Murder Is Our Mascot (15 page)

After pouring her heart out concerning her frustrations and guilt, she began to muse about possible suspects in both Jim's murder and their wreck. Emily felt much more empowered dwelling on justice rather than on self-pity. Tapping furiously away at her keyboard, she came up with the following list that she read back to herself:

1. Helen—would never have believed her capable of violence, but did she need money? Was she desperate enough to blackmail someone for money? Was she the one meeting Jim at the school that night? She would have access. If the police were right, could she have run them off the road? She knew Emily's vehicle. Would she risk killing them to end their nosing around? Helen's mother was her top priority, but still, I have always considered Helen not only a colleague and a friend of my mother's, but one of my own friends, as well. Ugh. Depressing to consider, but evidence dictates that Helen would have had a motive=money, opportunity=access to the school at all hours, and means=?? Helen was a strong, fit woman, but would she have been able to overpower Jim in a struggle?

2. Stephanie—the girlfriend/boyfriend is usually the most likely suspect. She doesn't appear to know much about Jim's past. Could she have been suspicious of him seeing someone else? Could she have followed him to his meeting and hit him over the head? She said Jim had been acting strangely. Could she have found something out that made her afraid of Jim, so afraid that she would kill him? As a personal trainer, she was definitely strong enough to knock Jim down with a blow to the back of the head. She and Jim had to have been close to the same height. She said she didn't know where he was going that night, but she could easily have followed him and slipped into the school before the doors locked.

3. Mr. Barnes—the sneaky rat could be capable of any type of crime. Might be prejudiced, but still…he and Jim never did get along. And how did he get the money for that expensive new toy of his? By blackmailing Jim? What secret could he have held over Jim for money? Would he kill Jim to hide his blackmailing attempts if Jim refused to pay and threatened to turn him in? He would have easy access to the school at night, as well. He practically lived there anyway. Granted, he was a scrawny man, but he was wiry and quick. Most despicable rodents normally were. Please let it be him…

4. Unknown man at the memorial service—who was he? Why did he appear to be sneaking away from the crowd? Could he be someone from Jim's past? Why did he look so familiar?
[That was driving her crazy. She was sure she had seen him somewhere before, but where?]
Why would he be at the memorial service? He had to have some connection to Jim, yet he didn't appear to want to talk to any of Jim's friends or coworkers. What did he drive? Where was he now?

Emily paced the floor. She wished Gabby was awake so she could talk things over with her. She knew that her own personal dislike of Barnes was pushing her to consider him the most likely suspect, but either way, it couldn't hurt to do some checking up on him. Resolved, Emily grabbed a fresh soda and settled back down with her laptop for some armchair detecting. She began by googling Richard Barnes. Thousands of hits turned up, but Emily had no idea how to narrow the search. She couldn't remember how long Mr. Barnes had been at Ellington High or where he came from before that. She scrolled through screens and screens of articles, clicking and scanning each one. Her eyes were burning, and she was ready to call it quits, when a small article from a newspaper in Arkansas caught her eye. A Mr. Richard Barnes had been fired from his job as a chemistry teacher at a small school in the southern part of Arkansas. Despite the fact that he was tenured, the allegations against him led to his dismissal. Emily gaped at the screen, her eyes hungrily devouring the short explanation of the charges against the teacher for being involved in inappropriate conduct with a student. Then she let out a small groan when she read the final sentence—"The charges against Mr. Richard Barnes were dropped due to insufficient evidence. Despite the dismissal of charges, Mr. Barnes has declined to return to his former position."

"I bet," Emily muttered. No one accused of such a thing would want to remain in the same job. She scanned for a date. The article had been published twelve years ago. She wasn't positive, but she thought Mr. Barnes had not been at Ellington much longer than that. One person would know for sure, though. Snatching up her phone, Emily placed a call to her dad. Waiting for him to pick up, she did a little wiggle dance in place on the couch. Finally, she had hard proof to back up her claim that Barnes was one creepy dude.

