A Killer Read (11 page)

Mark grinned. “My misspent youth is behind me. Now—”

The bell rang, almost throwing him off balance in surprise.

Lizzie stood. “I’m sorry, Mark, I should have been getting ready for my next pupil, who will be here any minute. This will have to wait.”

Mark nodded and walked to the door. “Are you busy tonight?”

“More questions?”

“No… I was hoping for a quiet dinner and maybe you could fill me in on the Lizzie Turner I didn’t know in high school.” He smiled.

Lizzie tried to ignore the tingle in her toes. “I’d like that, but I can’t. I teach at the literacy program on Wednesdays.” The letdown was enormous.

“How about a drink after class ends? What time do you finish?”

“At nine. I’ll be home by nine fifteen.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up shortly after that?”

She nodded. His smile widened, and he opened the door to leave, surprising a red-headed ten-year-old with strawberry jam at the corners of his mouth, who had been about to knock.

L
izzie had been late leaving the school. She found Sally-Jo leaning against her car in the school parking lot, and they walked over to LaBelle’s Bakery for a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which they shared.

“So, give,” Sally-Jo said. “Tell me why the chief came to see you at school.”

Lizzie pointed to her mouth, now filled with her first bite of croissant. She raised her eyebrows.

“How do I know?” Sally-Jo asked.

Lizzie nodded.

“Everyone knows. It was the talk of recess this afternoon. When you didn’t leave in handcuffs, most of the teachers lost interest. But I want to know if he grilled you some more.”

Lizzie nodded again, took a sip of her coffee and swallowed before answering. “Unfortunately, he did. He wanted to know about Stephanie Lowe and specifically why I hadn’t mentioned her reaction to Frank Telford.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that she hadn’t told us much either. Before I got to that latter part, I was saved by the bell.”

Sally-Jo cut her half of the croissant in half and ate one piece, chewing thoughtfully. She wore a hot pink shrug, the exact color of her eyeglass frames, and together they gave her face a glow. “Do you think he’d be mad if we did some investigating of our own? I bet he would,” Sally-Jo answered herself.

“I’m sure you’ve got that right,” Lizzie admitted and finished her remaining bite. “At this point I don’t know how much we can actually do.”

“But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Maybe the book club can come up with a game plan. We shouldn’t let all those years of reading mysteries go to waste.” She didn’t look convinced, though. “I, on the other hand, have a bit of news.” She took her time with her drink.

“Give,” Lizzie demanded.

Sally-Jo grinned. “My loan approval came through at the bank, so I can get on with the reno plans for my house.”

“That’s exciting. But wow, what an upheaval. Have you decided what you’ll start with?”

“The kitchen. I can’t stand preparing another meal in that fifties-style kitchen. I know I shouldn’t be carping all the time about the condition of the house— it was an inheritance, after all, and I should be grateful and just keep quiet.
But it so badly needs upgrading. And it’ll do wonders for the resale value.”

Lizzie nodded. “It will be really exciting to see those plans take shape. Just remember, if you can’t stand it at any point, my guest room is available.”

“Thanks, Lizzie. I’ll keep that in mind.” Sally-Jo sat back, a contented look on her face.

“Although, I’m sure others will be issuing invitations, too,” Lizzie couldn’t resist throwing in.

L
izzie grabbed a bottle of peach juice from the fridge and sorted through the mail she’d picked up on the way in. A couple of bills, double the flyers, nothing of interest like a letter or an invitation. She wasn’t sure whom the hypothetical letter would be from. Most of her friends from college were into email these days. It had been a long time since someone had actually written her a letter in longhand.

The invitation idea was just as elusive. Ashton Corners folks were more likely to pick up the phone and call. And if anyone were getting married or some such thing, she would have heard about it long before an invitation arrived. Not many weddings happening these days in her age group. She smiled to herself. Maybe Sally-Jo and Jacob would change that.
Just slightly rushing things there, girl
.

She saw the manuscript on the hall table where she’d left it last night. She grabbed it and settled into her favorite bucket chair by the windows. She noticed she sank a bit
deeper into the fading paisley upholstery. Might be time to think about a new chair. Maybe next paycheck. Maybe not.

The first chapter, although containing some awkward sentence structure, was a grabber.

Lizzie read on. There was little cash left over from his paycheck as a farmhand, so extras were infrequent, food being the main priority. A typical tale of poverty in Alabama in the 1950s and 1960s. But thirty-year-old Harlan Fowks had grit, a good Southern trait.

Where was this leading, she wondered after correcting some points of grammar. Glancing back over the last page, the red markings surprised her. She’d done it automatically because that’s what she did. English grammar. Sentence structure. Nouns, verbs, adverbs. And wasn’t that why the three chapters had been left for her?

She glanced at the clock. Yikes… time to grab something to eat and get ready for the literacy class, and of course, the date.

L
izzie didn’t know which emotion to go with as she rushed to get ready. “A date… with Mark Dreyfus… who knew?” she said aloud and laughed.

