EIGHT

Tuesday afternoon Kiana slid onto the tall stool in the front window of the coffee shop. She took out the yellow notebook she’d carried all day long and spread it on the round table. The top six pages, in four colors of ink and an assortment of scribbles, represented her entire day. Not a lick of schoolwork had been done. None of that mattered. There were times when other things took precedence over schoolwork. In spite of Mr. Reynolds denial of her request to form a detective group, and Evan’s less than excited response to the same idea, the day had gone well. Only a few hours into the case and, without anyone else’s help, she’d uncovered two clues. Maybe she should rethink the idea of a group and go this on her own.

No. Bad idea. She needed Evan.

Two clues so far. The first had come from Mr. Reynolds that morning: the fact that a makeup tube was used as the murder weapon. No doubt it came from the drama department closet, though it didn’t seem as though the authorities had figured that out yet. Kiana had to admit, as she’d stood in the closet staring down at the empty spaces in the makeup box, she’d been unable to stop the shiver of apprehension. The image of a stranger lurking in the back rooms of the auditorium, their private sanctuary, so to speak, was definitely unnerving.

What if the killer wasn’t a stranger? What if it was one of the students—certainly not a drama student, but someone else, someone she rubbed elbows with at the locker, or passed a towel to in the locker room, or shared a smile with in the too-slow cafeteria line? Try as she might, Kiana couldn’t imagine a student, any student, wanting Gwen out of the way. Supposedly, never had a bad word been spoken against her.

The murderer wasn’t likely to be somebody off the street because no killer-to-be would come all the way to the school for the murder weapon. They would use the closest thing at hand. Because of the choice of murder weapon, this couldn’t be a totally random crime by a random person. So that meant the killer had to be someone Gwen knew well. Someone who worked at the school. In classes during the day she had imagined each teacher in the position of killer. As Mrs. McFee spouted equations, as Mrs. Ball recited music theory, and Mr. Philmore parsed sentences, she couldn’t stop thinking that one of them might be a cold-blooded killer. Not a comforting thought. She was beginning to understand why Ms. Deacon refused to get involved.

There were a lot of teachers in Carlson High School, but the ones who came in contact with Ms. Forest, ones who might have a grudge against her, had to be few. When Evan arrived, they would discuss the possibilities.

Of course, there was the off chance the killer hadn’t taken the tube from the drama department and that Gwen had some at home—to help with a Halloween costume or something. And the murderer had in fact used the first thing at hand. That could explain why the cops hadn’t marked any importance to the ones at school. Still. A tube of makeup was an unusual thing to just pick up and use as a murder weapon.

The premise that Gwen might have the makeup at home opened up a whole new group of potential killers. What if this was a totally random homicide? Not really likely, was it? But Kiana guessed you had to look at every possibility. Sure, maybe that person was in Gwen’s apartment, maybe selling magazines, and saw the tube sitting on a counter. No, that didn’t ring right at all. Gwen was a fastidious housekeeper. She wouldn’t leave it sitting out like that.

Which brought her to the second clue: Evan’s contact lens case—if it even was a clue. She’d spent quite some time mulling over possible complications in telling him she’d found it. Not that she thought he was the murderer, no way. Chances were better that somebody was trying to frame him. And if she told Evan where she found it, he might be forward enough to confront people. Which would put him in danger. In spite of the urgency to find Gwen’s killer, Kiana would never knowingly do that.

In spite of Principal Reynolds’ admonition, and in spite of the possible danger, she would form this group. She—they—would bring Ms. Forest’s killer to justice. Kiana spent a few minutes rereading her notes and eating a muffin. A throat clearing sound had her looking up to see that Evan had arrived. He removed his glasses, plucked a napkin from the holder on the table and cleaned them.

“Is that the list you gave me earlier?” At her nod he added, “It’s grown a lot.”

“I can’t stop thinking about all this.”

“Great, where do we start?”

She tapped the notebook with the tip of her pencil. “We have to go through Ms. Forest’s things. First, her office because that’s easier to get into. Afterward, her car, and then her apartment. I think the most important thing is to figure out why somebody wanted her dead.”

“You mean if it wasn’t totally arbitrary.”

Exactly what she’d been thinking. Funny how that happened so often between them.

“Want anything else to eat?”

“No thanks.”

He went to the counter and placed an order. He returned with a tall Styrofoam cup, sat and sipped through the small hole in the top.

“How come you got a to-go cup?” Kiana asked.

“Because, Kee, you said you wanted to search Ms. Forest’s office. I was being prepared.”

“The perfect Eagle scout.”

“I’m not a— Oh, you’re joking.” He didn’t grin. “Before we go, I have a couple of questions. First, if you planned to search Ms. Forest’s office, why didn’t we do it while we were in school?”

