes," she whispered, not adding, "I hope," though her lips formed the words.

The door opened. Princ.i.p.al Randy Reynolds stepped in.

"Tyson, I have to go. Randy's here."

"You sure everything's okay?"

"Yes. Let me know how things work out with our diva. Or if you decide you want me to come back and talk to her sooner than later."

"Will do. Enjoy your evening."

"You too. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Angie closed the phone and replaced it in her purse. And she faced the school princ.i.p.al.

"Everything okay back home?" Randy asked.

"Pretty much. We've been having trouble with one of the actors. Tyson needed to blow off steam."

"Sorry again to take you away."

"Did you need something?"

"Two things. I wanted to let you know the police have finished their search of the school."

Angie set the briefcase/weapon on the desk and b.u.t.toned her jacket. Perhaps an action aimed toward departure would shorten his guilt-filled speech-one undoubtedly intended to make her ask what the detectives had found. So she said, "I'm glad they're finished. They were a distraction to the kids."

"Yes. I wish they would've done it after school hours. Or, better yet, before school. That way I could've called off school for the day."