Angie didn’t remind him that if someone were determined to kill Gwen, they wouldn’t be deterred so easily.
Next she did something rare, she brought up an indelicate topic. “You and Gwen aren’t sleeping together?”
He didn’t seem surprised. “Well, yes, but we keep things low key…because of school, you know? They frown on teacher relationships.” Ted heaved a long sigh. “I asked Gwen to marry me.”
“She turned you down.”
“No. No, nothing like that. She said I’d sprung it on her. She asked for time.”
A woman who asked for time had no intention of saying yes. Was only thinking up the proper words with which to turn him down. He must know that.
Of course he knew! It was the reason he sought Angie out. The reason he assumed cops would be waiting on his doorstep. Gwen’s reason for turning down the marriage proposal would ultimately be his motive for murder.
“God, what am I going to do without her?” His eyes pleaded with Angie. She patted his clenched fist on the table inches away.
“You have to help.”
“I’m so sorry, Ted. You’ve got to trust the authorities to do their jobs. It’s what they’re trained to do.”
“Randy promised you’d help.”
“Randy misled us both. I made it clear to him that I’m only at the school in the form of drama instructor. I am not a detective.”
“You have to help.”
“Look. I have helped out in a few cases near my hometown, and there’s something I’ve learned. People who think you suspect them have a tendency to defend themselves, sometimes with violence. I will not bring that sort of thing to your school. I will not endanger the lives of staff, or especially the students whose care I’ve been entrusted with.” It sounded corny, and it was very bad grammar, but she hoped the comments would remind him of his love of kids, the reason he’d become a teacher in the first place. Angie patted his hand again, and slid out of the booth. “I wish you all the best. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”
“I guess I’ll have to investigate on my own then.”
“If that’s what you feel you have to do. I wish you good luck.” Angie walked away feeling his gaze willing her to come back. No way. She’d fallen for that exact line once before—when her friend Val tried to go it alone and had been murdered. It was a tough reality to live with.
Angie checked into the hotel and took the stairs to the fifth floor room.
The neutrally decorated space was clean, with a nice view of the city skyline. She unpacked her things and considered phoning Jarvis. 6:37. He’d be at work. Best to wait till later when he was home and not as likely to be disturbed by police duties.
Though it was clear her presence wasn’t needed here in Carlson, she descended four flights to one of the hotel restaurants, the packet of play information tucked under one arm. She would be prepared regardless. Angie ordered shrimp salad and a chocolate martini.
What a great group of kids in the drama class. So responsible and talented. Especially Kiana and Evan. She wondered if they were dating. They’d stood side by side in the green room, arms touching, finishing each other’s thoughts, so in tune to each other. From the way the other girls looked at him, it wouldn’t be surprising to learn he was the heartthrob of the senior class. Regardless, the blond-haired boy only had eyes for the pretty, dark-skinned girl. Kiana obviously liked and trusted Evan, but didn’t exude the same single-minded devotion.
The martini arrived. It was good, a perfect blend. She opened the first folder titled Advertising. There were copies of all ads sent to newspapers and local calendars. There was a rough draft of the tri-fold, of which they had handed out thousands around town.
She read the list of musical scores. Wonderful stuff, especially the song titled Adrift, the same as the play.
The phone rang. “Hi Jarvis.”
“How was your first day at school?”
“Fine.”
“Just, fine? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?”
“You wouldn’t believe all the tones that came through in that one word.”
“Tones?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Angelina.”
Jarvis never called her Angie like everyone else. He always referred to her as Angelina. She got a tingle inside every time he said the word.
“So, spill it. What happened?”
“I had a
discussion
with the principal.” Irritation at Randy swelled once again. She stood up and went to the window.
“Man, what did you do already?”
“What makes you think I was to blame?” Below, parallel arrows of vehicles shot past.
“I was kidding. What happened?”
Angie gave a rundown of the day’s events. All Jarvis did was laugh. “You didn’t know that was why they called you?”
“Well, no.”
“Honey, why would they call you when they could’ve found a licensed substitute teacher at half the price?”
“He said he needed my expertise.”
