Band Room Bash (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

When I walked into the self-storage office on Thursday morning, Shirl greeted me with a toothpaste commercial smile. That was unusual. Stranger still, I saw books on her desk that weren’t her usual bodice-ripping fare. But the oddest thing of all was the lineup of assorted sizes of bottles and plastic bags filled with dried green and brown weedy-looking stuff.

“Hope the cops don’t come by. It looks like you’re dealing drugs.” I grabbed the mail. “I assume these are legal?”

She sniffed and waved her arm over the assembled plastic containers. “These are herbs.” She pronounced the H. “They’re going to keep me from having to ever use pharmaceutical drugs again.”

Pharmaceutical. That was a big word. I glanced over her collection and wondered if one of them was black cobash.

She tapped the stack of books. “I’m studying these now. That’s where I’ve been going at lunch. To classes. My pharmacist teaches them.”

“Oh.” I thumbed through the envelopes looking for bills to pay.

She narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “You really do look like you could use something. You’re pale and puffy, and you look tense. There’s herbs for that, too, you know.”

“Puffy?” I looked at my fingers. “I’m puffy?”

She looked me up and down. “Your ankles maybe. It could just be all the weight you’ve gained, but you’re probably holding water, too.”

“All the weight I’ve gained? Are you saying my ankles are fat?” I knew my pants were tight, but. . .

Shirl stared pointedly at my hips. “Well, it’s to be expected. Mr. C. said you’re eating like three times as much as normal.”

“He said that?”

Before Shirl could answer, she was distracted by someone outside. “Now who is that, I wonder?”

I didn’t care. I had my leg extended so I could stare at my ankle. It did look swollen. I had to call Max right away and ask him if he thought I was fat. Was that why he was avoiding me lately?

Shirl squinted. “That guy out there sure looks familiar, but he hasn’t been here before, I know that. I know all of our customers by sight and name.”

Finally, I turned and peered through the large front window at the man getting out of his car. I would have recognized his lanky frame anywhere.

“It’s Marvin Slade,” I said to Shirl.

“Marvin Slade?” Shirl stood and leaned over the counter to stare at him as he walked up the sidewalk to the front door. “Name sounds familiar.”

“It should. He’s the band director at the high school.”

Shirl harrumphed. “One of the suspects, you mean.”

Marvin met my gaze through the glass as he grabbed the doorknob.

Shirl was breathing hard. “We need to get him out of here as quickly as possible, Mrs. C. We don’t need murderers coming. . .”

“Hi, Marvin,” I said over her voice. “What can we do for you?”

“I’m just here to check something in Connie’s new storage unit. Costume stuff.” He pulled a shiny key from his pocket. “I have the key and the code to get through the gate. Is it okay for me to go in there?”

“As long as you have the key and the code, you can go into the unit.”

Shirl made noises behind me, clearing her throat, and opening a file drawer and slamming it, but I ignored her.

“Is Connie okay?” I asked.

He shrugged. “How should I know?”

“Well, that’s what I thought,” Shirl said. We both turned toward her.

She waved a contract in my face. “Connie’s got Georgia down as her emergency contact, not Marvin.”

He swallowed and turned his watery gaze on me.

I felt sorry for him and wanted to agree with what my daughter had said. This man couldn’t possibly be a murderer. Still, some of the worst killers in history looked and acted harmless in public.

“What does that mean?” he asked. “I can’t go in?”

Shirl sniffed. “Well—”

“It’s fine,” I said to Shirl. “You know the rules. When someone has the key, they can go in. Besides, I’m part of all this, too, because of the play.” I turned to him. “You can go in. You’ve got my permission.”

Marvin’s wide, bony shoulders were hunched over as if he were in pain. He looked like a hound dog someone had hit with salt pellets from a shotgun. He smiled weakly at me. “I don’t know where her units are.”

“I’ll show you.” I motioned to the door. “I’ll walk up there. Once you get through the gate, you can follow me in your car.”

As I walked behind him to the front door, Shirl jumped up from her chair and it hit the desk with a bang.

“Now I know where I saw you,” she blurted out. “At the pharmacy. Night before last, around seven.”

Marvin turned and eyed her over my shoulder as though she were a stalker. I didn’t blame him.

“Shirl has a memory for faces,” I explained. “That’s why she’s so good at her job here.” I didn’t bother to tell him she could rival my mother for collecting gossip and facts about people.

“Oh.” He still looked at her with drawn brows. “Well, I’ll be going then.” He edged toward the door.

“You be careful,” Shirl said. “What with your heart and all, we wouldn’t want you to keel over dead in the parking lot.”

My mouth dropped open, probably in a good imitation of Marvin’s. Whatever herbs Shirl was taking seemed to have short-circuited what little control she normally had on her mouth. I had my back to her, so when Marvin glanced at me with wide eyes, I rolled mine toward the ceiling and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, turned, and left without further comment.

“He’s a weirdo,” Shirl said behind me.

It takes one to know one, as my mother would say. I faced her. “How do you know he has a heart problem?”

“I heard him talking to my new pharmacist about some kind of heart medicine.”

“And you just stood there and listened?”

She shrugged. “Can’t help but overhear things, the place is so small.”