“I went there twice. First time, Mrs. Deacon was in the office. I heard the rustle of paper so I figured she was reading scripts and would be there a while. The second time, she was in the green room, rummaging in the storage closet.” Evan put down his cup and reached a finger to lift a lock of Kiana’s hair that had fallen toward her cup. She’d leaned back in the seat with a nervous laugh. “This has me really wired.”

“Ya think?” They both laughed. “The second question,” he went on, “is, how do you plan on getting into Ms. Forest’s car and apartment? And, are we doing all this tonight or spreading it out?”

“Right now, we’re going back to the school. The janitors are still in the building. There’s got to be a door open somewhere.”

“With alarms going off all over the place.”

She wouldn’t think about that right now. “C’mon, let’s go.” Kiana slid off the stool. And slipped right back on, almost in one motion.

“What’s—” Evan started to say then realized the cause of her hesitation: Ms. Deacon had come in. “Did she see us?”

“I don’t think so. But so what if she does? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Yet.”

They waited till their substitute teacher left then did likewise.

* * * *

At school, it wasn’t hard finding an unlocked door. They walked quietly along the freshly polished tile floor, listening for the location of the pair of janitors who worked all hours of the night. Kiana and Evan made it to the auditorium without meeting, or hearing anyone.

“Any idea how we’re going to get into the office?” Evan asked.

Kiana took a small string of keys from her pocket. “One day, a long time ago, Ms. Forest was out sick. She asked me to bring something from her office and gave me the key. I realized yesterday that I’d forgotten to give it back.”

“Did you forget on purpose?”

“’Course not,” she lied. She had kept that key on purpose. Possession of it would keep her closer to the one person in her life who treated her like an adult.

They shut the office door and locked it, then stood there taking in the small spartanly finished room.

“Where do we start?” Evan asked.

“You check the closet, I’ll look in the desk. Make sure you check everything: coat pockets and things like that.”

“You want me to tear out seams and dig into makeup containers for microdots?”

“Don’t be a wise guy.”

Kiana walked around the beat-up desk, with the lineup of mousetraps across the front. She grinned recalling how Mrs. Deacon had discovered one of them on a chair—the chair she or Evan usually used. “Wonder why Mrs. Deacon put the traps like this.”

Evan turned from his search of the closet. “Maybe as a message to the person who put them here. You know, ‘Don’t mess with me.’”

“Yes, but why in here? The office is locked all the time. She’s the only person who’ll see them.”

“Dunno.”

The only other things on the desk were what she’d expect: a stapler, a coffee mug holding pens and pencils, and a blotter decorated with notes in Ms. Forest’s precise handwriting in the small calendar squares. Funny that there was nothing personal—no dentist appointments, no secret late-night dates, just stuff like the date all costumes had to be ready, the date of the final dress rehearsal.

Only one thing marred the blotter’s perfect appearance: Friday and Saturday nights, the dates of their performance. The dates they hoped to save the school’s drama program. Three days from today. The days were circled so many times in red ink that the pen had worn through the page. Kiana smiled. Nice to see the date was as important to Ms. Forest as it was to them. Just then, she realized that no matter what happened this weekend, Ms. Forest’s death would most certainly signal the end of the drama program. She had been the glue that held the whole thing together; she was the connection between the kids and the school board. Kiana swallowed the sadness and wondered whether to change high schools. Rumor had it that Nashua had a good drama program. Maybe she could transfer there. She’d need the credits and the experience to qualify for Greensboro College’s advanced program.

“Hey, should we coordinate our stories in case somebody comes in?” Evan asked.

“They won’t care; we’re here after hours all the time.”

“With Ms. Forest.”

“Yes, but we’re still preparing for a performance.”

“Right.” The single word was spoken a little hoarsely. Evan ducked back into the closet. His top half disappeared inside. Kiana wondered if he was hiding tears.

“Nothing in here,” came the soft words, “except that yellow jacket Ms. Forest always wore.”

Gwen wore that jacket all the time. Kiana swallowed a lump and went back to business. She’d worry about the program and her education later. Probably thinking about school was a waste of time anyway. The only place her parents could afford to send her was right here in the state. None of the colleges had any accredited drama courses. Which might solidify her parents’ desire to keep her out of the theater altogether.

Kiana pulled open the middle drawer. Nothing important here, just office and theater stuff: push pins, highlighters, a bag of rubber bands, a box of staples. The top left drawer held a half a ream of paper, though there was no printer or computer in the room. The next drawer held a coffee mug, really out of place since Ms. Forest didn’t drink coffee or tea. Was it a clue? Kiana nearly laughed. Probably not.

