The Witch of Agnesi (12 page)

“I heard about Luther Devereaux. I have to admit the story made me think twice about taking the job.”

She patted his hand. “Relax. Very few of our Science teachers get their throats cut these days. Now Social Studies, that’s another thing altogether.”

The joke worked. Armen noticeably relaxed. “I’m not kidding. I was impressed, but I have a few problems with your logic.”

Her mind shifted into competition mode. Warily, she asked, “How so?”

“How can you be certain Peyton didn’t talk to Stephanie before he disappeared?” Armen put down his sandwich and leaned back in his chair—a reasonable man asking a reasonable question.

She had to admit the question merited thought. “About meeting with her in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, that, and his imminent plan to run away.”

I love the way your mind works, Mister Callahan.

“You’re assuming Stephanie and the debacle at Knowledge Bowl wasn’t the reason he ran away.”

He frowned at her, showing disappointment. “Don’t play Devil’s Advocate with me. You no more believe that was the reason than I do.”

His admonition was like a splash of cold water to the face. At first she recoiled, then after a moment’s consideration realized she liked this meeting of equal minds. “All right, no Devil’s Advocate. Since nothing is really certain, we’ll deal in probabilities. I think it highly probable Wendy Newlin was correct when she said Peyton ran away rather than face the Colonel.”
Much the same as Wendy herself did.

Armen nodded, and she could see him using her last statement as a building block in his argument.

“Okay, Peyton means to run away and tells Stephanie early on. They make plans to get together to talk about Peyton’s problems.” Armen’s voice softened on the final two words. His face went cloudy.

It was Bonnie’s turn to nod. “You see the difficulty, don’t you? Who drove him to Stephanie’s in the middle of the night?”

She splayed the fingers of her left hand and stared down at them. “It’s a finite list.”

Armen tapped her pinky. “All right, how about that Korean boy Edmund? He drives. You said you took him to his car Thursday evening. Could he also have known about Peyton’s plan, picked him up from wherever he was hiding, and driven him to Stephanie’s?”

Bonnie tugged at her ear, considering the scenario. “Forget for a moment what I know about Stephanie and Peyton. The timing is certainly right. Of course, you know that means Edmund was in on Stephanie’s murder?”

“How well do you know Edmund?”

She was about to say she had Edmund in class and on the Knowledge Bowl team and knew him damn well. But it wouldn’t be true. She didn’t really know Edmund at all. Certainly there might be a set of circumstances whereby this seemingly quiet Asian boy could become a murderer. An image of Peyton and Edmund shouting triumphantly as they slaughtered electronic adversaries floated into her mind. “I’m not sure.”

Armen tapped his lips with his index finger, wearing a well that’s interesting frown. “There’s always been one aspect of the aftermath of the Knowledge Bowl that troubled me.”

“Just one?”

He chuckled and leaned forward, smoothing down his beard, his face just inches from hers. “Now that you mention it, there’s two. Remember telling me how Ali Griffith and Stephanie left the Academy with Stephanie’s mother?”

She replayed the scenes from that evening until Edmund stepped on stage with his late-night announcement. “Edmund couldn’t reach his parents, so he stayed behind.”

“Why would he do that?”

To annoy me
, was the first thing that popped into Bonnie’s mind, then she saw Armen’s conundrum. She took both of his hands in her own and squeezed. “Why indeed would he do that? His parents wouldn’t be picking him up at the Academy or back in East Plains. He drove himself. What did it matter if he couldn’t contact them at home except to inform them he’d be late, and for that he could leave a message?”

Their breaths fell into synchronous rhythm, Armen inhabiting the world of his thoughts and she in hers. She let her gaze drift over his intelligent features. A pleasant warmth filled her. Even with Ben she hadn’t felt this kind of kinship. A sudden pang of guilt swept over her, and she let go of Armen’s hands as if she were scalded.

Thankfully, he chose that moment to respond and didn’t seem to notice her anxiety.

“Even more perplexing, wouldn’t Missus Templeton have to pass by the school and Edmund’s car to get to the Griffith place?”

Bonnie tried to focus her thoughts and swim out of her current soup of emotions.
Get a grip, girl.
She nodded, perhaps a little too energetically. “Straight past the school, not even a little out of her way.”

Armen jabbed a finger down on the Formica tabletop. “So why does a teenage boy choose to give up several hours of his precious evening rather than take the obvious ride back to school?”

She was no longer enjoying this intellectual give and take. The dead presence of Ben Pinkwater filled the empty seat beside her. Armen blithely pressed his hypotheses, and it was all she could do not to tell him to shut up and leave her alone. She had to get away.

