Band Room Bash (6 page)

And when, exactly, had she been killed? I wasn’t sure about that, but I figured from what the detective said to the crime scene people that she hadn’t been dead long when we found her.

I thought about my mother’s comment. What were the chances of a stranger breaking into the school and killing Georgia over a potential housing development? Slim to none. But what about a stranger breaking in period? Although I hated to think about it, crimes in schools were on the rise.

I went to page two.
Section II. Questions/Observations: 1. Was Georgia murdered? 2. If so, how? Was it the bassoon? 3. How did the murderer get out of the room? Through the door in the storage room?
I needed to get a look at that.

I flipped over five pages to leave room for more questions and wrote,
Section III. Suspects: Who had been there at the time? Marvin Slade. Carla Bickford. Connie Gilbert. Who else? Coach Kent Smith. Football players. Other teachers? Students?
I could rule out Tommy, but what about his classmates? Would any of them have a reason to kill Georgia?

Perhaps it had been someone who didn’t work at the school or attend but had known her. One of Georgia’s acquaintances. Who? Then I wrote,
A complete stranger.

I jotted notes about where I thought people had been. Had Connie still been at the school when I found Georgia’s body or had she left after I had spoken with her?

I was going to have to do some snooping around the school. That would be difficult, because I had no good reason to be there except for play committee meetings. I wondered if Carla would cancel our next meeting due to Georgia’s murder. I doubted it. Her credo was probably “The show must go on.”

I flipped back to Section II and added a couple more things.
Carla and Georgia were supposed to go out to dinner. Were they friends?

My stomach growled. The milkshake hadn’t lasted long. I laid the pen on the notebook and noticed for the first time since I’d arrived how lifeless the house felt. Sammie and Charlie were still at my folks’ house. Tommy and Karen were both working.

I should do something productive like finish sewing the curtains for the baby’s room. In a frenzy of homemaking insanity, I’d decided to make everything myself. Thus, patterns and fabric littered a corner of the family room where I kept my sewing machine. I needed to get everything done, but. . .better yet, I could put it off and go see Abbie.

I dialed her number. The phone rang six times, then her machine picked up.

I jiggled my foot in frustration. As soon as the message ended, I began yammering. “Abbie, where are you? I need you. I want to talk. Please call—”

I heard a click. “Trish?” Abbie breathed into the receiver. “Sorry.”

“Are you monitoring your calls?”

“Sort of. Hey, I heard about Georgia. I was going to call you shortly. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but I need company,” I said. “I’m alone.”

“Where is everyone?” Abbie didn’t understand how I felt about an empty house. I’m social to the extreme. She loves her solitary life, writing her suspense novels in her store-top apartment.

“My oldest are out doing their normal activities. The youngest ones are at my folks’ house. And Max is working late. Again.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “You know what? I could really use a diversion. How about I come over and help you work on the nursery?”

“I don’t feel like sewing,” I said. “I was at the Dairy Delite today and remembered how we used to cruise. It made me miss you and want to go out.”

She laughed. “You want to go cruising?”

“I don’t think so. . .well, come to think of it, it might be fun.”

“No, Trish. We aren’t going cruising.” She laughed again. “I could see the gossips now. They’d have a field day with that.”

“And my poor mother-in-law would have to explain
again
to her hoity-toity friends how uncivilized and immature her daughter-in-law is.” I paused. “Hey, that might be good—”

“No,” Abbie said. “I’m not going to aid and abet you tormenting your mother-in-law. Besides, I’m starving. Why don’t we go to that little Mexican place over in Plummerville? I’ll pick you up in, say, thirty minutes?”

By the time Abbie pulled in my driveway, I’d changed into maternity jeans and an orange stretchy shirt—a normal one. I looked like a basketball tummy. I didn’t care. I was tired of wearing baggy shirts that pretended to cover everything but only made me look like a cloth-draped pear with legs. The pants felt snug, but they’d just come out of the dryer. Besides, my stomach was getting huge.

