Relative Danger (31 page)

One attempt succeeded, on the custodian. And another, on Jayne Ackers. But she had been shot near her home. Murderers ordinarily used similar methods. Nothing the same here. I drew in a sharp breath. I’d been shot at on my patio. Maybe.

I gazed at Minnie. I’d brought her into the bathroom but probably shouldn’t have. Too much humidity. Her stem slumped against the side of her pot. Nancy used to lean like that toward the end. My chest tightened. I had to admit it—Minnie was dying. I was killing her.

I tapped the side of my head and spoke to me. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
You’re
not the victim here.” I needed to refocus my thoughts. I envisioned the faithful from that warehouse church, all victims of their beliefs and that preacher. All slumped across benches and the floor. Grant Labruzzo, found slumped across chairs. Who had access to the auditorium? Who might have keys?

I eyed the bubbles flowing from my tub’s walls. Felt my hips floating up. Saw my stomach rise. Not nearly as flat as it had once been. Mature women don’t need flat tummies, I told myself, trying not to pass judgment on mine. I needed to remain centered on the problem at hand. Meditation, I’d once heard, could be brought on by the repetition of some meaningless sound. I shut my eyes. “Ah-umm.” I felt the last part of my sound vibrate in my throat. “Ah-ummm. Ah-ummm.”

Feeling really silly, I let my eyes open. My face towel had floated above my thigh. The towel bubbled up in the center and felt pleasant where its edges rested. My skin looked pale, the towel, dark pink. When dry, my towel had been the same light shade as Minnie’s head.

One of Harry Wren’s cacti looked like Minnie. Pink tufts on its head. Most of his other varieties had different flowers. Black stockings, black truck. Yellow feathers. Red lights. Red skirt with pink blouse. Ink stains. The hues of people’s hair and clothes—

“That’s it!” I said, scrambling out the tub. It wasn’t a face I’d seen or a warning I’d heard. What tipped me off to a possible killer was a color.

Chapter 23

It was 5:46 p.m. when I clutched my steering wheel, nearing Sidmore High. No cars or trucks remained on the parking lot. No Friday afternoon practices or games.

I rounded the block and slowed, passing the school. It had been only a few days since I first came. I’d expected high ideals. My senior sweetie, about to graduate. Kat, wearing a gold band across her gown, symbolizing an honor student. I had arrived in town with fluffy dreams of happy days with my granddaughter and pleasant hours with my son. I’d tried to keep from seeing Gil, but in my mind’s recesses, always knew I wanted to. I hadn’t planned to search for a killer.

I eased up alongside the stadium. A blue truck and a white compact car were parked beside the field house, a goodly walk from the main building. Coaches? Lovers? People from town who’d located a spot to leave their vehicles?

I drove behind the school, where a small recessed area snuggled beyond the addition for the swimming pool.

There it sat. The black truck.

No one was at school. Except whoever owned that truck.

Its owner would have had an opportunity. A motive to hurt Kat? I wrangled with scenarios and came up with few ideas. Parking near the truck, I scanned the area. Didn’t see anyone. I slid out.

Mexican music came from my purse. I jumped, already spooked, and yanked out my cell phone. “Yes,” I said, voice low, gaze steady on the building. If that truck’s driver came out, I’d see the person.

“Mm, nice husky tone,” Gil said. “Did I catch you at an inappropriate time?”

My pounding heart slowed its thrusts. Somehow, hearing his voice made me feel more secure. “I’m about to catch a murderer,” I said.

Gil chuckled. His laugh abruptly froze. “You’re not serious?”

I left my car but didn’t lock it. If something happened with the individual inside, I didn’t want to be chased out here and not be able to jump in this car and take off. My first plan, though, was to use my phone if I decided I needed help. “Dead serious,” I said, creeping toward the stairs, clinging to the phone. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Cealie, where are you?”

I reached the entrance doors. “Getting a higher education.”

I could handle life alone, but felt comforted by having him sound so near. It seemed he would come with me through those heavy doors into the school’s dark bowels. But he was across town. Probably at the restaurant. With a friend. “I need to be quiet now,” I whispered. “See you.”