“I need to visit the little girl’s room.” She blurted out the statement knowing how awkward and artificial it sounded.

Armen squinted at her. “Sure.” His mouth tightened into a strained smile. “You’re on your own, though. They don’t let me near the Women’s room anymore. Not since that incident involving sheep and plastic grocery bags.”

She stared at him wanting to scream, “Stop being so damn clever.” She collected her crutches and left without another word, or even a look back.

She reached the bathroom and thanked her lucky stars it was empty. With a steadiness that belied her turmoil, she laid her crutches against the tiled wall, leaned heavily onto a sink, staring at herself in the mirror. “What’s your problem, Pinkwater?”

The answer came as if someone scrawled it with lipstick across the glass.
I’m a married woman.

A sonorous voice from the back of her mind answered,
Since when?
Ben’s voice. The voice he used when teasing her, trying to get her to smile.

“Since forever, you reprobate Indian.” she said aloud. “Twenty-five years, remember?”

You could have fooled me. I thought I was singing
in the heavenly choir these last sixteen months.

“You know what I mean.” This time she almost shouted but caught herself, not really sure how thick the bathroom walls were. “Besides, you never believed in heaven. You were a damn redskin pagan.”

Still am, babe, but that’s beside the point.

A pair of black women entered the bathroom, looked at her like they thought she might be dangerous and disappeared into adjacent stalls.

“What is the point?” she whispered.

The point is you like what’s his name. And in spite
of the fact that he’s a scrawny little son of a bitch, I like
him, too. The question is, what are you going to do
about it?

“I don’t know. I probably already freaked him out with my abrupt exit.” Her mind framed Armen tip-toeing out of the restaurant, sneaking backward glances as the door shut behind him.

You know better than that. Give yourself and this
paleface time to figure it out. Remember what I always
used to say?

Both women emerged from their respective stalls like they’d invented a new Olympic event—synchronized urination.

Screw it.

Bonnie locked eyes with one of the women. “Ben used to say, ‘Take it easy, but don’t forget to take it.’ Good advice, wouldn’t you say?”

The two black women exchanged looks and the one Bonnie had spoken to nodded. “Good advice.”

“Damn right. And that’s just what I’m going to do.” Bonnie gathered her crutches and left.

Armen stood when she approached. His eyes searched hers. “You okay?”

Depends on whether you consider a ladies’ room
conversation with a dead husband anywhere in the vicinity
of okay.
“I’ll let you know after I figure it out.”

He leaned in and kissed her square on the lips. It wasn’t the most passionate or expert kiss in the history of kisses, but it wasn’t bad.

She pulled back just enough to see his face. “How bold you are, Mister Callahan.”

“You better believe it, sweetheart.” Armen slurred the last word.

“Humphrey Bogart?”

He kissed her again, this time on the tip of the nose. “There’s hope for you yet.”

BONNIE HUNKERED INTO ALICE’S PASSENGER SEAT staring at Highway Eighty-Four and the hogback ridge that ran parallel a quarter mile away. A herd of antelope grazed on the ridge’s slope. A red-tailed hawk soared above them. Its shadow swam like a winged gray fish across the prairie grass. “You said you had two problems with Edmund Sheridan. I’m not saying we’re done with the first, but tell me about the second.”

Armen had been humming to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He stopped and regarded her. His eyes looked tired. “Actually, Keene put me onto the thought when he asked if you believed Missus Poole.”

She had to think a moment to place the memory in context. “About whether someone else drove Jesse’s truck?”

He alternately waggled his fingers, his hands a pair of pistols. “Yes and no. This time I’m thinking about the night of Peyton’s disappearance. The whole business of Peyton’s supposed kidnapping is rooted in one boy’s sighting of that same truck.”

God damn, you’re good.
“Edmund.”

Armen nodded, now looking more excited than tired. “Give the lady a cigar. Except we already know that Jesse was at the hospice and not at the Academy. So, either this was the first instance of someone borrowing Jesse’s truck, or—“

Bonnie laughed and slapped the seat. “Or Jesse’s truck was never at the Interfaith Academy!”

“Or Jesse’s truck was never there,” Armen agreed.

“Edmund was the only one who actually said he saw it.”

The unspoken thought that Edmund was lying stalled in Bonnie’s mind. “You know the boy could have been mistaken about the truck.”

“Oh, really?”

The remark stopped just short of sarcastic.

