Death in the Park Page 15

  "Thanks." I quickly filled out the columns. I wrote ‘newspaper article about the summer work program’ in the reason column. The student's attention was diverted when he saw that two of his friends had walked in to report a clogged toilet in the restroom. I used the opportunity to fill in my time of departure, so I could avoid walking back into the office. I probably wouldn't get so lucky with my timing on the way out.

  I pressed my pass onto my blouse and headed out to the campus. The halls and quad were mostly empty and fourth period had begun. I headed straight back to the girls’ gym and the maintenance room where I'd found the yearbooks. My reporter's intuition told me they were somehow connected to Alder's death. The flyers announcing the delay of the yearbook distribution were still taped all over campus.

  I walked relatively unnoticed across the pavement to the small maintenance room. As I neared the corner, I heard two voices coming from the path behind the building. I stopped short and ducked behind the large, thick shrubs that provided an extra curtain of privacy for the entrance to the girls' locker room. Two boys, one with a thick pile of red hair and the other with a dark blue beanie shoved down over greasy brown hair, walked around the corner.

  "I told you there wouldn't be any girls in the locker room right now. And don't tell Greer I showed you the peep hole or he'll pound me. You never even saw that room," he continued his orders as they walked across the asphalt. Room was the last word I heard before they got too far away for me to hear their conversation.

  I stepped out from my hiding spot and scooted around the corner of the building. Someone had stuck a doorstop between the door and the jamb. I peeked through the opening but saw it was empty. I pushed open the heavy metal door and slipped inside. Everything looked the same, untouched and in the same place. It seemed it was a room that was rarely used by maintenance, which might just have been due to its location at the far end of the school. One thing that was decidedly different was that there was only one box left on the shelf. I pulled it out and glanced inside. The masking tape was broken, and the box was empty.

  No light poked through the hole in the wall, signaling that the lights were off in the locker room. I followed the loud voices and laughter around to the back of the gym. The students and teacher were out on the field playing soccer.

  If the period had just started, I had a few minutes to check inside the locker room. The last entry on Alder's maintenance list was a burst pipe in the girls’ shower room reported by a student. A burst pipe seemed like a definite emergency. It also seemed that I might find some sign of new plumbing fixtures or tile if a pipe had been recently replaced.

  I skirted back around the tall, thick privacy hedge to the locker room. I opened the door and looked around. It seemed the coast was clear. All the students were out playing soccer. The icky, mildew smells of sweaty clothes stuffed in lockers and steam from showers clouded the air and took me temporarily back to my own time in high school. I loved playing sports and physical education was my favorite class, but I always dreaded walking into the stinky locker room, especially on hot days.

  I made a quick sweep of the shower area and restroom. Everything looked in order. Too much in order for a recently burst pipe. I saw no signs of new tile or new fixtures or even patch work on the plaster walls of the restroom. There would certainly be some sign of work after a burst pipe.

  "What are you doing in here?" an angry voice barked from behind.

  I spun around. The girls’ gym teacher was wearing a gray visor, but her cheeks were still burned from standing out on the field. Her employee name tag read Coach Irwin. She was holding a clipboard and a stopwatch . . . and her phone. "I'm calling the office."

  "Wait." I quickly pointed to the press pass I'd clipped to the pocket of my pants. "I'm a reporter with the Junction Times. I have a visitor's pass."

  "That still doesn't explain why I found you stepping out of the restroom."

  I relaxed my defensive posture. The teacher had just given me the perfect excuse, and I knew how to sweet talk a coach. I glanced back into the restroom area and laughed lightly. "Yes, I hope you don't mind. I had far too much coffee this morning, and I couldn't find a restroom. But as a high school softball player, I spent a lot of time in the girls' locker room. I knew there would be a bathroom inside. I saw the kids were out at play and figured I could slip in and out without getting in the way of class."

  Her rigid mouth softened. "I understand but next time, use the restroom in the faculty lounge. These are just for the kids."

  "Right, absolutely."

  "What position did you play?" she asked with a smile. I knew softball would be the magic phrase.

  "Pitcher and occasionally short stop. Well, I'll get out of your way. I'm writing a story for the Junction Times about Alder Stevens."

  The mention of Alder certainly caught her attention. "Oh? About his murder?" She shook her head. "I hope they get to the bottom of it soon. You know how rich and fast the rumor mill is around a high school. And not just the students. It's the only topic in the staff lounge these days. Such a horrible thing."

  "Ironically, I was assigned to write a story about his life and career not his murder. When I was handed the assignment, Alder was still very much alive. I went to his office and glanced around."

  Her eyes rounded. "You glanced around his empty office?"

  I motioned toward the press pass. "I'm a journalist. Sometimes you have to do a little snooping." I quickly tried to figure out how I could stick softball or sports into the conversation, but nothing came to me. "I was just hoping to see some pictures or items that would give me a little insight into the man's personality."

  She seemed to be accepting my explanation, but her relaxed grin had tightened up to a firm line again.

  "I noticed that the last maintenance request on Alder's list was a burst pipe in the girls' locker room. After forty years of cleaning and maintaining the campus, I thought it would be nice to mention what his last task was."

