“Lick?”
“Yeah, you walloped her good.”
Who had been hiding in the office? How had they gotten in? Since the mousetrap incident Angie had been diligent about keeping things locked tight. The EMT said it was a girl. Which meant, not a woman. One of the students. Somebody in the play, probably. But who?
Angie woke in the hospital emergency room, in a small room with a glass window where anybody could look in. Man, her head hurt. Maybe somebody could wheel in a wheelbarrow load of aspirin. In the hallway, people bustled past, oblivious. She groped for a call button and couldn’t find it.
She woke again to a man stretching her eyelid. Gosh, was that all they did around here?
“Ah, you’re awake.” How could he sound so jovial when her head pounded like a jackhammer?
“Awake,” she moaned.
“Hurt a little?”
“Lot.”
“I put something in your IV for the pain. You’ll be pleased to know you only have a minor concussion. You have five stitches in the back of your head. Sorry, we had to shave off your hair. But don’t worry, you have a great shaped skull.”
Angie’s hand shot up to her head and the doctor laughed. “I love doing that. We only had to clear a small spot, to get the stitches in. Lie back and rest till the medication takes effect.”
Just to be sure, Angie touched her hair. Except for the fact that it was clotted with dried blood, it was all there. “Home?”
“A half hour or so. The neurologist is preparing meds and a prescription.” From her ex-life as an ER nurse, Angie knew it would take far longer than a half hour. “Anyone we can call to pick you up?”
“That would be me,” said a deep voice that boomed around in her aching head and made her wince. A tall, hazy figure stood in the doorway. A few blinks brought Detective Rodriguez into focus.
“You know him?” the doctor asked.
“Cop.”
“Okay. I guess that’s okay then.” He patted her arm. “Take care.”
“Thanks.”
Rodriguez approached the bed. He was smiling. “Jarvis was right, you just can’t stay out of trouble.”
“Finds me.”
“How are you?”
“Argh.”
“Gotta learn to stay out of the line of fire.”
“You catch ’em?”
“Yes. One of the girls from the play? Care to guess which one?”
Donna, Deb, Martina, Wanda…no, no, no, couldn’t be.
“Her name’s Kiana Smith,” Rodriguez said.
“Ki—” Angie shook her head and again pain blasted into every nerve ending. “No. She was…” Angie pulled in a breath and held it till the pain-echoes went away. “…with me.”
“We found her lying beside you on the floor.”
“Prob’ly…look…f’me,” she inhaled and rested till the pain eased back. “Not her.”
Rodriguez nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”
“She okay?”
“Took a bash on the shoulder. They’re doing X-rays now.”
“Up?”
He seemed to be wondering if health-wise it was all right for her to move, because he first glanced out the big window, probably looking for somebody to ask. After a second he groped around under the bed. The head whirred upward. “Say when.”
When the bed was at about a forty-five degree angle, she wiggled a hand for him to stop. “When.” The intravenous painkiller was working. Magically Angie’s headache faded and her ability to speak returned. “You think the snake and fire person was waiting in my office?”
He considered her awkwardly worded question a moment and, with a little magic of his own, translated her thoughts. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Do you want me to call Jarvis?”
“No! He’ll haul me home.”
“It’s where you should be.”
“Trouble won’t leave because I’m gone. Somebody wants the show stopped.”
“You might get yourself killed.”
“Got to watch over the kids.” Then she chuckled, which brought a new volley of pain, though not so bad as before. “Done good so far, right?”
“I know there’s no use trying to talk you into postponing everything so I’ve made plans to be there with you. My captain’s sending a couple of others too. I assume Jarvis will be there.”
“Yes.”
A man in a white lab coat entered carrying a few packets of what Angie recognized as Tylenol III and a slip of paper from a prescription pad. “Here are a few pills to tide you over till you get the scrip filled.”
“Thanks.”
“You can go home. Go to bed. Avoid excitement for at least three days.” Rodriguez laughed but cut it short at the nurse’s sharp look. “I mean it. She needs to rest.”
“Yes sir,” Angie said.
“Is the Smith girl still here?” Rodriguez asked.