You’re a lot more polite than I am, Armen Callahan.
If I heard you make that ridiculous assertion I
would have laughed in your face.
She sighed. “Yes, the probability is high that if Edmund saw Jesse’s truck he also saw the front license plate. And yes, Edmund, like most of East Plains High School, is familiar with Jesse’s BCKDRFT vanity plate.”

Armen tapped his chin, adopting a what can we deduce from this smirk.

If he wasn’t driving, Bonnie would have dug her fingers into his ribs and tickled away that expression. “Remember what happened when you thought Wendy Newlin was lying.”

Armen waved his hand in protest. “What’s the alternative? That some wacko stole the truck, drove out to East Plains so he could follow the school van to within a few blocks of the Interfaith Academy, then high tail it back to the hospice? Why?”

“So he could be seen following the van.”

Armen pursed his lips as if he meant to object, but she cut him off. “Don’t get your Joe Boxers in a knot. It sounds screwy to me, too.”

He glanced down at his lap and smiled. “How did you know?”

She reddened. “Men. I’m just psychic, you dirty old fart.” She dug her phone from her fanny pack, but stopped short of turning it on. “This won’t do.”

“You thinking of calling Edmund?”

You got a pipeline into my brain, Callahan?
“I was, but I need to read his face when I ask him about the truck.” She tugged at her ear. “You live close to Edmund, don’t you?”

Armen nodded. “My trailer park is about three miles from the Sheridan place.” He smiled conspiratorially. “And I do need to change my clothes. Been wearing these stinkeroos for the past two days.”

Bonnie pinched her nose. “You’re telling me.”

“You going to give Edmund any warning you’re coming?”

She yawned, thinking of the long drive to the Sheridan place. She certainly didn’t want Edmund to take it into his blond spiked head to split once he knew they were coming. “Let’s surprise the little bugger. What’s the worst that could happen?”

CHAPTER 10

T
HE HUM OF TIRES ON BLACKTOP HAD almost lulled Bonnie to sleep when her cell phone rang. She dragged herself back to wakefulness the way a spelunker might hoist herself out of a limestone pit. She yawned.

The phone lay heavy in her hand. “Speak to me.”

Bonnie arranged herself for minimum pain and maximum attentiveness on Alice’s passenger seat. Hopefully, the act would fool whoever was calling into thinking they’d reached someone who wasn’t as torpid as a beached whale. With any luck she’d even fool herself.

“Missus Pinkwater?” Ali Griffith’s voice trembled. The girl sounded afraid, but there was something else, a hint of steel.

Bonnie sat up straight, ignoring the dull ache in her foot. “You got me, honey. What’s going on?”

“Mother and I just got off the phone with that policeman I talked to last night. He told us about Stephanie’s murder.”

How the hell do I respond to that? Console the girl
about the death of her friend or apologize for not telling
her? This having to be sharp while in sleep mode is
the pits. Posture doesn’t help a tinker’s dam.

The problem was taken out of Bonnie’s incapable hands by Rhiannon breaking onto the line. “What’s the big idea, Pinkwater? Why didn’t you tell us about Stephanie’s murder when you were here? This is a hell of a way for Ali to find out about her friend’s death.”

Bonnie’s instinct to fight grabbed hold. “Hello to you too, Rhiannon. Happy Beltane.”

“Mother, get off the line.” Ali spoke the five words with the authority of someone who would brook no argument. If there were recriminations to make, she would make them.

A long silence ensued. Bonnie pictured a war raging between Rhiannon’s desire to comply with her daughter and the overwhelming urge to harangue Bonnie Pinkwater, deceiver and abuser of witch hospitality. The former won out with a final grumble followed by an even more final click.

“I’m sorry, Ali. I should have told you.” Bonnie felt roughly three inches tall. Whereas she would have grappled with Rhiannon, she had no wish to bandy words with this woman-child. Whatever the girl wanted to dish out she’d grin and take it.

“Damn right, you should have.” Ali’s voice broke, and time passed while she wept at her end.

Armen laid a sympathetic hand on Bonnie’s knee. She offered him a sad, pained smile. “Thanks.”

Ali sniffled and drew ragged breath, signaling a respite in tears. “I was so mad at you, my hand shook when I tried to punch in your number. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to be mad at you, not like this.”

In the strange world of teacher-student relationships, the revelation made sense. The give and take of distance versus friendship defined a peculiar type of synergy—one, which at this moment, needed to be neutralized. “You’re allowed. I screwed up, sweetie. You should have heard about Stephanie from me. The best defense I can muster is to say the time never seemed right.”