Hanging up, I turned off the phone’s ringer. I didn’t need Gil phoning back while I was trying to creep up to check on the person inside. Of course I would’ve wanted him here with me. But if I had explained what I was doing, he’d tell me to let police do all of the investigating. And maybe he’d be right. Maybe I should tell police what I’d surmised. But what proof would I give them to make them investigate this person? That I had a woman’s intuition? I was almost positive about who did it? No, if I needed assistance, I had this cell phone, fully charged. And I could run.

I tried a door. Locked. The second door opened.

Creaking sounded as I slipped in with as little opening as possible. My purse vibrated against my side. Gil, calling back? Or my arm shaking?

I scooted past the enclosed swimming pool. Its water reflected off the darkened room’s pale blue walls. The next door was open, bringing me into the main corridor. I paused. An eerie quiet claimed the space, cavernous now without students’ noises and bodies. Their smells lingered. Schoolbooks, liniments, and sweet body lotions. The small wall lights probably stayed on. I craned my neck and listened.

Breathing seemed to come from my right—the mathematics hall.

I waited, my legs tensed. Was someone nearing?

I wished I’d gone to the bathroom before coming. My heart began counting out seconds. Minutes. Numbers pushed through my head, growing louder. I needed to move before my knees gave out.

I dashed to the math hall’s doors and yanked.

Locked. Glass panes revealed darkness down the hall, with darker shadows fabricating black pictures on a rear wall.

I scanned the main region again. A click sounded. It came from…somewhere I couldn’t fathom in this large space. No one moved that I saw. Maybe a clock? I hoped so.

Scuttling down the main pathway, I tried other doors. The English hall was locked. So was science. Gym doors wouldn’t yield, nor would the ones to the office. Lights inside the office remained on. The secretaries’ desks bore scattered papers beside their computers. Cynthia Petre’s desk held her calendar and picture of John Winston. New posters on the glass panes shielding the office announced dates for exams. The spirit stick was gone.

I scooted to the cafeteria hall. As I figured, one auditorium door wasn’t locked. A man I hadn’t known was murdered inside this room. I clasped the door handle, my body trembling.
Cealie, you’re a concerned person but usually not stupid,
my mind warned. I could leave here and do as I’d planned. Attend graduation. Then go on with my life.

But Kat needed help. Maybe to stay alive.

I darted into the auditorium, scrambled up a short flight of stairs, and reached the deck. Staring in a doorway, I eyed an absolute black abyss
. Do you think you’re Super Hero?
flashed inside my head. I forced my mind to shut up. Stop thinking about me. Take care of Kat.

I wanted Gil. Roger. The police.

But Roger would also tell me to leave everything to the authorities. And those authorities might arrest me for trespassing now. Detectives might discover who killed two people and then bombed Kat’s car, but would they do it before Monday night? Before another explosion might occur in this room during graduation?

A small light played up from the stage.

My quivering body made my purse shake against my hip. From the main landing, I peered down at the backs of rows of chairs. The auditorium, dark except for the stage’s tiny spotlight, could seat hundreds. This rear hall was circular. Other doorways back here led down to more seats. The molded chairs’ seats were folded up, except for the broken ones. Cracked seats hung, creating odd geometric shapes. Chairs that alternated the blue and yellow school colors resembled a tremendous checkerboard. The yellow ones stood out, looking friendlier than the darker ones. Metal strips connected all of them. Between each wide section of chairs, concrete steps led down toward the stage.

Cougars had been painted on the walls outside it, facing the audience. The big cats appeared fierce, poised to charge. An American flag stood on the stage beside a podium. Up there was where Kat would soon make her grand crossing. I hoped.

My eyes adjusted to the dark, and an oppressive quiet pressed against my eardrums. I clutched a chair’s rear. Rubbed my palms dry against it. “Someone’s upstairs,” my mind or throat whispered while my heart drummed. I stood on wobbly legs, feeling the doors close behind me, encasing me in this tomb.
Upstairs
, my thoughts ordered.

My knees bumped against each other as I moved. I glanced at chairs stretched along the room’s rear. On which one did that young man die?

I backed out and darted to the stairs leading above. If I stopped, I’d turn around and dash away from the terror. I wished I’d worn running shoes instead of pumps. My shoes click-clicked on concrete while I made my way up the sinister stairwell, sliding my palm along the handrail for support.