At the last minute, I snatched my steno clue notebook from the table and stuffed it into my purse.

Abbie pecked my cheek with a light kiss after I’d crawled into her red Mustang convertible. I loved her car. It would make a much better cruising vehicle than the old pickup truck of my father’s we’d used when we were teenagers.

“You sure you don’t want to go up and down Main Street a couple times?” I asked. “With the top down?”

“I’m sure.” She smiled and backed out of the driveway. “So talk to me.”

She always says that. And I always oblige. I proceeded to whine about Max working late when I’d planned a romantic dinner. I was in the middle of telling her about the black dress I’d bought to entice him despite my belly when she interrupted me.

“Did you tell him ahead of time about your plans?”

I stuck my chin in the air. “Well, no, Miss I’m-on-Max’s-Side. I wanted to surprise him.”

She smiled. “How could you expect him to know what you were thinking?”

She sounded so reasonable and logical. I didn’t want to be reasonable or logical, so I just crossed my arms and frowned at her. “He should come home at night, especially since he’s the one who got me into this state.” I pointed at my stomach.

“With no help from you, I’m sure.” Abbie laughed. “Trish, you know he adores you. Maybe he’s just got a lot going on right now.”

“You’re my best friend,” I said. “You’re supposed to be on my side. You’ve always been on my side.”

“Okay, okay.” She turned a corner, moving the car smoothly from gear to gear. “He’s a beast. He treats you horribly, and you’re absolutely miserable.”

I slapped her arm. “Use sarcasm on me. You’re right, of course.”

When we reached the restaurant, we got a corner booth. Colorful piñatas hung from the ceiling. Brightly painted panoramas embellished tan plaster walls. Recorded mariachi music blared from the speakers. We ordered then settled back with chips and salsa. I finally noticed that Abbie didn’t look so good. Sort of tense, with lines on her forehead and around her eyes, like she had a headache.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mostly.” She took a sip of iced tea and didn’t look at me.

“What does that mean?”

She put down her glass. “Why don’t we talk about you? That’s why we’re here.”

She wasn’t acting right, but Abbie is a private person, even with me, and I’d known her since kindergarten. When something is bothering her, I have to work to get her to open up. In that regard, she’s a bit like her grandmother, the woman who raised her. Although Abbie isn’t the repressive, overly religious person her grandmother had been, she has some of the same personality traits. I’d wait a few minutes and try again.

“So…” Abbie met my gaze. “You want to tell me about Georgia?”

I took a deep breath. “Not gory details, really, because it’s kind of icky. Especially when we’re about to eat.”

“We can talk about something else if you want to.”

“No. It’s fine. I need to talk about it.” I took a deep breath and explained how I’d arrived at the band room and when Tommy showed up.

Abbie was shaking her head.

“What?” I asked.

“I know it’s horrible, but still. . .bashed in the head in the band room. Only you could find someone in a situation like that. Are you going to play sleuth?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

I must have blushed, because Abbie smiled.

“You can’t help it, can you? You’re terribly curious.”

“Yes. But is there something to investigate here?”

“The circumstances you’ve described sound pretty much like someone killed her.”

I shook my head. “You know how noncommittal the cops are. I guess it could have been an accident. She could have fallen and hit her head, but some things in the room were wrecked. Like there’d been a struggle.”

“That does sound like a fight,” Abbie said.

“But there is something that bothers me.” I rubbed between my eyebrows. “Tommy was questioned and his locker was searched.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, but I can’t imagine why except that he was there with me. What possible motive could he have?” I went on to tell her all the other people I considered possible suspects.

Abbie nodded slowly. “Did you know that Georgia moved in with her granny Nettie two years ago? Nettie isn’t doing well.”

“Nettie Winters?” I fumbled in my purse for my notebook and a pen. “How do you know that?”

“Nettie was quite a gardener. Remember? That’s where I used to get my cut flowers and herbs.”

“Yes, now that you mention it.” I jotted down Nettie’s name. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Not sure, but her health is failing.” Abbie pointed at my notebook. “Looks to me like you’ve made your decision about sleuthing.”