“Well, why is he a weirdo?”

“He’s known as a ladies’ man. Now that I’ve seen him, I’m shocked. Can you believe it, the way he looks with that bald head and elf ears? I heard he’s always dating someone.” Shirl shook her head. “Makes you wonder what he’s got going for himself. Can you imagine?”

No, I couldn’t. Nor did I want to.

“I’m going to show him where Connie’s unit is.” I twisted the knob on the front door.

“If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m calling the cops and coming up there with a baseball bat. I keep one in my car, you know.” Shirl opened a large tote bag and began stuffing her various bottles and bags into its depths. “You shouldn’t be alone with a murderer.”

“We don’t know he’s a murderer.”

“And we don’t know he isn’t. I’ll tell you what. There’s just something not right about a man like that. Ugly as a catfish but gets women. You mind my words. It’s a black widower thing. Some kind of attraction that normal women can’t feel, but the victims. . .they’re needy.”

“Shirl!”

“You know it’s true. Now, if he looked like Mr. C., I could understand it. I mean all the women swoon over him. He’s as nice as he is good-looking. You should hear what they say when he walks away, especially about his. . .” She glanced quickly at me then away again. “Well, anyway, he just gets better looking as time goes by. I’m surprised you don’t have to put a ball and chain on him to keep him from wandering.”

Just what I needed to hear when I was already feeling fat and undesirable. Unwelcome feelings of insecurity crammed my mind with pictures of model-like women swarming all over my husband. And me with my tight maternity pants, fat behind, and swollen ankles. Why hadn’t I noticed I was gaining that much weight? I had to get away from Shirl because I had a sudden urge to cry.

I met Marvin at the entrance to the climate-controlled building and showed him how to use the code. We stepped inside, and I pointed to Connie’s units, keeping a good five feet between us. I intended to question him, and if he made a move toward me, I would be able to escape. My first goal was to determine which of the two women he had been interested in.

“I’m really sorry about your loss,” I said.

His forehead wrinkled in a frown. “My loss?”

“Um, yeah. Georgia?” I backed up a few steps toward the door, getting ready to run if I had to.

He blinked. “Why would I care about her? All she did was make people’s lives miserable. Well, at least Connie’s.”

He sounded angry. I pressed my body against the door. “Have you seen Connie lately?”

“Yes,” he said. “Why do you want to know?”

I shrugged. “Just wondered. So, are you on your break or lunch or something?”

“Break?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you aren’t at school today.”

His eyes flashed with annoyance. “Yeah, a break.” This wasn’t going to be productive at all, and he was making me nervous.

Suddenly, his eyes met mine, and his face darkened with anger. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You do?”

“You’re trying to solve this mystery, aren’t you? I’ve heard about you.”

I stepped backward toward the door until I felt it against my back.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said.

I groped behind me for the door handle. “Um, that’s great. I’m glad. You could go to jail for that. And be executed. . .and all.” Shirl’s words about him being a murderer kept ringing in my head. “Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing. I’m fine. Thank you.”

I yanked the door open, rushed down the parking lot, and flung open the door to the office.

Shirl looked up from her computer. “Well? Did he try to kill you?

“Would I be standing here if he had?” I giggled, but it was from nervousness. “In fact, he assured me he hadn’t killed her.”

Shirl rolled her eyes. “Mark my words. Something’s up with him.”

I walked back to my office and fired up my computer, trying to quell the shakiness in my knees. After checking through some e-mails and opening the bills, I had calmed down enough to think logically. Maybe I should look over my notes. I needed to start thinking of intelligent questions to find the answers to.

A big one: Motive. What reason would the suspects who had access to Georgia have to murder her?

I looked at my suspect list. I had to find out more about everyone. Including Georgia. But I could jot down a few ideas.

Marvin Slade—pawning instruments? He had a key. He was there.

Carla Bickford—has a plan. What plan—is it what she mentioned about upping the school security system?

Connie Gilbert—angry with Georgia? Why? Fighting over selling the farm?

Coach Kent Smith—giving kids steroids? Didn’t want Jason kicked off the team?

No other suspects made sense.

“That Marvin person is leaving,” Shirl yelled from the other office. “Now what do you suppose he was doing? Hiding a murder weapon?”

“I doubt it,” I yelled back. I didn’t tell her my suspicions.

I jotted down,
How: Was she murdered with the bassoon, or was it poison?

I needed to find out more about the people involved in this, and I knew one person who had access to information from all over town.

I called Doris’s Doughnuts, and my mother answered. She must have seen my name on caller ID. “Trish, I hope this isn’t bad news. I’ve been worried sick about you. Just sick.”

I felt guilty for leading her on the day before. “I’m fine, Ma. I just have a question for you.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? You should go to the doctor.”

“I am. Tomorrow. Listen, I need to know everything you know about Georgia, Marvin Slade, Connie Gilbert, Carla Bickford, and Kent Smith.”

“Well, hallelujah and pass the offering plate. You are solving this mystery.” I heard her hand rubbing on the receiver as she covered it. “Girls,” she yelled. “You wouldn’t believe it, but Trish is going to solve this mystery.”

“Ma, please. Don’t advertise the fact.”

She laughed. “Nobody here is going to tell anyone.”