I paused on a stair. Steadying my breaths, I glanced down through metal strips that supported the handrails. They resembled prison bars. I could see the entrance door. It was still shut, nobody coming inside. I wanted to run out.

Entombed in the tiny black cell, I inched up the stairs, the growing pulse in my throat tasting bitter. My scalp tingled as I neared the balcony, the glow from the stage below getting brighter.

Finally up, I paused. I was standing on a balcony.

Being up here wasn’t so awful, I told myself. Nobody was going to lift me up and pretend to toss me down, like my big cousin had. Satisfaction sprinkled through me. I’d done it. I had stood up to my anxiety about balconies.

Still, the air was scant, my legs feeling jelled. I made them take me down steps toward the handrail.

Scanning the area, I saw no one. But felt I wasn’t alone. A person could be hidden, stooped in the shadows behind those rows of chairs with raised seats. I peered at the stage, trying to center myself. Calm my breathing. I couldn’t believe I was really up here.

I forced new thoughts. Many people must have keys to this place. Band director. Office staff. Coaches. Some teachers. Custodians. They all had reasons to be here at different times.

The person here with me now had a purpose.

The single light on stage created a spotlight on its center.

I glanced back across the balcony. Three rear doors were left open. I had come up on the left, but this wasn’t the area where I thought I needed to be. With eyes trained on my surroundings, I crept toward the central section.

Nothing seemed unusual, I thought, moving all the way down to the rail, struggling against my body’s tremors. I scanned the rows of chairs I passed before exposing my back to them. A backward glance told me no one had come through a door.

Needing to stop my shuddering, I clutched the railing. Stared down across the dark auditorium. Focused on the stage. It looked ready for a performance. Someone would cross that platform. Maybe speak. Do another activity that would take center stage. The production might call for an encore. I envisioned it. Shoved the scene from my mind. Other lights surrounded that platform, I noticed. Small lights below it, some above. But only the single light shone, spotlighting the shiny wooden floor. I heard footsteps.

They came from behind me. Soft steps, slowed for my benefit.

Chapter 24

I gripped the balcony’s railing. The feet moving behind me stopped. My hearing shot into high gear. Once again the person moved.

“Inspecting the stage for graduation?” a voice asked from the black void to my rear.

I didn’t turn. Forced my voice strong. “I was just wondering how Kat is going to look out there.”

“I’m sure she’ll look pretty, as always.”

Breathing came closer. To my left and behind me. The darkness seemed to close in. Tapping sounded. The slightest
tap-tap
of something hard against flesh.

My eyes swiveled down and toward the left. Fringes of lagoon blue swept down. They rose. Swept down again. The spirit stick was tapping against an open palm.

“You probably owned a pistol,” I said without looking, “but it would be long gone by now.” If I faced the person, I might force a physical confrontation. I didn’t want that. What did I want? I asked myself again.

I wanted answers. To keep Kat safe.

No reply came from behind me. “Maybe a thirty-eight,” I suggested. “That you probably tossed in the bottom of a river.”

“You must have one yourself.”

“No, a gun would make my purse too heavy.” My fingernails pinched my right palm. So stupid, standing with that weapon tapping behind me, admitting I was unarmed.

But my purse held my phone. And my purse might become a weapon. Sometimes it held bulk.

I shifted my shoulder. Damn, I’d cleaned out my purse to make it lighter.
Forget the phone, too, Cealie. Not much good against a long heavy spirit stick. Unless I could get a quick call off.

“My gun is in a full cereal box. Stuffed in there after I shot at you.” I swallowed. More explanation came. “I was driving to the grocery store the day I spotted you walking to that corner. I tried to hit you with my car. Then later you were such a nice target, lying on your patio. I guess I’m not a very good shot.”

My mouth zapped dry. I forced words out. “Cereal box, that’s clever.”

“I thought so. I taped the box shut and then shoved it in the middle of a large bag filled with trash. That’s gone too.”

“And I imagine you’d seen Jayne Ackers and thought she was Marisa Hernandez and instinctively pulled out your gun.”

“They were both tall and slender. Blond hair down to their shoulders.” A pause. “So many young women today seem tall and blond.”