  Her brows pinched together, lifting the brim of the visor up. "Burst pipe? I don't know what you're talking about."

  "It was written on his maintenance list. I believe it said a student reported it."

  "I need to get back out to the girls." She motioned with her head for me to follow. "There must have been some kind of mix up on the maintenance list."

  "Maybe one of the other teachers told a student to call it into the office." I stooped down to sweep a pretend irritant from inside my shoe, hoping to get in a few extra questions before she ushered me out of the locker room.

  "I assure you, if a pipe had burst in the locker room, I would know about it. I'm lead teacher. But it might explain what happened on Alder's last day of work, the day before his sudden retirement was announced. The administration and district office have been very secretive about it, but I've always felt that the incident had a lot do with his sudden departure."

  "There was an incident? I confess, I've spoken to a few of the students just to get some interesting stories about Mr. Stevens. Some of the students have very fond memories of him."

  "Yes, I know he was quite generous and helpful to the student body. Which made that day far more shocking. I just never would have expected Alder”—she cleared her throat. “Mr. Stevens to have burst into the girls' locker room unannounced. For obvious reasons, he always waited for the area to be cleared of all students before coming in to do maintenance."

  "He walked into a locker room full of students?" I asked.

  "Yes. I didn't witness the incident, but there was a student teacher inside my office writing up a nurse's pass for a sick student. Mr. Stevens pushed into the locker room with his toolbox. The girls shrieked. Many of them were half dressed. The student teacher said Mr. Stevens hurried right back out, his face as white as a sheet. By the time I reached the staff lounge after final period, Principal Morely had posted the surprise announcement about Mr. Stevens' retirement."

  "If he'd received a phone call from the locker room that the pipe
had burst, it seems plausible that he dropped everything and rushed right over. What would the protocol be in a situation like that, a burst pipe in the locker room?"

  "Well, we'd ask the girls to dress and exit immediately. Something like that, a broken water main, a gas leak, the smell of smoke would require immediate evacuation."

  "So Mr. Stevens arrived with his toolbox expecting the room to be vacant?"

  Coach Irwin's mouth twisted in concern as she put together the pieces of our conversation. "How terrible to think that a student prank might have led the district to force Mr. Stevens out. And then some horrible person shot him." She covered her mouth and her voice broke.

  "I'm sure the staff must be very despondent about his loss." My sentiment was two pronged. One prong was genuine sympathy because she looked truly upset. The second was to set up a chance for her to mention any staff that didn't care for Alder. It was always a possibility that someone right here at the high school had a reason to kill Alder. It had always seemed to me that the custodial staff at the schools I attended knew everything that was going on at the school. They had the keys to every room. They were around before and after hours. It was possible Alder knew something, like an affair between principal and teacher, or something else that could damage a career or someone's reputation.

  "Yes, everyone is quite despondent. His funeral has been set for next Monday. We are closing the school at noon so we can attend. With his wife gone, Alder didn't have much family."

  We reached the door. "It's nice the district is allowing everyone to attend." We walked outside and I drew in a breath of fresh air. A naughty breeze had playfully pushed many of the yearbook delay flyers off their posts. They circled the black top like big leaves.

  "I wish they'd take those flyers down," Coach Irwin lamented. "I think everyone's got the message about the delay already." I helped her collect the fallen flyers and saw it as another opportunity.

  "Why were they delayed? Was there an editing problem?"

  "It's not something I'm involved in." She crumpled a few of the flyers in her fist. "But I've heard that the printer only sent half the books. Of course you can't hand out books to some kids and make the others wait. Instead, they just delayed the whole thing. Far as I know, the problem hasn't been solved yet. School's out in two weeks. The kids might have to come back in summer to pick their books up."

  I had my own crumpled bunch of flyers. Coach Irwin glanced around. "Looks like we got them all." She held out her hand to take mine.

  "Thank you," I said. "And thanks for taking time out of your schedule to talk to me." I looked back toward the building we'd just left. "By the way, earlier when I was looking for an open restroom, I got lost and ended up on that narrow path leading down the side of the locker room. A door was jammed open with a doorstop and being a nosy reporter (I decided a little self-deprecation couldn't hurt) I peeked inside. There were just a few boxes and old paint cans. Nothing terribly exciting."

  "Yes, I think that room is too far away from the central area of the campus. You know we physical education teachers always get stuck at the most remote corner of the school. I'm surprised it was open and with a doorstop, no less. I haven't seen anyone from maintenance use that room in months, not since the district painters painted the yellow emergency exit line on the asphalt."

  "You might want to check it out. When I walked inside of it, I noticed a thin stream of light coming through the wall where it backs up to the locker room. Might be a peep hole."

  Her face blanched and stiffened like marble. "My gosh, how is that possible? I'll look but I'm sure you must be wrong."

  "Yes, I might be at that. But I thought you should know."

  "I'll check it out. Well, I need to get out to the field."

  "Have a good day."

