ELEVEN

Angie hung up the phone feeling relieved. Sending that photo to Jarvis released her from responsibility of delivering it to the cops, of being further involved. He would stay up all night figuring out the photo’s clues. Then he’d send it the whole business to the authorities. No further need to worry about it. Sleep could be restful and plentiful tonight.

She reheated the Chinese food in the microwave and settled at the small table, with the heavy drapes open. She dumped the necklace out of the bag. It had an excellent quality gold chain with intricately woven links, but the most remarkable feature was the sapphire colored stone. She held it up and watched the light bounce around inside. And frowned. She’d never before noticed light reflected inside a fake stone. Angie held it closer to the bulb. It looked to be good quality, the setting was tight, the stones well set. She shrugged, put the pendant in the container with her other jewelry then returned to her dinner.

Below, and across the quiet street, shadow-people ambled about in the dim yellow glow of the streetlights. Directly across from her fifth floor room, a man stood in an office window on the same floor as Angie. He was balding and tallish, wearing dark slacks and a light color shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary except he stared at her. A tiny part of Angie considered slamming the curtains shut. A larger and bolder part of her remained there, sometimes looking right at him, sometimes breaking the contact and looking at elongated clouds on the navy blue and slate gray skyline. The man obviously tried to rattle her. Stupid man to think he could.

The guy looked a little like Josh Philmore—the English teacher. The kids seemed to like him though Angie didn’t know how she herself felt about him. Her first impression that morning had been one of a quiet, self-effacing man who adored his wife. One who went all the way to her shop to make sure she felt okay after the death of her best friend. All day, something about that meeting didn’t feel right. The scene in front of the shop played in her mind. Loving husband arrives, surprises wife. Angie used to love it when Will did that. It provided a nice break in the day. But there had been something off-kilter about their exchange. Josh had been valiant in disguising it, but the more Angie thought on the topic, the more an underlying tension became evident. The way Cilla leaned against him, the way he resisted slightly before putting his arm around her. Question was, if he felt a reluctance to touch her, what brought him to the shop? Only one thing Angie could think of—he was checking up on her. Possibly Cilla had been unfaithful. Possibly he had. In Angie’s experience, the man’s cheating usually made him insecure enough to start checking to see how the wife utilized her time. With nothing more than a simple body movement forming the theory, Angie looked again for the man in the office building. But he had gone.

She tugged on the rod to shut the drapes and sat to read one of the plays from the heavy manila envelope. Dead Restraint’s cover letter proclaimed it as a suspense—one of her favorite genres. Angie loved standing in the wings and watching the audience’s reaction to suspense plots, edge of the seat, hands gripped on armrests. And leaping out of those chairs when the ‘aha’ moment happened. Yes, suspense definitely sold tickets. She made notes to talk with Tyson about this one. She also wanted to discuss producing Adrift, the kids’ play. They might be able to use the cast—hopefully the kids would be excited about another set of performances. Prince & Pauper would make part of the proceeds available for the school’s drama program. She could already envision the advertising possibilities.

She stood and stretched out the kinks. She groped between the panels of the drapes and looked outside. It was almost dark, just a hint of light still oozing between the buildings. No stars, which probably meant the warmth of the day still remained. Making sure the guy from the window across the street was still gone, she slipped into a sweater, tucked the room key into a pocket, and left the room.

Moments later, Angie stepped into the cool, fresh air where just a hint of exhaust fumes remained. By the time she went for her morning jog they’d be all blown away. For a couple of hours the air would be the cleanest and freshest of the day.

She stood on the sidewalk taking in the mood of the neighborhood. This area was mostly businesses and offices and, because of the late hour, quiet. Only the whoosh of the occasional car on the cooling pavement broke the sound of night dropping over the town. Angie drew out her phone and dialed Tyson’s cell number. He answered on the second ring, which meant he was alone at home.

“Hey partner,” he said. “How’re things in school?”

“Good. Really good.”

“You aren’t thinking of ditching me for the educational scene, are you?”

“Not a chance. How’re things there?”

He said, “Okay,” way too fast. Things weren’t okay at all.

“We have to do it, you know,” she said.

“Let her go?”

“Yes Tyson. We have to fire her.”

He heaved a giant sigh. “I know.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow and do it. I don’t have my schedule here, I’ll call you in the morning and let you know when I can get there.”

“You don’t have to. I can do it.”

She laughed, garnering the attention of a couple walking past. Angie realized she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk and backed out of their path. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

She didn’t miss the relief in his tone when he said, “I hate to have you drive all the way back for that.”

“Get a good night’s sleep. Bye.” As she dropped the phone in her pocket, a cab slid to a stop in front of the hotel. A man stepped out. Angie thought she recognized him, but as he turned to pay the driver she lost sight of his face.

She continued on her way, past shops shuttered and locked tight for the night. Crime was one thing she didn’t miss about living in the city. Born a small town girl in a Cape Cod suburb, Angie had lived in the city only once, in Providence, Rhode Island, while she attended nursing school. One thing she loved about city life, always something to do, nice for a girl who didn’t sleep well.

Angie thought about the man she’d seen getting out of the cab and realized who it was—Ted Chalmers. She should go back. He’d obviously come to see her. No way he’d come to shoot the breeze. No way he’d come to discuss the play. Angie kept walking. As a matter of fact, she picked up her pace. Not that she wanted to ignore the sad Ted Chalmers, but he’d established himself as a leaner-on, somebody who liked to cry out his troubles on somebody else’s shoulder—even a stranger’s. She hoped that by avoiding him he’d find a friend or family member to talk to.

