Murder Is Our Mascot (16 page)

"What's wrong with my shoes?" Emily frowned down at her favorite pair of kitten heels in a houndstooth print. She thought they went perfectly with her steel-gray trousers, black turtleneck, and matching houndstooth scarf.

"You already have one broken arm. And let's be honest, Pit, you're not the most graceful person in the world. Don't you think you should ditch the heels? At least until your arm heals?"

Emily sniffed. Clearly, Tad underestimated her love affair with shoes. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Mom swears I took my first steps in heels." She brushed past him, trying not to notice the rich, woodsy smell of his cologne. Instead, she scooped up her bag and waited by the door, tapping one of her lethal heels. Tad rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more on the matter, which Emily felt was very wise of him.

Stepping outside, she came up short when she realized her beloved PT wasn't in the driveway. She swallowed hard. "I guess I need to go car shopping," she said in a small voice. Tad rubbed her arm sympathetically. "But that can wait. Let's roll." She might have sniffled another time or two, but then she set her mind on the day ahead. Today was the day that she was determined to get the goods on Barnes once and for all.

* * *

Emily let herself into her classroom, slightly breathless from all the hugs and well wishes she had received on her way up the stairs. It was good to be back. Setting her bag on her desk chair, she pulled out her lesson plan book. Glancing inside, she groaned. There was no way she could avoid the copy room any longer. The copies of the quiz she had planned had to be made today. She was trying to work up the nerve to make the short trek, when a soft knock at her door had her jumping. She let out a high-pitched squeal that sounded more like she was choking, and then was annoyed at her own nervousness. Looking up, she saw a fringe of dark hair outside the door. She waved Stevie in. He toed the floor, hesitant to speak. Emily waited him out, knowing he would say what he had come to say when he was good and ready.

Finally, he flipped his hair out of his eyes and looked straight into hers. "I'm glad you're okay," he said softly.

Emily blinked rapidly to keep the tears from showing, but she knew her voice was gruff when she answered, "I am too. Who else would teach you guys about mythology?" She had tried to play it lightly but was surprised when Stevie vehemently shook his head.

"No, I don't mean I'm glad you're okay because you're one of our teachers. I'm glad because there has been enough violence. I'm glad because you're a nice person. I'm glad because you believe that Ms. Burning is innocent."

This was the most Stevie had ever spoken to her at one time, so Emily was unsure of which of his comments to respond to first. She settled on, "Why do you believe Ms. Burning is innocent?"

"She was going to try and talk my mom out of making me quit football. She felt it was good for me to be involved in the school. She…she understood me." Stevie looked so forlorn that Emily wanted to hug him.

"Why did your mom want you to quit the team?" Emily was curious if his reply would be the same as his mom's.

"She felt I was spending too much time on football and not enough time on schoolwork. She was pretty upset that my grades were so low. She thought Coach kept us focused only on the game." He paused to look at her intently. "But you know that Coach took our academics seriously. He had been on my case about my grades."

 His comment that Helen was going to try to keep Stevie on the football team now caused her some worry. In her experience, Helen always championed the child. But even if she felt Stevie should remain on the team, had she argued with Coach about the grades Stevie was carrying? Would they have met late at night at the school to discuss the matter? Barnes said he overheard them arguing earlier. But he also said they mentioned the police. The police would have no place in a conversation about grades. The police had to mean something more serious, possibly something more violent, and the way Coach had died could definitely be labeled violent. Emily gave a mental head shake. No. Helen would never resort to violence. She became aware that Stevie was watching her closely, as if trying to read her mind. Time to focus on the main issue here: Stevie's grades.

"Why do you feel your grades are slipping, Stevie? When I spoke with your mom, she mentioned that you were normally strong in academics, especially English."

"You talked to my mom?" Stevie's eyes were big. But before she could answer, he shrugged and said, "I'm sick of moving."

"Have you moved a lot?" Emily knew the real estate market was fickle at best. Arlene had indicated that they had been moving so that she could get better jobs. Emily couldn't imagine the burden of raising a child alone. And it was clear that Arlene wanted only the best for Stevie.