Had I really decided? I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m just making notes right now. But Mr. Bossy Police Person Detective Eric Scott told me to mind my own business. When he does that, I feel like a rebellious child and want to do the exact opposite of what he says.”

Abbie picked up a chip and jabbed it in the salsa.

“He was in a horrible mood today. He practically yelled at Carla; not that she didn’t deserve it, but usually he’s cooler than that.” I took a swig of water. “You know what was really weird? Corporal Fletcher implied something odd was going on.”

Abbie chewed her chip hard.

“You know Detective Scott’s daughter is living with him now. I met her today. She’s not a happy camper. I wonder why he never got married again.” I stuffed a salsa-laden chip into my mouth then attempted to speak through it. “It’s really no wonder. He’s personality challenged.”

Our server arrived with our food. Abbie and I asked the Lord to bless the food, and I dug into my taco salad with gusto, ignoring the tightness of my pants. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then I noticed Abbie was just pushing her tacos around her plate.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You’re not sick, are you? You don’t look so hot. The way you’re acting, you’d think that you had a run-in with Detective Scott, too.”

Abbie’s fork hit the plate.

That got my attention. “Did you? Did he give you a ticket or something?”

“I wish it was that.” Her lips were pursed.

I put my fork down. “Stop doing that with your mouth. You look like your grandmother, and that gives me the creeps.”

She tried to relax her lips but didn’t succeed.

“Abs, he didn’t arrest you for something, did he? You go to all lengths to research your books, but you didn’t do anything wrong, did you?”

She coughed and shook her head.

“Well then, what?”

She took a deep breath but avoided my eyes. “He asked me out.”

Chapter Five

Why hadn’t I seen this coming? During the investigation into Jim Bob’s murder, I’d noticed Detective Scott watching Abbie with appreciation. Of course, with her long red hair and legs that go on forever, most guys watched her that way. I’d be jealous if I didn’t love her.

This explained all of Corporal Fletcher’s hints in the library. I felt stupid. If I hadn’t been intuitive enough to see this, how in the world did I think I could solve a crime?

I reached across the table and touched her hand. “Are you going to accept?”

She finally met my eyes. “No.”

I pushed my plate away. “I think it’s time you talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not going to let this slide, so you might as well give it up.”

“Fine.” She glared at me. “You might as well know.”

I leaned back and waited while she picked at the food on her plate.

“You know somebody at the sheriff ’s office fobbed me off on Eric a year and a half ago, right?”

“Yes, I remember you saying that.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t keen about the idea, but my old consultant told me to go with the flow. Eric had the experience I needed for my books. Things have been okay. I only talk to him when it’s necessary.” She turned her gaze to her plate and her uneaten food. “This time, I was sitting in his office with a list of questions, but he wasn’t really paying much attention, which frustrated me. Finally, I asked him if I should come back at a better time. He tapped his pen a few times and then asked me out.”

I knew Detective Scott’s pen tapping routine. It meant he was either thinking or disturbed. “So you turned him down?”

“I was so shocked I lost my voice for a second.” She bounced her index finger on the table in what seemed like a subconscious imitation of Detective Scott. “I didn’t know how to respond, so I just stood up and said, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’ Then I walked out of his office.” She blinked back the tears in her eyes. “He can shut down the whole sheriff ’s office to me. Then where would I get my questions answered?”

I suspected that wasn’t her real reason for being near tears. Detective Scott had always brought strong emotions out of her, I just didn’t know why. “Did he say he wouldn’t answer any more of your questions?”

“No,” she said. “But I didn’t give him a chance to say anything.”

“I know he’s persistent and obnoxiously pushy, but he doesn’t strike me as vengeful.” I reached across the table and patted her hand. “Why did you turn him down? You’re both single.”

She stared at me with her eyebrows raised. “You just said he’s stubborn, pushy, and obnoxious. Why would I date him?”

“Because,” I said.

“Because?”