“Exactly my point.”
Damn. Why was she so gullible? “He did ask Tyson too, you know.” So anxious was she to dispel feelings of guilt, she neglected to mention how many times Randy steered the conversation away from Tyson’s possible participation. “That’s why we had the disagreement. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was not working on Gwen’s murder.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m not!”
SIX
From the school parking lot Tuesday morning, Angie phoned Tyson to see how things were going, but he didn’t answer. This was nothing unusual since the lady’s man tended to party late and turn off his phone. So she dropped the cell phone in her handbag and headed inside, butterflies crowding her insides.
She bypassed Randy’s office and beelined for the auditorium. The auditorium, otherwise known as an arena, looked a little dingy but all right. The green room was a different story. Everything was upside-down. Yes, the cops
had
been here. Again? Why?
She set a couple of things back in their places then gave up and went to her office, which remained locked. Was it possible Randy didn’t have a key to it? Wouldn’t the police break in—or would they wait for Angie to bring her key? She’d have to ask Jarvis. Angie dropped her jacket on the arm of the couch.
There was a note on the desk from Kiana.
Mrs. Deacon, We need the pants for Bobbie Jo’s costume. Have a test this a.m., can’t leave. Could you go to Thrifty Lady on Bond St. and get it from Cilla? TX Kee
Most of the costumes were regular street clothes: jeans and tees, but several flashbacks required special outfits. So, Angie followed the GPS directions to Bond Street. The Thrifty Lady was the middle shop in a strip mall set back from the street. A tall woman with reddish-blonde hair, and wearing a brightly flowered skirt was just turning a key in the front door. She pocketed the key, then noticed Angie approaching. “I’m sorry,” she said in a voice so soft Angie struggled to hear, “the shop is closed today. A dear friend died over the weekend.” She adjusted an enormous canvas bag on her forearm. “I came to pick up a few things. Sorry if this is an inconvenience.”
“Was your friend Gwen Forest?”
The woman, who must be Cilla, nodded. She removed a pair of large-lensed sunglasses. The pale blue eyes were red rimmed. “She was my best friend.”
“I was sorry to hear what happened.” Angie introduced herself and explained the reason for her visit.
“Oh, you’re the woman they called in to find out who killed Gwen.”
Angie shook her head, hard. Who was spreading this rumor? “I was brought in to help with the production. That’s all.”
Cilla nodded slowly, as if Angie might be lying and somehow standing in for the real Angelina Deacon who would lift them all from this nightmare. Cilla drew the key from her pocket and pushed it into the lock. “Come on in, I’ll get what you need. My name’s Cilla Philmore.”
Cilla laid her belongings on the counter, then went about collecting the appropriate items. Angie followed her around the shop. Apparently, the place didn’t only sell clothing. A shelf of new looking books sat beside a rack of brand new shoes. Inventory must come from more than just walk-in donations.
A wall of small paintings graced a back corner. As Cilla selected the slacks Kiana requested, Angie examined a few of them. Unless she missed her guess, this picture of a NE winter scene, most likely Mount Okemo in Vermont
had been done by artist Theodore Clement. Angie brought Cilla’s attention to it. “You know who painted this, right? It’s worth four times what you’re asking for it.”
Cilla’s eyebrows lifted. “Wow. Would you mind putting it behind the counter? I’ll do a bit of research and re-price it. Thanks for pointing that out.”
Cilla went back to what she’d been doing. She selected a tie from a small rack. “Sad that nobody wears ties anymore.” She changed her mind, took a different tie, and laid it on the counter. “Gwen and I met at a school dance last year. The men were late, stuck at a faculty meeting. Gwen and I,” Cilla laughed, “didn’t have a thing in common. In spite of that we became best friends.”
At the last words, Cilla stopped her meandering around the racks and leaned against a counter. Before Angie could get to her and say some comforting words, Cilla was on the move again, as if she might escape the sadness dogging her.
“Your husband is a teacher?”
“Kiana forgot this one.” Gwen removed the hanger from a long skirted brown and orange print dress, laid the hanger on the counter, and gave a sad smile. “Yes, Josh is just finishing up his student teaching at Carlson—he majored in English. He’s been hoping they’ll offer him a permanent job. There are two openings coming available.”