"How's my favorite girl?" Emily smiled at the warmth in her dad's voice, but she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"Well, apparently I'm on house arrest now that Tad's calling the shots." She tried to sound more annoyed than she really was.

"You see, about that, I knew that if your mom had her way, you wouldn't have a moment's peace. And I trust Tad, and…well, I worry about you."

Emily softened. She knew her dad truly had her best interests at heart, and as much as she loved her mom, if she came to stay with her, Emily knew they would drive each other crazy within twenty-four hours. Her apartment wasn't big enough for the two of them. "I know, Dad. Thanks, really. I just hate feeling like a victim, you know?"

"I do. And you're not. You're stronger than this." The encouraging, no-nonsense teacher voice that her dad had used in the classroom had its desired effect.

Emily's shoulders snapped to attention, and she got to the point of her call. She wasn't a victim. She was going to figure out what happened to Jim and bring Helen home. "Dad, I was actually calling to ask you some questions about Mr. Barnes."

"Ah, your favorite coworker. What's up?" Emily winced at her dad's words. Apparently her dislike of Barnes was not as well-concealed as she had hoped.

"I did a Google search on him and came up with an interesting article. It would seem that Mr. Barnes was fired from his last job because—"

"Because," her dad interrupted, "he was accused of inappropriate conduct with a student."

"Yeah. Exactly." Emily was surprised that her dad knew about Barnes's indiscretion. She hadn't thought this would be the kind of information he would share with others. "I know that Principal Matthews would never let someone teach at Ellington that he thought was unfit, but…the evidence seems to speak for itself."

"Not really. You see, the allegations were dropped because it was discovered that the claims were bogus. An honor student was upset with the grade she received in chemistry. It ruined her GPA and prevented her from getting some scholarship she had her heart set on. To get back at him, she accused Barnes of inappropriate conduct. I agree that Barnes is an acquired taste, Em, but I don't think he's dangerous."

"I guess." Emily couldn't hide her disappointment.

"Don't sound so thrilled." Her dad laughed. "Besides, you promised to leave this alone. No more poking your nose into other people's business. Believe it or not, the police can handle this without your and Gabby's help."

"I know." She felt a twinge of guilt for her still-crossed fingers, but before she could come up with an excuse for looking into Barnes, her dad cut her short.

"Sorry, Em. I'm gonna to have to let you go. Got to stop your mom before she burns the house down." The dial tone sounded in her ear.

Emily stared at the receiver, puzzled. What was with her mom and fire lately? Discouraged by her dad's explanation and reminder to butt out, Emily put her laptop away for the day. The pain in her arm was making it hard to concentrate anyway. She gulped down a pain pill along with some cold fried chicken, surfing the channels. Lulled by the drama of daytime talk shows, she dozed off on the couch. In her dreams, she was having a confrontation with Mr. Barnes, but before she could accuse him of murder, someone was calling to her. She turned, distracted, and Barnes slipped away. Emily fought her way to consciousness as someone continued to call her name and gently shake her shoulder. When she finally managed to pry open her eyelids, sticky with sleep, Tad was looking down at her, a frown on his face.

Emily tried to sit up and groaned. Her arm ached, her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and she could only imagine the bed head she had going on. She tried to surreptitiously wipe drool from the corner of her mouth before Tad could see it. He continued to frown at her as he switched on the lamp by the couch. "What time is it?" Emily croaked, then cleared her throat.

Tad tucked a pillow behind her head and one under her arm. "Almost six," he answered. "I came straight here from school, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to disturb you. But then you started muttering and thrashing around. I thought you might be having a nightmare, so I woke you up. You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. Must be the painkillers. You didn't have to come back tonight, you know."

Tad kneeled down in front of the couch. "I know I didn't have to. I wanted to." Emily felt a part of her heart begin to ooze like melted butter on hot toast. She tried to tear her gaze from Tad's, but the moment stretched on. She was sure this was it. Tad was finally going to kiss her, but then he abruptly stood up. "Hope you're hungry," he announced with forced cheerfulness, "because supper is in the oven."