She walked for five blocks. The air turned cool; she was glad for the sweater. A few people were out enjoying the last of the evening. She nodded to a teenage boy carrying a football and a helmet, said hello to a woman walking a standard poodle, and felt a moment’s homesickness thinking of the beautiful Irish setter puppy probably cuddled up with Jarvis in bed. A very appealing place to be right now.

Rather than retrace her steps, Angie walked east one block then a block south to explore the parallel street. Not much different. Another chain bookstore, another chain coffee shop, another bar, a restaurant—this one Hindu instead of Indian. The aromas coming from the Hindu restaurant nearly drew her inside. Maybe tomorrow night she’d take herself out for dinner. Or, better yet, maybe Jarvis would drive down for a visit.

At a quarter to ten Angie arrived back at the hotel. The lobby was empty. This time she pushed the elevator button. Experience had proven that so much stair climbing just before bed was not conducive to sleep. The elevator door whooshed open. Out stepped Ted Chalmers. He seemed tired but quite glad to see her. Had he spent all that time hanging around the hallway near her room? A better question would be, how had he gotten her room number? Angie would have hoped things like that were confidential.

Ted stood about five foot ten and was maybe forty-five years old. The hooded sweatshirt hung loose on his upper body, but the jeans outlined thick thighs and calves. The sweatshirt’s zipper was down about six inches, displaying a thick tangle of black curls. His demeanor seemed like that of a lost child. Why not? In the last few days his fiancée had been murdered and the school he worked for had virtually accused him of the deed. Nice to work at a place for a long time then find your co-workers believed you could commit such an act.

“Hi Angie.”

“Hi.” She made sure her voice didn’t convey too much welcome. At this late hour he should be home in bed. She should be in bed.

“I, er, wanted to talk to you.”

“I kind of figured that.”

“Can we go upstairs?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s sit in the bar.”

They sat at a corner in a darkish area of the nearly empty hotel bar. A huge widescreen TV playing a football game kept most of the customers occupied.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked. He didn’t apologize for his late visit, which took him down a notch in her opinion. “Randy told me about your suspension. I’m sorry.”

“I already started looking for another job—not in teaching—because even after I’m found innocent, they’ll never take me back. No school will ever hire me.”

Angie nodded. She’d already told Randy this. In Randy’s defense, suspending Ted was really all he could do.

The bartender arrived at the table. She ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc; Ted asked for a light beer and an order of buffalo wings.

“I can’t believe Randy could hang me out to dry like that.”

“I understand it was the school board. Randy went to bat for you.” She plucked a napkin from the holder on the table. “You realize the suspension doesn’t mean anybody—even the school board—thinks you’re guilty of anything. They’re protecting the school and the students.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. It’s just that—I went to see Josh and Cilla…and they wouldn’t open the door.”

“Are you sure they were home?” Damn. Even to her ears the excuse sounded empty. How could she defend perfect strangers? “All I mean is, maybe they need time to come to terms with this—the same as you.”

“I know. It’s just been such a… You know we were getting married?”

Angie nodded. Had he forgotten about their meeting at McDonalds?

“I didn’t kill her.”

She gave another nod.

“You doubt me also?”

“No Ted. It’s just that I’m not the person you should be telling this to. I’m a stranger come only to help the kids out of a tough situation.”

The server delivered the beer and wine to the table. Angie sipped hers right away, wishing she’d ordered something stronger. “Did you and Gwen meet at school?”

A smile pushed away the sad face for a moment. “Yes. Her first day there. She was getting the orientation from Randy. I went to his office to—well, that doesn’t matter, does it? We hit it off right away. Not as lovers, just as friends. We hung out during breaks, things like that.”

“When did you start dating?”

He raked a hand through his thinning hair. “Not till the end of school year. She finally said yes to a Fisher Cats ballgame. After the game we went to the Sam Adams Pub at the park.” His expression was more animated now as he recalled their early days. “On our second date we went bowling.” He laughed as he plucked a stray hair from between long fingers. “She was a terrible bowler. She only knocked down three pins all afternoon. After that we went for hotdogs in the park.” Now his face took on a nostalgic look. “We laughed the whole time about her bowling.”

Maybe Angie’s instincts were all wrong, but in her two short conversations with Ted, she noticed a pattern. That Gwen only went out with Ted in public, no strings. Why? Was she embarrassed to be with him? The sweatshirt was a bit too casual for Angie’s taste, but he appeared clean, and decent looking. His manners were all right; so far he hadn’t picked his nose or anything like that. “How long before things heated up between you?”

“That’s a gentle way of asking how long before we slept together, right? I don’t mind you asking anyway. About a year. No, it was exactly a year. We were—”

Angie waved a hand. “I don’t want details. Please.”

He laughed. It was a pleasant laugh. Nice that he had a sense of humor. Did it extend to leaving mousetraps for the new drama teacher?

He tipped his beer to drain the last from the heavy glass. The sweatshirt slid sideways. Through the zipper opening she saw a glimpse of white. What the heck was that—lace? Angie stared; she couldn’t help herself.

When she looked up, Ted gazed at her with dark-eyed curiosity.

The bartender appeared just then, saving a potentially clumsy situation. He asked if they wanted another drink. When Ted hesitated, Angie quickly said no, that she had to get upstairs.

Ted shot a glance toward the lobby door. “I guess I’m good.”

Angie used the moment while he busied himself paying for the drinks to stand and step away from the table. As the bartender left, she faked a yawn.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” a disappointed Ted said.

What had he expected anyway? Angie didn’t want to mull over the possibilities. She took his hand and shook it, said, “Take care of yourself,” and left him standing there.

As she entered the elevator, Angie wished she’d taken the stairs earlier then she would’ve missed him altogether. Lying in bed wide-awake from the adrenaline surge would’ve been a much more desirable way to spend the last hour.