Ali drew a long breath and released it. “I feel so awful, Missus P. I don’t know how to be angry with you and so sad about Steph at the same time.”

Bonnie wanted to reach through the phone and wrap this injured child in her arms. Bonnie’s world went hazy as liquid collected in her eyes. She blinked it away.

You don’t get to be weepy, Pinkwater. Right now,
your job is to be strong.
“How about you save your anger and share it with your mother? Let her blast me a good one the next time we meet. I’m thinking she’s probably better at it.”

Ali laughed, sounding more like a little girl than an eighteen-year old woman. “Count on it. Mother’s working on a curse.”

Bonnie joined in the laughter, more than a little alarmed that a long time witch was mixing potions to do her hurt. “Tell your mother she’s too nice a person to do any such thing. Also tell her quickly how sorry I am. What about you? Do you want to talk?”

Again a long silence. When Ali finally spoke she whispered, “Mother’s in the next room. I needed to make sure she wasn’t listening. I’m kind of mixed up right now.”

Join the club.

Something was going on here that went beyond grief for a murdered friend. What did Ali have to say that couldn’t be said in front of Rhiannon? “Take your time, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I lied to the policeman.”

Well, that’s certainly unexpected.

Bonnie tugged at her ear trying to draft her next sentence and the right tone of voice to go with it. “Run that by me again with a tad more detail.”

“Missus P, I know he had nothing to do with Stephanie’s murder. He may be screwy and immature, but he’s no murderer.”

In a back-assward sort of way, Ali’s blurted assertions eased Bonnie’s growing concern. “Relax, Ali. I don’t think Peyton had anything to do with Stephanie’s murder.”

“I’m not talking about Peyton. He loved Stephanie.”

“Then who . . . ?” No sooner had the words cleared her lips than she knew the answer. “Edmund?”

“I didn’t exactly lie. I just kept something from Officer Valsecci. I didn’t want to get Edmund in trouble.”

Holy shit.

“What exactly did you hold back?” She struggled to keep the anxiety out of her voice. No point in telling this already upset girl that Edmund fit, in unknown ways, into the Peyton Newlin puzzle. Was he also a cornerpiece in Stephanie’s death?

“Do you remember how angry Stephanie was with Peyton the night of the competition?” Ali asked.

“Uh huh. She felt Peyton was the reason we played poorly, but she changed her mind. By the time I came outside she was blaming herself.”

“There’s a reason for her change of heart.”

Bonnie was losing patience with this piecemeal form of revelation. Why wouldn’t Ali just say what she wanted to say? “Edmund told her something?”

“All the way to the parking lot, Stephanie went on about how Peyton had let us down. By the time we reached the van she wanted to strangle him. I’d never seen her so mad. Edmund took her aside, and in a heartbeat she came back crying.”

Connections formed in Bonnie’s mind so fast she could barely speak. She shunted them aside and asked, “Do you know what Edmund told Stephanie?”

“Not really. Just before you showed up, Edmund reminded Stephanie about some promise. He made a special point that Stephanie say nothing to you.”

“To me?” Bonnie wasn’t exactly sure why that bothered her so much.

Let it go, you big baby. You’re a grownup, remember?
“Looking back, what do you guess Edmund told her?”

“Once Peyton turned up missing, I figured it had to do with him running away and the reasons he did it.”

I’m figuring the same thing.
“But you didn’t tell any of this to Officer Valsecci?”

“I didn’t think the two things were related. You know, Peyton’s disappearance and Stephanie’s murder. I didn’t want to get Edmund in trouble. Now I’m not so sure.”

Well, I’m damn well sure. The boy’s standing hip
deep in bad Kim Chi.
“Ali, Sergeant Valsecci needs to know this stuff.”

Armen turned onto East Plains Road. They’d be at Edmund’s in a matter of minutes.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

“I don’t think so.” Ali let some time pass before she spoke again. “Missus P?”

Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that Missus P.
“Ali G?”

“About that business of not telling me about Stephanie. Do you figure you owe me . . . just a little?”

There was something sleazy and manipulative in the way Ali was using the death of her friend to finagle a favor.
You said you would take whatever the girl
dished out.
“You want me to smooth the waters with Sergeant Valsecci?”

“Would you?”

Again she sounded more like a little girl than a woman, but this time the effect was studied. While Bonnie considered her reply, the blue and red fortress that was East Plains Junior/Senior High School passed by on the left. The next left turn would be Belleview, the road to Edmund’s.

What the hell, why not?
“Look, I’m heading out to the Sheridan place. I’ll get a hold of Valsecci when I’m done there.”