“Her mother just arrived to pick her up.”
They stopped at the hotel so Angie could take a quick sponge bath and gather evening clothes for the show. Though she was in a hurry to get to the school, Rodriguez insisted they stop for something to eat.
At two p.m. Angie arrived at the school with Detective Rodriguez glued to her side. She had him escort her first to the football field. The stage was totally set up, including the first scene’s furniture. The heavy curtain was in place. Lighting had been erected.
Hand shielding his eyes from the bright afternoon sun, Randy Reynolds stood at one end of a long line of bleachers surveying the area. Though she didn’t really want to talk to him right now—she had more pressing things on her mind—she approached him. They met in the long narrow area, where the band would play, between the bleachers and the stage.
“I called the hospital. They said you’d been discharged. I hope you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Angie said.
“She’s not fine,” said the detective. “She has a concussion and a gash on her head, and has been ordered to have complete rest.”
Randy gave her a perceptive smile. “I don’t know you well, Angie, but I’ve heard that once you start a job, you see it through to the finish come, as they say, hell or high water.”
“You’d just better do all you can to keep her and those kids safe,” Rodriguez said. Angie shot him a
take it easy
look.
Randy was unfazed by Rodriguez’s stern comment. “I hired a security agency. They will have undercover men on-scene during and after the show.”
“I hope it’s enough.” Rodriguez patted her arm. “Come on, we have work to do.”
They walked around the back of the stage where tables were piled high with props and things needed for set changes. Four crewmembers bustled about. In turn, each came up and wished Angie well. Her heart soared for these kids.
She faced Rodriguez. “What did you mean, I hope it’s enough?”
“The words slipped out before I could stop them. I don’t want to worry you, but I also don’t want you lulled into complacency. We don’t know what, or who, we’re dealing with here. We don’t know how far they’ll go to stop this event.”
How far would they go? Until the incident with the cut wood at the outdoor stage, Angie had been sure they were only looking for something—something related to Gwen’s murder. It seemed that all the “events” were fashioned to keep them from digging too deeply around the back-stage area. Till somebody sawed that piece of wood.
Her response to Rodriguez was cut off when she saw Kiana standing at the far end. The girl looked tired and washed out. She came to hug Angie. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Same here.” She gripped both Kiana’s shoulders and peered into her eyes. They seemed clear and bright. “You sure you can handle this?”
Kiana nodded and winced. “If you can do it, so can I.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She just left. She’s all messed up. She only left because Mr. Reynolds told her he hired a security team. He promised it would be safe.”
How could he promise such a thing? Somebody needed to talk to him about his single-minded determination—but later. Other things needed doing right now.
Angie pulled her into a hug. “Then let’s get to it. We have four hours till the performance of a lifetime.”
Kiana shuffled away, calling for Evan to gather the crew together, that she had something to say. He scampered off to do her bidding. Kiana looked around as if making sure nobody was watching and palmed some meds from a foil packet. Angie smiled, counting the moments till she too would do the same.
What she wouldn’t give for a cup of latte right now.
“Oh no.” Angie sank back against the brick wall. Rodriguez grasped her arm.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I’m all right. At least physically.” She moved away from the wall to stand on her own. “She’s going to think I’m the most irresponsible person alive.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Cilla Philmore. We had a date to have coffee.”
“She’ll understand.”
Angie gave a small laugh. “I missed a dinner date at their house the other night too.”
“She’ll understand,” he repeated.
To her right, the cast and crew stood in a circle around Kiana. Angie hadn’t been invited to the pep talk so she finished her circuit around the staging. Her intention was to make sure nothing had been tampered with, but the construction crew had remained true to their word and posted three of their people on-site. One, a tall man in a blue flannel shirt, stepped up to Angie as she and Detective Rodriguez passed. He introduced himself and said what a shame it was when kids work so hard for something and some idiot tried to take it away.
“I couldn’t agree with you more. I truly appreciate you and the others volunteering to help out.”
“Three of us will be here all night. The janitors are staying also, to keep watch inside the building.”
