“Sorry,” she said, her eyes widening with recognition. “Joe. I keep running into you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your usual beat.”
“I go where the action is.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss some action?”
He grinned. “I need to speak to Mr. Sorensen.”
“Really?” she asked, her head tilting thoughtfully. “Will you tell me why?”
“No. You were good in there.”
A warm pink colored her cheeks. “You were listening?”
“Just the last part. You were straight with the kids. I’m sure they appreciated that.”
“Their parents may not. I kept the information pretty basic, but I’m sure someone will have a problem with it. I’d love it if teenagers were educated by their parents, but most of them aren’t, and I’d rather the kids be informed. As an ob/gyn, I see what happens when they’re not.”
“So do I,” Joe said. “Not so much here as in L.A., though.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. This may be a smaller town, but teenage hormones run just as high.”
“Good point. Do you know Mr. Sorensen well? Was he one of your teachers?”
She cast a quick look over her shoulder. Tim Sorensen was still in discussion with one of his students. “I had him for biology when I was a junior in high school. We’ve had a few conversations since I came back to town, and he’s a very nice, intelligent man.” She lowered her voice. “Are you here because you think he had something to do with Abby’s death?”
“Do you think that?”
“I don’t know. Lauren mentioned that that movie guy suggested that Tim and Abby had some sort of relationship. I guess it’s not completely impossible. But would he have stuck around here all this time if he was guilty? Would anyone have stayed here after getting away with murder?”
He shrugged. “In a case this cold, no possibility can be ruled out.”
She gave him a frown. “You’re very cagey, you know that? You often answer a question with another question or with some placating generality.”
“Sorry. It’s part of the job.”
“I could be helpful,” Charlotte suggested, a gleam in her eyes. “I know a lot of people in this town. You should use me.”
Her words painted a picture that had nothing to do with sharing information. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I think Mr. Sorensen is finishing his conversation. I should step inside.”
“Good luck. Lauren is one of my best friends, and I knew Abby, too. I really hope you can find out who killed her.”
“I’m going to give it my best shot.”
“I have a feeling you’re extremely good at what you do. You’ve got that—” Distracted by the ring of her cell phone, she checked the text message. “I have to go. Baby coming earlier than expected.”
“I’ve got that what?” he couldn’t help asking.
She grinned. “Something. You’ve got that something.”
Before he could ask for a further explanation, she was halfway down the hall.
Something, huh?
He couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips. Well, something wasn’t nothing.
As the last student exited the classroom, Joe turned his mind back to the job at hand. If he
couldn’t stop Mark Devlin from making his movie, he could at least make sure he got the villain right. While he wasn’t convinced Tim Sorensen was responsible, his gut told him the murder hadn’t been random; it had been personal. Whoever killed Abby knew her—maybe better than anyone else.
“I’m trying to learn more about the last year of my sister’s life,” Lauren told Mrs. Weinstein, the art teacher who had managed the yearbook staff for the past twenty years. Celia Weinstein was short in stature but tall in forthrightness, and so far she hadn’t responded well to Lauren’s request. “You can understand that, can’t you?” she persisted.
“I do understand, dear, but I can’t just turn over hundreds of photos to you. They belong to the school. At the very least, I would have to get permission from the principal, and Mr. Donohue is out until Monday. There’s a terrible flu going around. If you want to come back next week, perhaps I can give you a different answer.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be here next week.” Lauren thought about her options. The photo archives were in the file cabinets in the adjoining office. She just needed to get Mrs. Weinstein to help her. “Do you remember Abby?” she asked.
“Of course I do. I never forget a student. She was a very friendly girl, a team player who worked well with others. It was very sad, what happened to her.”
“The police think that Abby knew the person who killed her. I’m trying to find out more about who she was spending time with in the last month before she died.”
“I’m certain her friends could give you that information.”
“They did, but there seem to be gaps. I think she had a crush on someone, and her yearbook job might have given her a good excuse to take lots of pictures of him.”
Mrs. Weinstein shook her head. “The staff photographers had very strict instructions. They were to take pictures of everyone at every event, not just their friends. I used to go through the film to make sure that no one was spending all their time taking their best friend’s photo.” She paused. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you, Lauren. If you want to come back next week and speak to the principal, you’re welcome to do that. Or perhaps you and Mr. Devlin could join forces.”
“What?” she asked in surprise.
“He was here yesterday asking to look through the photos. I gave him the same answer that I gave you. I’m sorry, but I must go now. I have a parent-teacher conference.”
“Thanks for your time,” Lauren said, as she left the room.
She had to find a way to get to the photos before Devlin did. She wanted to find Abby’s killer, but she also wanted to protect her sister.
* * *
“What the hell is going on? First some movie producer and now you?” Tim Sorensen asked, anger brewing in his eyes.
Joe didn’t like the fact that Devlin had gotten to Sorensen before him, but that was his own damn fault for not getting on top of this movie from the start. He’d figured Devlin would give up and go home after a few futile days, but the man was proving to be more of a bulldog than he’d expected.
“I told the police everything I knew about Abigail Jamison when I was questioned after the murder,” Sorensen continued. “Abby was a gifted student, a talented athlete, and she fit in well with the group. She wasn’t bullied, she wasn’t one of the mean girls, and she seemed to have both male and female friends. That’s all I know.”
“Did she ever speak to you about any problems with her friends or family?”
“Not that I recall.”
“I have a report that Abby and a friend of hers, Lisa Delaney, were spotted sitting in a car outside your house the Saturday night before Abby was killed. Do you know why the girls might have been there?”
“I have no idea. There were a couple of teenagers who lived on my street. Perhaps they were there to see them.”
Joe was usually good at reading people, but Sorensen wasn’t giving much away. He was irritated,
but his anger wasn’t necessarily indicative of guilt.