"Yeah. Mom's job demands it, I guess. At least that's what she always tells me. She promised that our last move would be the final one. I liked it in Iowa. But now here we are in Ellington. She promised me this would be the final move, too. I know she wants the best for me, but I'm really sick and tired of making new friends and learning new ropes." Stevie went back to scuffing the toe of his black Converse on the tile floor. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I have the best mom in the world. Really. And I promised her I would do better in school." He once again met her eyes. "I'll do better. Promise."

Emily nodded. She believed him. She knew she was short on time to get her copies made before the final bell, but Stevie's comment about Iowa echoed in her mind. Jim had also come to Ellington from Iowa. Coincidence? She tried to sound casual as she asked, "Where in Iowa did you move from? Peculiar Bluffs? I know some people there." Well, she knew the principal and Elsie. That qualified as "some," right?

"Nah. We lived in a small town outside of Cedar Rapids for my junior high years. Look, I better be going. I'll see you in class." With a quick smile, he slipped back out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Guess it really was coincidence. Foiled again. Turning back to her desk, Emily squared her shoulders and sucked in an audible breath of courage. The copy room awaited. She was about to make the world's fastest copies.

* * *

Once she had faced her fears, the rest of the morning felt like smooth sailing. The students seemed glad to have her back, and it was comforting to be in a familiar routine. Her students laughed at her clumsy attempts to write on the board left-handed, but the mythology unit seemed to be a big success. Stevie paid close attention during lecture, and when they began their review for the quiz, he was the first one to raise his hand. Emily felt buoyed by her success, and despite her heavy cast, she practically bounced into the teachers' lounge at lunchtime. As she shoved a piece of leftover pizza in the microwave to reheat, she was thrilled to see that only she and Barnes had made it in for lunch so far. She flopped down on the chair opposite his and gave him a blinding smile. "Sure is nice to be back," she said in her most annoyingly chipper voice.

Barnes barely glanced up from his three-bean salad. No wonder the man was so small—he ate like a bird. "Yes, glad to see you are up and about." Emily had never heard a more insincere comment in her life. She bared her teeth. She was determined to break down Barnes.

"Of course, it's a little hard to get around without my wheels. My PT was one of the great loves of my life." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "I'm sure you understand," she continued.

Barnes blinked at her, reinforcing his reptilian image. Emily waited for his tongue to dart out and snag an errant fly. "Why would I understand?" he slowly asked.

"Why? Well, we've all seen that awesome new car of yours. Had to set you back a chunk, huh?"

Emily had never known a man who didn't love to talk about his new toys, but Barnes just shrugged and went back to his beans. Emily chewed furiously, trying to come up with a comment that would goad him into responding. A couple more teachers had drifted in, and under the low murmur of conversation around them, she asked quietly, "What was it you drove before? A dark SUV, wasn't it?" Actually, Emily couldn't remember what Barnes had driven before. This was a Hail Mary pass. She watched Barnes from under her eyelashes. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he gave her a sickly smile.

"Like the one that ran you off the road?" Emily gulped. She hadn't been as subtle as she had thought. "No, Ms. Taylor, I drove a white S-10 pickup." And with that, he dumped the remains of his salad in the trash and swept out the door. Emily glared after him, chomping on her pizza.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon went quickly, but Emily was more focused on her conversation with Barnes than on mythology. She was gratified that the students were enjoying the new unit, but she was irritated at her strikeout with that slimy toad, Barnes. The fact that he knew what kind of vehicle had run her off the road was disconcerting. Of course, that information was sure to have been in the news, but the fact that he threw it in her face seemed intentional. Did he mean it as a threat? More than ever, Emily was convinced that Barnes had something to do with Jim's death.

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Emily was exhausted. Her arm throbbed, and she was ready to head home to her pain pills and soft bed. She hadn't seen Tad since that morning, but now she needed to find him for a ride. She was locking her classroom door when Principal Matthews stopped by to check on her. She reassured him that she was fine and ready to be back at school. Even that short interlude added to the pain in her arm. She pushed through the door into the teachers' lounge and was relieved to see Tad there, nursing a cold soda. Without a word, he popped a top for her, and she collapsed onto the couch. Swinging a chair around to straddle, Tad studied her as he drank deep on his soda. "You look pale," he said with a frown.