Angie wasn’t sure how safe she felt with Lincoln Underwood on guard but she thanked the flannel shirted man and moved away. As Rodriguez eased alongside her, she told him her suspicions about the janitor.
“I’ll have one of the men keep an eye on him. Where to now, ma’am?”
“Call me Angie.”
“If you call me José.”
“José it is then. Come on José, I want to check things out before Kiana sends the kids in there.”
The locker room still smelled like a locker room, but it looked like the backstage of a theater. She needn’t have worried. Evan had taken charge of the whole operation. Everything they would need for two night’s performances was piled neatly on some long tables. The show must go on.
Angie and José separated. She dug through the boxes, costumes, cases and every bit of paraphernalia in the place. José moved off to check the shower area and whatever lockers weren’t padlocked. Neither of them found anything related to the murder—though José did find two bags of marijuana and a carton of cigarettes.
At 4:07 p.m. he said from atop a ladder at the end of the long row of lockers, “I’m about done here. Looks clear. You can let the kids in.”
Angie opened the door to the cast and crew who flooded the place chatting loudly. An air of excitement overshadowed the scent of locker room. That’s when Detective Rodriguez found the gun.
THIRTY
Jarvis hung the tux carefully in the back seat of the Jeep. He placed his duffle bag, containing shaving gear, clean underwear, and dress shoes, on the floor. He Mapquested the gym Gwen frequented in Nashua and headed in that direction, first stopping to eat along the way.
The gym wasn’t too busy, being that it was lunchtime. A few people bored themselves on the treadmill near the front windows where the only thing to look at was the Friday traffic. As he stepped in through the heavy glass door, a woman wearing a body-fitting leotard—or whatever they called the things these days—approached. She couldn’t have stood five feet tall but in perfect proportion, right down to her perky little nose. He felt like he was talking to a child and hoped he wasn’t staring.
Jarvis showed his badge. “Could I see the manager please?”
“I am the manager.” She put out a hand. “My name is Vickie. How may I be of help?”
Jarvis asked about Gwen and the woman’s face turned sad. “I—”
“Of course, you’re looking for her killer. You don’t think we’re harboring a—” She waved her hand. “Sorry, I was kidding. But this isn’t a joking subject, is it? Come. Sit.”
He followed her swaying round buttocks to a juice bar. She hefted herself onto a stool and gestured for him to do likewise. Vickie seemed friendly and wanted to help, but Jarvis left fifteen minutes later, having learned nothing he considered pertinent to the case. Gwen came to the gym three to four mornings a week, before work. She always came alone. She didn’t talk to anyone there—just went about her business. She didn’t mention a man in her life, nor did she talk about having problems with anybody.
“May I look in her locker?”
Vickie thought a moment then shrugged. “I guess there’s no reason not to, is there?” She slid off the stool and led him to a blue door at the far end of the room. “Wait a moment while I make sure the coast is clear.”
She returned in a few seconds and waved him inside, propping the door open with a large rubber doorstopper. The lockers were inset into the far wall. She led him to one at the end. There was no padlock on it.
Jarvis opened the door. Inside he found a set of gym clothes, sneakers, three pairs of fresh socks, each rolled into a ball, and a brown zip-up case. Using just his fingertips, he lifted it by the handle and set it on the floor of the locker. He used the tip of his jackknife to undo the zipper. One by one, being just as careful, he took things out of the bag: shampoo, deodorant, conditioner, hairbrush, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick—pale pink, and toothpaste. He laid the tube beside the other items. “Woo hoo, what’s this?” he said. He picked up the tub again and read the label. “Sherman Cream Makeup.” The same makeup found taped in Gwen’s mouth.
“May I take these?” he asked while putting things back inside.
“Sure. Take anything you need. Are they clues?”
“Maybe.”
Back in his car, Jarvis phoned Rodriguez who finally answered. There was a lot of noise in the background. “Hold on,” Rodriguez shouted, “while I find a quiet place to talk.” A moment later, things grew silent and Rodriguez said, “There, that’s better.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not sure I should say.”
His adrenaline gushed into overdrive. “What’s happened to Angelina?”