Emily bit back her disappointment as she sniffed the air. "Smells amazing. I'm starved." She pushed frantically at her hair as Tad disappeared into the kitchen. He was back in moments with a steaming slice of her favorite Canadian bacon and chicken pizza. When she quirked an eyebrow, he caved. "Okay, I might have picked up a pie on the way home and reheated it."

Emily smiled her gratitude. "Homemade or not, my stomach and I thank you." She dug in, not caring when cheese dripped down her chin. She figured if her looks hadn't run Tad off by now, a little messy eating wouldn't bother him either. She seemed to be right, as he also had strings of cheese drooping between his slice and his mouth.

"Good," he mumbled. After swallowing, he said, "The kids really missed you today. I assured everyone you were fine, but Principal Matthews wanted me to tell you that you could have as many days off as you need."

"That's nice of him, but I'm ready to get back. I miss the kids, too."

Tad nodded his understanding. "I figured as much, but I promised to pass on the word."

"Did Mr. Barnes ask about me?" Emily asked, trying to reign in her sarcasm.

Tad looked nonplussed. "Not directly, no. You still intent on making him a murderer?"

Emily ignored his own dose of sarcasm, instead filling him in on what she had discovered about Barnes while researching today. She ended by saying, "So what if Jim had found out about Barnes's past, and maybe even that his bad conduct had carried over to Ellington, and he was blackmailing him? Then Barnes got tired of paying, or refused to pay, and took Jim out."

"I think it's time for another pain pill and that you should leave this alone. The police are perfectly capable of doing their jobs on their own." Tad carried their plates to the kitchen and then settled down with a stack of papers to grade.

Emily snarled. "You sound like my dad."

"Your dad is a very smart man, so I take that as a compliment." Emily frowned at Tad's smug tone but decided to let the matter drop. Gathering up her own stack of grading, she tried to whittle it down, but after several attempts of crabbing her comments in the margins of the paper she was grading with her left hand, she gave up. Tad was intent on his work, so she shuffled off to bed, figuring she would need the rest for her first day back at school tomorrow. Unfortunately, sleep eluded her. She wasn't sure if it was her worries about Barnes that were keeping her awake, or the fact that she had slept the day away. But combined with her awareness of Tad in the next room, the effect was that she was kept tossing and turning through the darkest hours of the night.

Emily smacked her alarm and pulled the covers over her head, seriously debating calling in again. She could hear Tad banging around in the kitchen and humming something cheerful. She rolled her eyes up to stare at the ceiling, but the smell of frying bacon had her lowering the covers below her nose. She was contemplating the giant step from comfy bed to cold floor when Tad's head popped around the doorframe, looking altogether too handsome and too awake for this early in the morning. Emily yanked the covers firmly back under her chin, swiping at eye crusties. Tad smiled at her and continued into the room, carrying a still-steaming plate. "Thought you might like some breakfast before I left today."

Emily snaked one hand free and snagged a piece of bacon. No one had ever brought her breakfast in bed before, unless you counted her mom when she was little and stayed home sick from school. And then it hit her. "I'm still going to school today, but nice try," she informed Tad. He heaved a sigh and turned to the door.

"It was worth a try," he mumbled, and then louder, "Be ready to leave in twenty then."

The second he was out of the room, Emily threw back the covers and scurried to the bathroom, turning back for one more piece of bacon. Fighting through another miserable shower that consisted of rigorous calisthenics to keep from getting her cast wet left Emily in a worse mood than normal for morning. Her attempts at applying makeup left-handed left her near tears, so she compensated by picking out a cute outfit that would help boost her mood. She was slipping on her last kitten heel when Tad knocked on the doorframe.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Emily admired his teal sweater and black slacks, thinking he looked yummy enough to eat. If they had had math teachers like Tad when she was in school, she might be an accountant today. She realized Tad was watching her stare at him, so she quickly checked for drool. She was good to go. Or so she thought. Tad was frowning and blocking the doorway.

"What?" Emily asked him, confused.

"Your shoes," he told her, pointing at her feet as if she might not understand what he was referring to.