The drawers on the other side yielded no clues either.

Every teacher she knew kept personal things around their classrooms. Things like pictures of their families, a book to read during breaks, a spare pair of shoes. But there was nothing here to indicate Ms. Forest even had a personal life. Kiana circled away from the desk. Her hip caught on the corner of the blotter and dragged it part way off the desk. A rectangular piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Just then Evan came out of the closet. He spotted the paper and scurried to retrieve it for Kiana. A real gentleman. He handed it to her but remained peering over her shoulder at a photograph. It was in color but obviously not taken recently. The couple, probably in their late teens, stood in front of a stately brick building under a pair of spreading maple trees.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Ms. Forest. Her hair’s longer, and she’s wearing bangs that cover her eyes, but it looks like her.”

“Gotta be, look at that mole near her left ear.”

“That’s her all right. But who’s the guy?” Kiana leaned in closer. The man was about six feet tall with thick-rimmed glasses, long hair and a beard. Their arms were companionably around each other.

“He looks familiar,” Evan said.

“Wish we had one of those computer programs that can remove hair.”

“He sure has a lot of it.” Evan laughed. “In the movies, guys dressed like that are hiding their identity.”

“Looks like they’re in front of a school.”

“A college maybe. Where did Ms. Forest go to school?”

“Two places. Bridgewater State. It’s in Massachusetts. After that she went to the University of California.”

“This doesn’t look like California. You think it’s Massachusetts? What kind of trees are those?”

“Duh. They’re maples.” Kiana slid the photo into her back jeans pocket. “Did you find anything in the closet?”

“Nothing much. A change of clothes, a sweatsuit, an umbrella, and a pair of running shoes. Before you ask, there was nothing in any of the pockets. And I didn’t find any microfilm.”

Kiana crossed to the old sofa against the far wall. Ms. Forest had bought it at a yard sale for ten dollars. She’d borrowed Mr. Chalmers’ pickup truck then asked Kiana and Evan to help haul it in here. It was an ugly piece of furniture, but Ms. Forest said it filled up the space and provided a good place to read manuscripts and things like that. Kiana knelt on the floor and looked under the couch. Nothing but a warren of dust bunnies.

With no place else to look, the teens left the office. They searched the costume room, poking into pockets and shaking shoes. They did a more thorough search of the storage closet though there was really no point to any of it, the cops had been here already. From the mess she and the others had cleaned up that morning, they hadn’t missed anything.

Again, Evan voiced Kiana’s thoughts. “Darn, I really hoped we’d find something.”

“Maybe we did with the photo.”

“You sure we should’ve taken it? Maybe we should just make a—”

“What photo?”

The teens spun at the sound of an intruder’s voice. There stood one of the janitors—the skinny one with the silly mustache. Kiana couldn’t recall ever hearing his name. Not that it mattered. He held a mop in one hand and a look on his face like he might consider using it as a weapon.

“Hi,” said Evan, always the master of dialogue. “We were getting the costumes ready.”

“Were you now?”

Kiana jumped in to help Evan. “You know, for the performance this weekend.”

“Yes,” said Evan, “the one to save the drama program.”

The termination of the program was obviously news to the man so Kiana used it to bolster their case. She launched into a long-winded monologue about the death of the program because of waning funds. “Now that Ms. Forest is…gone,” she said with true sadness, “I—we don’t know what’ll happen regardless of how things turn out this weekend.”

“Happening all over the place,” the man said.

“That’s right,” Evan said. “My dad’s hours got cut at work. You’re probably worried about your job too. I have an idea, why don’t I tell all the kids to mess things up before we go home every day. Give you some job security.”

“You kids couldn’t leave it worse than you do. Between graffiti on the bathroom walls and trash in the classrooms, my job is secure.”

Kiana bit her tongue to keep from mentioning the dirt under the office couch and the microwave table in the teachers’ lounge.

“Well,” Evan said, clearly not ready to give up the topic, “you hear all the time about job cuts and people forced to do the work of two people.”

The janitor nodded solemnly.

“What do you think Kiana,” said Evan, “do the costumes seem okay to you?”

“All except Dan’s. We’ve got to get his slacks mended.”

Not missing a beat, Evan added, “Yeah. And don’t forget your—did you know Kiana was the leading lady?” to which the janitor shook his head. “Don’t forget that necklace you were going to borrow from your aunt.”

“Gosh, I should write that down.” She found a pad of paper on the table and scribbled NECKLACE in large letters. “Okay, I guess we’re through here. Ready Evan?”

He nodded. Kiana stepped around the janitor keeping one eye on that mop.

“Before you go,” said the janitor, “tell me about that photograph you stole.”