“Well, why not?” I asked.

She gave me the smarty-pants smile that used to drive me nuts when we were in school. “Because. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Our server came and asked us if we were done. Abbie said yes. I said no. I wanted dessert. He took my order for biscochitos and carried our plates away.

“You’re eating more than usual tonight,” Abbie said.

“You can share the cookies with me.”

“I hate them. Anise with cinnamon just doesn’t do it for me.”

I waved my hand in the air. “Don’t try to change the subject. Why won’t you go out with him? Do you dislike him that much?”

Her nostrils flared. “And you say he’s pushy?” She took a deep breath. “Don’t you remember why my ex-husband left me? He said I was too intense. Too absorbed in my work.”

When she’d been married, Abbie worked as a journalist. Her husband was a cop. “You were both so young,” I said. “You were both busy. It takes two to make a marriage.”

“I’ve only gotten more intense,” she said, as though I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t want to fail again.” She picked up her napkin and shredded it into pieces.

I understood. Her husband had gotten sympathy from a couple of other women in a carnal way, and it nearly destroyed her. She still blamed herself and was terrified of another relationship.

“He was the unfaithful one, Abbie. He never expressed frustration or unhappiness, yet he cheated. Besides, you’re older now. You’ve changed.” The mustached server delivered my cookies and refilled my water and Abbie’s tea.

“I have changed. I’m worse.” She shook her head. “I’ve been alone too long. I like my space and my apartment. I don’t want to share. I don’t have the time or nature to be a wife. And now Eric’s daughter is living with him? I could never be a stepmother.”

“Well, I won’t argue with you about that right now, even though I disagree, but for Pete’s sake. Detective Scott just asked you out. He didn’t ask you to marry him.”

She had taken a big swallow of tea, started laughing, and gurgled instead. A few drops of liquid dripped down her chin. I picked up a napkin, reached across the table, and wiped her mouth. “That’s better. You need to laugh.” I paused. “So, are you going to go out with him?”

“No,” she said. “No, I’m not. Can we drop it now?”

“There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”

“Trish. . .”

Her tight lips told me what I needed to know. She wasn’t telling me everything, but I also recognized that she wasn’t going to say another word tonight. That was fine. I’d find out one way or another.

Max wasn’t home yet when Abbie dropped me at my house at eight. My mother delivered Charlie and Sammie at eight thirty. I felt out of sorts as I put the little kids to bed, wishing my husband were home. He’d promised to handle talking to them about Georgia’s murder. Now I had to do it.

I was debating how to broach the topic with Charlie as I walked into his room to say goodnight.

“You found another dead person,” Charlie stated when I reached his bed.

I guess I needn’t have worried. “Yes, I did. Where did you hear about it?”

“Grandmom.” His gaze was intense on mine.

Rumors ‘R’ Us had certainly been active today. I was torn between relief and irritation.

“Was it gross?” His interest in all things icky and mysterious bordered on slightly obsessive. I assumed that was normal for a boy his age.

“Yes, it was gross, but I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll ask Tommy since he was there.”

I didn’t bother to try to talk him out of it. He’d find out as many details as he could somewhere. It just wouldn’t be from me.

“How is Granddad?” I asked to change the topic.

“He has a new calf.” Charlie smiled.

“I love calves.” I sat on the edge of his bed and wished I could run my fingers through his spiky red hair, but he wasn’t keen about that kind of attention from me anymore. “They’re so wobbly at first, then they start running around and jumping, acting like little kids on the playground.”

Charlie rubbed his eyes. “I want cows when I grow up. I can work with Granddad. I’ll be a farmer, too.”

“That would be great, honey.” Even as I said the words, I thought about the hard life my father had lived. Only lately had he been able to relax because my mother was making good money at her doughnut shop. I also knew what Max’s wealthy parents would think if any of their grandchildren went into farming. When I was dating Max, I overheard my mother-in-law say to him, “Farmers are fine, dear. We need them, but we don’t need to date them.” I was naive enough to think that as my relationship with Max grew, she would see that I made him happy and change her opinion. Boy, had I been naive.