"I'm okay," she responded between gulps, "just tired. It was a good day. Really," she reiterated at his raised eyebrows. "But my arm is a little sore. I'm ready for my pain pills, so I was hoping you were ready to head out."

"Let me gather my stuff." Tad stood and swung the chair back around. As he shoved it under the table, he said, with his back still to her, "I heard you were having a serious conversation with Barnes at lunch. There might even have been reports that you ran him out of the room."

Emily tossed her head defiantly. "Since when did you succumb to listening to the gossip mill?" she asked Tad's back.

"Since you almost got yourself killed," he said loudly, spinning to face her. Emily was taken aback at the fierceness in his look. She grabbed one of the couch pillows and hugged it to her in an unconscious gesture of comfort. Tad pushed a lock of hair off of his forehead and sank down on the tabletop. "I'm worried about you, Pit," he said more softly. Emily nodded. She wasn't sure what to say. The silence between them stretched, and she eventually glanced askance at Tad to gauge his temperament. He was staring so intently at her that the saliva in her mouth dried up, sticking her tongue to the roof of her mouth as effectively as a peanut butter sandwich.

When Tad only continued to stare, she hugged the pillow tighter and asked, "What?" Her voice sounded harsh and strident in the silence, but Tad said nothing. In one smooth move, he lunged forward and ripped the pillow out of her arms. Emily let out an exclamation of surprise and half stood, instinctively reaching to grab the pillow back. Tad held it out of her reach, examining it closely under the fluorescent lights. Emily settled back on the couch, miffed at his childish behavior. At her sniff, Tad whirled toward her and shoved the pillow under her nose.

She reared back. "What is your deal?" she asked, irritated to the extreme.

"Look!" he said. Emily looked around. She didn't see anything out of the norm. They were the only two people in the lounge, and everything seemed to be in place.

Tad shook his head and wiggled the pillow. "No. Look," he said more forcefully.

Emily examined the pillow closely. The brown-and-orange floral motif was as repugnant as ever, but beyond that, she had no idea what she was looking for. She looked at Tad in exasperation. "Yep. Ugly as ever. So what gives?"

Tad tapped a finger to a particularly putrid brown flower. "What do you see?"

"World's ugliest couch pillow?"

Tad huffed out a breath that stirred the hair on his forehead. "No," he said patiently.

Emily's confusion must have shown in her eyes. Tad eased down beside her and pointed at the same ugly flower. "Em, look closer. What do you see?"

Emily began to seriously wonder if Tad had cracked from lack of sleep and worry over her, but she looked. And this time, she saw what Tad was pointing at. "Is that…is that…" Her brain recoiled, and her mouth refused to form the words.

"Yes." Tad gave a definite nod. "
That
is blood." Emily felt all of her own blood rush to her head as Tad pushed her head between her knees. "Breathe," he commanded her. "We don't have time for you to pass out right now. I need to get this to Detective Welks."

Emily raised her head enough to watch Tad grab a trash bag out of the cabinet over the sink and bag the pillow. Feeling a bit steadier, she pushed to her feet. "If you're going to see Detective Gangly-Arms, so am I." When Tad started to shake his head, Emily added, "After all, you're my ride."

Tad rolled his eyes but grabbed her bag and the pillow. "Come on, then. Let me grab my keys and we'll head out. Don't say anything. We don't want to tip anyone off unnecessarily." He didn't name names, but as Tad gathered his keys and locked his classroom door, Emily found herself staring down the hallway at Barnes's classroom. Was she staring at the door of a room that housed a murderer?

Detective Gangly-Arms led Emily and Tad back to a desk in the far corner of a busy, cluttered room. He studiously took notes while Tad pointed out the blood stain on the couch pillow and explained how they had accidentally discovered it. Emily bounced on the edge of her seat, gnawing at a ragged fingernail. Could this discovery be significant in proving Helen's innocence? She was afraid to ask, to burst this bubble of hope that was welling inside her. As if sensing her unasked question, Gangly-Arms addressed his next comment to her. "Ms. Taylor"—his expression was grave—"did you see this pillow or any other out-of-place object near Mr. Layton's body at the time of discovery?"