Nor did she know what to wear. She shoved a taupe sweater set back in the drawer and pulled out a fuchsia camisole and matching shrug. No, too much for the class. She scanned her closet, nixing a couple of skirts and a sundress. Too late in the season for those. She’d have to get around to rearranging her seasonal wardrobe one of these days. Even though fall temperatures in south central Alabama didn’t turn alarmingly cold, the nip in the air called for heavier fabrics and longer sleeves in the evening. Or a jacket.

She pounced on a gold-toned jacket in cotton, matching it with a multipatterned blouse showing just a hint of cleavage, and taupe twill pants. Strappy brown sandals would still work. She checked herself out in the mirror. It would do nicely. Now, some blush and lipstick and she’d be all set.

Lizzie was pleased that most of the students were in attendance, with only Stephanie missing. Again. If this continued, Lizzie might have to work in some private tutoring classes for Stephanie, although she seemed to be progressing just fine. And of course, the book club would be a big help to her in her reading skills. Lizzie hoped she’d be back soon, though, as it was equally important for Stephanie to be out with others her own age. The socializing was all part and
parcel of the program, offering a secure setting in which to put new language skills to use. Being pregnant really threw some unpredictability into the matter. Lizzie jotted down a quick note to herself to talk to Stephanie about it.

“First of all, I’d like y’all to hand in your assignment from last class, and then I thought we’d work with graphic novels tonight,” Lizzie said, quickly getting their attention. “You know, reading is reading, whatever the format.” She’d decided on using them after the success with her daytime student, Danny. Age didn’t really matter when it came to enticing a nonreader to give it a try.

She grinned good-naturedly along with the others as Teesha Torres made a cheeky comment. The girl liked to think of herself as smart-mouthed and tough, but Lizzie strongly suspected it was all a ruse. She was hoping to see a change come about before the end of the year, but Lizzie acknowledged that she wasn’t a social worker.

She handed around the novels and asked them to read the first chapter while she excused herself. She found Molly in the kitchen, reading an Agatha Christie and sipping a tea.

“How many times is it for that book, Molly?”

Molly looked at the cover of
The Murder at the Vicarage.
“About five or so. I never tire of Dame Christie; you know that, honey.” She pointed to the stack of Agatha Christie novels perched on the bookcase at the end of the counter. Among them was a thick volume of short stories, plays and selected novels. “Everyone present and accounted for tonight?”

“All except for Stephanie.”

“I should give that child a call,” Molly said. “See if she’s needing anything. She must be feeling so alone right now.”

“That would be good of you, Molly, and could you try at the same time to find out more about her reaction to seeing Frank Telford? Both Sally-Jo and I thought it appeared that she knew him. Did you notice it, too?”

Molly thought a moment. “No, but I had my eye on
Mr. Telford and wasn’t really looking at anyone else at the time. I’ll try to see what I can find out, though.”

“Thanks. I’m in need of a glass of water, and then I’d better get back to class.”

She found all heads bowed in concentration. A good sign. By break time, they were still reading and seemed almost reluctant to stop. She waited until everyone had left the room to gather in the kitchen for some of Molly’s cookies and coffee, and then went to find Sally-Jo, who was talking to a student.

When the conversation had ended, Lizzie said, “Sally-Jo, I’d like you to read the manuscript I showed you and tell me what you think of it. Okay?”

“Sure thing.” Sally-Jo adjusted her glasses and peered over the top. “Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“I’d rather not say. I’d like your take on it, though.”

“Fine. I’ll do it when I get home tonight. I’ve finished my class prep for tomorrow, and there’s nothing good on TV.”

“Thanks. By the way, I love that blouse. Great shade of blue. Periwinkle, isn’t it? That’s a shade everyone can wear. Even me. Hint, hint.”

Sally-Jo laughed. “Not that I don’t love you, girlfriend, but I’m ever so glad to be away from a houseful of my sisters and their borrowing all of my stuff. From now on, what I own stays with me. Sorry.”

Lizzie made a face. “In that case, we may turn up dressed as twins someday. Where did you say you bought it?”

“I didn’t. Say, why don’t I get the manuscript now in case one of us is tied up after class?” She followed Lizzie, got the papers and left as the class started returning.

Lizzie found the group ready for a lively discussion about what they’d read. Just what she’d been hoping for. She was taken aback though when Troy, usually so silent, took issue with Teesha’s opinion of graphic novels in general. The discussion started getting heated, each pushing their opinions, when Troy abruptly stood up, grabbed his things and left
the class. Lizzie let him go, hoping he’d cool off and rejoin them. By the end of the evening, everyone had moved on, even though Troy hadn’t returned.

“Do you think graphic novels have a legitimate role to play in literature?” Lizzie asked as she collected the books.

Jolene, a nineteen-year-old high school dropout who held down two jobs, waitressing and housecleaning, moved forward in her chair and raised her hand. “Of course. I mean, I like them because it makes it easier to understand, and it’s way more fun looking at pictures. So’s if you want me to get into reading a whole lot more, like other things, like more real novels, that’s how to do it.” She looked around at the others. “Am I right?”

Sonny looked totally bored, while Dwayne appeared to be daydreaming, staring at the walls. Teesha, however, nodded in agreement. Jolene seemed pleased with herself.

Before dismissing them, Lizzie said, “You know, if ever any of you have any writing you’d like me to take a look at— aside from what I assign in class, I mean— I’m happy to do that.”