But I never let her influence me, and I did my best to see that she didn’t influence the children. As long as what they chose to do was honest and moral and made them happy, I would never dissuade them from their dreams, no matter what paths they chose.

Next I went to tuck Sammie into bed, wondering how to talk to her about the murder, assuming my mother had blabbed to Sammie, as well as Charlie. She was lying under pink sheets, which gave her skin a rosy glow. She stared at me thoughtfully as I walked into the room.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?” I waited for the dead body question.

“Grandmom says she never sees you anymore.”

I almost laughed out loud. There we have it. My mother’s contribution to survival of the fittest. Evolution mother style. Traits handed from one generation to another. In this case, the fine art of manipulation.

“She says that all the time, sweetie. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“You prob’ly should.” Sammie snuggled back under her covers. Her fine blond hair fell over her eyes, and I brushed it away.

“Did Grandmom tell you about what happened to me today?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Sammie waved a pudgy hand in the air. “You always find bodies. G’night, Mommy.” She rolled over on her side.

Well, that was that.

“Good night,” I whispered as I shut the door.

My worries had been for naught. I wondered if I should be disturbed by my kids’ lack of shock or if it was okay. I plodded down the stairs and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen. The small of my back hurt. So did my knees and ankles.

As I gulped some water, I heard a car door slam, and a moment later, Karen, my stepdaughter, shot through the back door with her purse and a white bag in her hand.

She smiled at me and tossed the bag on the table. “Wow, Mom. I heard you and Tommy found Ms. Winters.”

By this time all of Four Oaks knew Tommy and I had found Georgia Winters.

“Are you going to solve the mystery?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think your father would be thrilled about that after what happened last time.” I already felt a little guilty about starting a clue notebook without talking to him.

“You’ve gotta convince Dad to let you do it. You have to.” Her expression became grim. “At least we can trust you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She put her purse on a chair and faced me. “Well, most of the kids don’t think the cops are looking out for us. They searched Tommy’s locker.” She crossed her arms. “How stupid was that?”

“The police aren’t against you.” I felt a bit hypocritical saying that, given my own attitude toward a certain detective.

“They also suspect Mr. Slade. I mean, really. Mr. Slade? All you have to do is look at him to know he couldn’t kill anybody. He’s my favorite teacher.”

While I was sympathetic because Marvin Slade had the kind of looks that made a woman want to take him home and feed him, I knew that had little to do with murderous intentions.

“Some of the most innocent-looking people commit murder,” I said.

“I know he didn’t do it, but it looks bad for him.”

“Why?”

“He and Ms. Winters haven’t been getting along.” Karen bit her lip.

“But that’s good motivation for murder.”

“Maybe, but I don’t believe it,” Karen said. “Please, Mom. You have to do this.”

I felt such a pressing need to investigate. Was it just Karen’s request? Because Tommy’s locker had been searched? Or was it because I had an insatiable curiosity and had been involved in a previous murder investigation? Or maybe I had some sort of crusader inside me that had to help the cops fight evil?

I turned and put my water glass in the dishwasher. I did have a sense of wanting to see justice done. That made my decision inevitable and meant that I was going to have to be honest with Max and tell him what I was going to do.

Karen could tell I was weakening. “I can let you know if I hear anything at school.” She paused. “Hey, I could investigate, too.”

I whirled around to face her again. “No, Karen. Please. If this was murder, and it looks like it was, I don’t want you involved.”

She snorted. “The person who did it can’t be anybody I know. Really.” She caught my panicked glance and her eyes narrowed. “Okay. If you promise to investigate, I won’t.”

“That’s manipulation,” I murmured.

She nodded. At least she was honest about it.

“All right. If Dad’s okay with it, I will at least do a little bit,” I said. “Now, how was work at the pretzel stand?”

“Cool. Brought you leftovers. I know how you like them.” She pointed at the bag on the table.

“Thanks, honey.”