“You’re going to Edmund’s?”

Something in the way Ali asked the question made Bonnie wary.
You shouldn’t have told her, Pinkwater.
What a blabbermouth you are.
A mental picture of Ali phoning Edmund to warn him sprang fullblown into her mind.

“It has nothing to do with you, or what you’ve told me. I just need to ask Edmund some questions about the time after Stephanie’s mom took the two of you home.”

Armen turned onto Belleview. In the distance, the TV antenna rising above the Sheridan’s chimney looked like a stick man dancing against the slate of the afternoon sky.

“Thank you, Missus Pinkwater. I knew I could count on you.”

My full name? My, my, she’s laying it on thick.
“I’ve got to go, honey.”

“I’ll try to slow mother up on that curse.”

“You do that. I’ve got no desire to lose my hair or grow another limb. See you later.”

As Bonnie turned off her phone, Armen brought Alice to a stop. “You want to tell me what’s going on? You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“Two lemons, Callahan—one Asian, the other pagan. Okay, let me lay it out for you.” She ran down what Ali had told her and her final impression of the girl. “What do you think?”

All through the telling Armen had grown increasingly animated. His ears were pink and looked like they were getting ready to twitch. “You want the conservative opinion, or the gonzo gut reaction?”

“Both.”

“Conservative first. Let’s put aside your feelings about Ali Griffith and concentrate on this business with Edmund. Also, let’s not allow our other suspicions about the boy to color our judgment.”

“Wow. I’ve always been a sucker for an articulate man.” She fanned the front of her face as if she might faint. “Speak on, MacDuff.”

“Then you hush, Lady Macbeth. Here’s the bottom line. We don’t know what Edmund said to Stephanie, but it might have been something as innocent as telling her about the abusive situation in Peyton’s home. To a young girl with a strong sense of justice this alone could have brought on tears and made her forgive the boy.”

Bonnie had to admit she loved the sound of this Science teacher’s voice. “Now give me your gonzo take.”

He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Edmund Sheridan knew all and told all. He knew before he entered that school Peyton meant to run away. He probably helped the boy genius escape. He came back later and picked him up.”

“Then Edmund deceived me from the beginning. It also explains why he hung around the Academy.”

Armen nodded, his face grave. “He wanted to keep an eye on you and make darn sure Peyton wasn’t found. Now we come to the business of Stephanie Templeton.”

Bonnie’s heart sank with the direction the logic was taking them. “Edmund had second thoughts about Stephanie’s trustworthiness. He killed her to shut her up.”

She shook her head as if by doing so she could negate this line of reasoning. “It seems far too severe a solution. We’re talking about a teenager running away, not Mafia secrets. And where was Peyton in the middle of all of this? Surely he wouldn’t stand by and let harm come to Stephanie.”

Armen waved an impatient hand. “Slow down. It didn’t have to be planned. Try this scenario. Edmund and Stephanie agree to meet later that evening to further discuss Peyton’s situation. They have a disagreement. Things get out of hand. Edmund kills Stephanie.”

“With a baseball bat? And where is Peyton during all of this?”

Armen stroked his beard. “Fulton Hill. Stephanie rode there with Edmund to see Peyton.”

She shook her head so violently her foot protested.

“That still makes Peyton Newlin an accomplice to Stephanie’s murderer. I don’t believe it.”

Armen spread wide his hands, once again the reasonable man, this time giving the problem back to her.

“You have a more likely scenario?”

Bonnie wanted to scream. She could feel the elements of this conundrum circulating about her brain, but somehow she was still missing something key to finding a solution.

“No, damn it.” She nodded toward Edmund’s house. “But I think some of our answers are in there.”

He took hold of her upper arm. “If I’m right, we’re talking about confronting a murderer on his own turf.”

“Turf?” She formed her mouth around the ludicrous sounding word and laughed. “Armen, this isn’t
West Side Story
, and you’re not Officer Krapski.”

“That’s Krupke and don’t change the subject.” Armen grabbed the top of his head like it might explode. “You know, you might be one of the most exasperating women I’ve ever grown fond of. Have you considered this boy may have already tried to kill you?”

The smile froze on her face. She couldn’t laugh this question away. “Yes, it’s occurred to me Edmund might be the driver that tried to run me down.”

Armen had laid his hand in the space between them, and she covered it with her own. “I have to do this, Armen. If it was Edmund, I’ll know it when I speak to him.”

He nodded. “No chance of calling Valsecci? You did tell Ali you would.”

“I didn’t say when.”