  Chapter 31

  As I headed out, I heard giggling behind the cinder block wall separating the quad from the bleachers on the football field. Picking up the flyers gave me an idea. I peeled off the visitor's pass and tossed it. The breeze carried it around the back of the cinder block wall and I raced after to catch it. Three students were standing under the bleachers. I recognized Carter Greer immediately. It seemed his lofty status as class president gave him a great deal of freedom to wander campus even when class was in session. A girl and boy were standing with him. It might have just been my imagination, but I was sure I witnessed a money transaction. My visitor's sticker landed against the side of a lamppost close enough to the bleachers for me to get a glimpse of the boy, who had handed Greer money, sticking a new yearbook into his backpack.

  My foot crunched some loose gravel, letting them know they weren't alone. The guilt in each expression assured me I'd just caught Greer at something that had nothing to do with the duties of class president.

  I leaned over and grabbed the sticker and held it up with a triumphant smile. "Caught it. It tried to get away from me." I laughed again, but they didn't join in.

  I tried to stick the pass back on, but its time as a sticker was long gone. It was covered with grime and grit. I held it in my fist and headed out of the school to the parking lot. I walked to my jeep. It was hard to know for certain, but my gut told me that the class president had something to do with the missing yearbooks. Was it possible that he was selling early copies for his profit? And if he was, did his black market business have anything to do with Alder's death? Or was the secret yearbook sale another story altogether? One thing was certain, Carter Greer had at least casual access to Larson's Pawn Shop. He was dating Belinda Larson. But where on earth did all the threads connect? And more importantly, did they connect or was I just chasing a bunch of loose ends?

  I was still deep in thought as I pulled out of the driveway of the school. A sharp honk from the car passing by the exit, snapped me out of my trance. The angry driver sped past in her green compact car that was loaded down with boxes. They were piled up high enough to block the back window. But I could see clearly into the driver's side. It was Ms. Mills, the kitchen manager.

  I pulled out onto the road and quickly made the decision to follow her. Victor Hanson had mentioned that Mills and Alder had a big fight over something. Victor thought it might have something to do with Ms. Mills filling her car with what seemed to be stolen food from the cafeteria. If nothing else, I might get to the bottom of the mystery of what the kitchen manager was doing with all the food. It sure seemed there were more than a few side businesses going on among the students and staff.

  Ms. Mills traveled along Bear Road. I stayed back a good distance, trying to be inconspicuous in my olive green jeep. Instead of turning right onto the Colonial Bridge, Mills forked left toward the Birch Highlands, a small town that was at a higher elevation than Firefly Junction. Her sedan zipped up the hill toward the town. She was in a hurry. School was still in session, yet the kitchen manager was out cruising the hillside with a car full of canned goods. Was it possible that Alder had discovered her side business, and he threatened to tell Principal Morely? Was that what they'd argued about? Had Ms. Mills then made some fabricated or even real complaint about Alder Stevens to stop him? But why kill him? Unless that was the only sure way to stop him?

  I'd gotten so caught up with my mental list of questions, I nearly missed the quick right turn Ms. Mills had taken. I suddenly found myself on a short, dead end street, which made me quite obviously out of place. So much for my skills at secretly tailing people.

  Ms. Mills seemed undeterred by the jeep rumbling up the street behind her. Her car tires chirped as she pulled into a driveway. The loaded backseat made the rear fender scrape the asphalt. She pulled up to what looked like a warehouse. The massive metal door on the warehouse rolled up, and two people, a man and woman, walked out. They smiled and greeted Ms. Mills warmly. Were these her connections? And since when did canned peaches and green beans become a hot commodity on the black market?

  I watched with keen interest, certain I'd caught the Smithville High kitchen manager in a sinister plot to siphon off canne
d goods from the school kitchen and make herself some extra cash, until another person came out to help. It was a young woman with braids. She was wearing a t-shirt that read Highland Food Bank. I'd followed Ms. Mills right into her nefarious side business of feeding the needy. And on top of the deflating and embarrassing end to my secret mission, I'd been discovered. It wasn't too difficult since it was a street with no other cars or businesses.

  Ms. Mills had been watching me over the top of her sedan as the food bank workers unloaded the boxes of canned goods. I decided it was too late to just turn and leave, so I climbed out of the jeep and headed across the street.

  Ms. Mills recognized me as I got closer. Her expression soured as she walked around the car to meet me. "It's you. Don't try and tell me you're still looking for empty boxes because I'm not buying it. I didn't buy it the first time either. I just didn't have time to waste figuring out why you were digging in the trash."

  "You were right all along." I quickly sized her up as someone who liked to be right and to be told she was right.

  Her sour face unscrewed some. "You were following me. I thought I saw that jeep tagging behind me. What do you want? That's right. You're a reporter. Well, I've got nothing to add about the summer work program."

  "Actually, I'm writing a story about Alder Stevens."

  That revelation didn't seem to shock or anger her as much as I expected.

  "Alder? What kind of story? He was a good man, so don't believe any of those rumors."

  "Rumors?" I asked. Unfortunately, that made her seal her lips shut.

  "I don't have time to talk to you. I'm just waiting for them to unload my car and then I have to get back to the school."

  I looked into the back of the warehouse. Boxes of food were piled high on tables. "So the school donates cans to the food bank?"