“Why don’t we cut to the chase?” Tim suggested tersely. “There was nothing inappropriate about my relationship with Abby or any of my other students, and I don’t appreciate my name being brought into this case. Do you know what rumors like this can do to a male teacher’s career? They don’t even have to be true. I work hard at my job, and I have three kids to support. I don’t want unfounded gossip killing my career.”
“No one is accusing you of anything. I understand you took the volleyball team to some away tournaments, overnight trips with stays in motels.”
“With parent chaperones. There were four girls to a room, and we had strict curfews. I’ve always been very careful never to place myself in a situation that could be misconstrued. Is that it?”
“For the moment. Thanks.” Joe left the classroom. Either Tim Sorensen was a very good liar or he’d truly had nothing to do with Abby’s death. Just because Abby and her friends were spying on their coach didn’t mean that Tim was aware of it or had encouraged it. On the other hand, if he had been involved with Abby, he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information.
One thing was certain: no one in town liked Mark Devlin. Maybe if he pissed off a few more people, he’d give up and go home.
Hours later, Lauren paced restlessly around the living room of her father’s house. She’d had dinner with her dad before he’d gone off to see an old war movie playing at the dollar theater on Main Street. He wouldn’t be back for a few hours, which gave her just enough time to put what was probably a really stupid plan into motion. She grabbed her coat and left the house before she could think twice.
Shane was on his boat when she arrived at the dock, breathless and determined.
He raised an eyebrow as she hopped onto the boat. “I thought it was a one-night stand, yet here you are again.”
“This isn’t a booty call. I need your help. Abby told me that there was someone she couldn’t have. I’m certain she was writing about that person in her diary the morning of the day she died, because she was very secretive. I’ve searched the house looking for that journal, but I can’t find it. I’m betting it went missing because it implicated the murderer.”
“That’s quite a leap,” Shane said. “I thought her entire book bag was missing, with her wallet and cell phone.”
“Which led the police to believe there was a robbery motive, although Abby didn’t have anything of value in that bag. She couldn’t have had more than twenty dollars in the wallet, and if someone wanted cash, why not just take the bills and leave the rest behind?”
“Where are you going with all this?”
“There has to be another way to find out who Abby liked. Her friends have never been able to come up with a name, but there has to be some evidence somewhere, and I think I know where.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Abby was a photographer for the high school yearbook. In the few months before she died, she always had her camera with her. Everywhere she went, it went, which means she recorded a lot of her life.”
“Or other people’s lives. She wasn’t taking pictures of herself.”
“Sometimes she did. Sometimes she used to hand me the camera so I could snap a shot of her and her friends. If Abby liked someone, I think the answer is in those pictures.” She drew in a breath, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “I was a teenage girl, Shane. I know what teenage girls do when they’re in love. They write the boy’s name over and over on binder paper and put their first and last names together, like they’re married. They toilet-paper the guy’s house, and take his picture, and put him in their diary. And they do everything they can to be close to that boy, like bumping into him accidentally on purpose. Abby had a camera and a reason to be at every event. If she liked someone, she would have taken his picture, and I’m betting she took it over and over again.”
“Did you write my name over and over again?” he asked curiously.
“We’re not talking about me.”
“All right,” Shane said, a small smile curving the corner of his mouth. “I can see you think you’re on to something. So did you look in the yearbook?”
“Yes, but I don’t know which of those photos Abby took, and they only publish ten percent of all the pictures taken. I went down to the high school today and spoke to Mrs. Weinstein, the yearbook teacher, who has all the pictures from the past twenty years in her back office. She said every staff photographer turned in an envelope with their printed photos once the yearbook went to press. How about that?”
“Impressive. Do you have the pictures?”
“No. She wouldn’t give them to me—some privacy concern. She told me to come back next week to talk to the principal, but I have a better idea.”
Shane immediate shook his head, a warning look in his eyes. “I don’t want to hear it, Lauren.”
“Yes you do, because it involves you.”
“No way.”
“Please, Shane.” She put her hands on his shoulders, shamelessly pressing her breasts against his chest.
His hands remained firmly at his side. “I’m not that easy.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asked as she slipped her hands under his T-shirt.
He cleared his throat. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Help me break into the high school tonight.”
“Are you out of your mind? Why don’t you just talk to the principal next week? He’ll probably hand the envelope over to you.”
Disappointed, she said, “Next week is too far away. I don’t even know if I’ll still be here, and he could say no.”
“Then talk to the police. Get them to request the pictures.”
“Jason Marlow works for the police department. I don’t want him to have access to those pictures until I see them. The photos are just sitting in a file drawer, Shane. We’re not stealing them, we’re just taking a look.” She stroked his back with her hands, her fingers kneading the tight muscles.
“That’s quite a rationalization you’ve got going there.”
“You didn’t used to be a chicken.”
“Trash talk? You’re pulling out all the stops now. Do you really think calling me a coward will work?”
“The boy I used to know never met a rule he didn’t want to break. And it’s not like I’m asking you to do something you haven’t done before—I know you’re the one who put the goat in Principal Calvin’s office.”
“The girl I used to know was terrified to get into
trouble. She never wanted to break the rules or even bend them.”
“I’m not a girl anymore.” She looked into his eyes. “I need to find out who killed Abby, and so do you. You could clear your name once and for all. You’re going to help me in the end, so just say yes, and we can get on with it.”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of enjoying your persuasive tactics. If you drop your hands a little lower, I’ll probably say yes to anything.”
She stepped back, realizing by his grin that he’d been playing her, too. “You rat.”
“I wanted to see how far you’d go to get what you want.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to have to go far,” she told him. “You
are
that easy.”
“Where you’re concerned, that seems to be true. I’ll get my jacket and a flashlight.”
“Do you think we’ll be able to get in?”