“Isn’t October a funny time to be filling teaching positions?”
“Yes. Ordinarily it’s done during the summer. One teacher is leaving because she’s pregnant. The other, I’m not sure why he’s going.”
“He’s probably not pregnant.”
Cilla forced a grin at Angie’s joke. It was an awkward grin, posed, Angie thought, to hide bad teeth. Cilla deposited the hanger back on a rack, then folded the dress and fitted it into a shopping bag along with the slacks. “I wonder if she needs a slip to go under this.” Cilla made her way to a table holding a jumble of lingerie.
“I understand Gwen was seeing Ted Chalmers.”
“Ted. Yes.”
Funny way to say it. “Is something wrong with him?”
“No. No, I suppose he’s all right. He’s just a bit…I guess I’d use the word weird. The four of us spent some time together though mostly I think the men went along to please us girls. While Gwen and I found commonality in our differences, the men couldn’t seem to. They were stiff and formal with each other.” Cilla selected a slip and held it up to estimate the size. It was pretty with a three-inch trim of lace around the bottom.
“My opinion is that men are black and white creatures,” Angie said. “Things have to be right there for them to see that connection you mentioned.”
“I think you’re right.” Cilla folded the slip and added it to the bag. She walked to a tall rack on the farthest counter and spun it around slowly. After two rotations she chose a few pieces of costume jewelry and put them into a small zipper bag, then put that in the bag with the dress. “I imagine she can wear her own shoes. What do you think?”
A pendant on the jewelry rack twinkled, begging to be inspected. She dangled the silver chain up to the bulb. The sapphire color stone and the surrounding rhinestones bounced shards of light at her. “Yes, I think she can wear her own shoes. How much is this?”
“You can have it if you want.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
“Really, I’d like you to have it.”
“Well, thank you.” Cilla slipped it into a small bag and handed it to Angie who deposited it in her purse, then asked, “You said your husband is a student teacher?”
“Yes. He…I think he had some sort of midlife crisis. One day he came home from work—he was a car salesman—and he said to me, ‘Cilla, I enrolled in teacher’s college today.’ You see, when we first met, his goal was to become a teacher. He loved working with kids.” She laughed. That’s when Angie saw that Cilla did in fact have crooked teeth. Now that they would qualify under school’s insurance program, she could get them fixed. “Josh sort of got his wish, within four years we had three children so, by then we couldn’t afford tuition. Now that the kids are older, we have a bit more time, which gave me the opportunity to open the shop. It doesn’t make much but helped pay his tuition. You know?”
Angie said she did.
“Things are finally coming together for us. Do you have children?”
“No,” was all Angie said. The topic had been up for discussion many times during the first ten years of her marriage to Will. He had wanted kids. She had been against the idea—for reasons too selfish to think about.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cilla said, obviously mistaking Angie’s one-word reply for sorrow rather than guilt.
“No, it was my choice, though if my mother had any say…”
“Oh yes, grandmothers. My mother wanted us to have a dozen babies.”
Angie thanked Cilla for the jewelry, picked up the costume bag, and wished the slim lady good luck. As they walked toward the door together, a tall, nondescript man approached. He raised his hand to pull on the handle. From the way Cilla’s eyes lit up Angie knew this to be Josh Philmore. He had café au lait colored hair, the same color slacks, tie, and sport jacket. He even wore glasses with the same brown color rims. The only thing not cocoa colored was his shirt, which was ecru. The brown color said boring. He leaned down and gave Cilla a quick kiss on one temple.
When he turned to nod acknowledgement to Angie, she knew right away this man was in no way boring. Though she wasn’t surprised to see that color-wise his eyes matched the rest of him, his features practically glowed with energy, with life. This was a person who got things done and loved every moment of it.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said in an accent Angie couldn’t place. It sounded like a cross between Australian and Welsh.
“I had to pick up a few things. Angie—you two have met, haven’t you—came to get a costume for the school play.”
“No, we haven’t met,” Josh said.