2 Death Makes the Cut (29 page)

Back at the school, the parking lot was empty, and I parked the bus directly in front of the tennis shed to unload the gear. The evening drew in around us, the sky turning pearly gray above the brilliant orange glow in the west. The air seemed almost cool after the scorching afternoon heat, and a swirl of brown leaves skittered along the sidewalk, the first hint of the coming autumn born along a gentle breeze. Daytime heat aside, fall was upon us and already the days were growing shorter. I gave a melancholy little shiver.

“Dang, I wish McKenzie could have been here,” Dillon said, taking one of the now empty orange coolers from Travis, who handed it down through the bus door.

“Yeah, we could have used her for that second match. Playing two matches in a row is too much, Coach J,” said Brittany.

“You played really well anyway. And the musical will be over this week, and we’ll have her back full-time,” I reassured her.

The kids were still standing beside the bus rehashing each stroke of the final boys’ doubles match, and Dillon was vowing to win the next time we played Westlake, when my phone rang and made me jump.

Colin, his voice low but excited, said, “We’ve made an arrest.”

My heart leaped. “What? Who?”

“Pat Carver. We’re holding her on embezzlement charges, but they’re interrogating her now about the murders.”

I rose and moved away from the kids. Their eyes followed me with the unblinking intensity of dogs watching a hot dog turning on a grill.

“What is she saying?”

“Nothing. She lawyered up pretty damn quick,” he added with disgust. “She denied any wrongdoing, of course. Then, the minute we brought up the deaths, she shut up completely. She’s scared.”

I thought about my talk with Kyla, our conclusions and questions. “Are you sure she’s the one?” I asked doubtfully.

“We’re sure about the embezzlement. And that gives her motive for killing Coach Argus.”

“But what about Laura?”

“We don’t know yet.”

I frowned, feeling I was still missing something. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“No. But that’s the way it is sometimes. It’s hard to accept, but sometimes murderers are motivated by things a normal person would consider trivial or incomprehensible. It’s not always possible to wrap everything up in a neat, logical package. If they were normal, they would never resort to murder.”

“No, I guess not.”

“How are you holding up? I thought you’d be relieved by the news.”

“Oh, I am,” I reassured him. “And I’m doing okay. And … yeah, that’s really good news. You all did a great job.”

An awkward silence followed. I felt it but did not know what to say.

“Could I see you tonight?” he asked abruptly.

“I … I’m going out with Alan tomorrow night.” Which wasn’t an answer to his question at all.

The silence that followed was even worse than the first. I felt a sinking in my chest, sure he would now tell me to go to hell. And quite rightly.

He broke it, his voice fierce and low. “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about him. I want to see you.”

For a moment my breath caught in my throat, then I found my voice. “Yes. Okay. I’d like to see you, too.”

“Good. I’ll come by your place about eight.”

Glancing at my watch, I said, “Make it nine. I need to finish up here and then drop the bus off.” Plus I needed to shower and change, but he didn’t need to know that.

“What? What bus? Where are you?”

“Right now, I’m in the school parking lot with sixteen teens. We just finished a tennis match. I need to wait for parents to pick up the ones who don’t have their own cars.”

“Right. Nine it is.”

I hung up feeling absurdly pleased considering that this complicated my life exponentially. But somehow I didn’t think I could bear to let Colin go. But what did that mean in terms of my relationship with Alan? I didn’t want to lose him either, but was it because I valued his friendship or did I want his love? It wasn’t as though I could go out with both of them. And honestly, what the hell was wrong with me? What kind of woman didn’t know which one of two men she was interested in?

We finished putting away our equipment, and the kids who could drive rolled out of the parking lot with waves and shouts. I sat with the remaining kids on the bench beside the shed. Finally, the last minivan pulled out of the parking lot, and I carefully locked the shed and returned to the bus, my mind on my coming meeting with Colin. Then I remembered Kyla’s purse.

I was tempted to leave without it, but I really didn’t like having a gun in my desk. Plus Kyla would throw a fit if she didn’t get it back tonight. Cursing under my breath, I headed back toward the school, by habit heading for the shortcut through Building A. I had my hand on the door when memory returned, and I veered sharply to my left, walking the long way around. Halfway along the path, I wished I hadn’t. The distance was twice as long as my shortcut, and I felt exposed and alone in the twilight gloom, every little sound making me twitch nervously. I hurried into the academic building, relieved at first to be safely indoors, but the empty building wasn’t much better. The wide halls, the concrete, the metal lockers all conspired to magnify every small noise, from the quiet tread of my tennis shoes to the ordinary clicks and sighs of individual classroom air conditioners. Shadows filled the vaulted ceiling overhead and lurked in corners and behind the stairs. Foolish or not, my heart began beating faster, and I quickened my pace as I headed up the stairs to my room, wishing I could just break into a run. I tightened my grip on my keys, holding them as though they were a weapon. Which was ridiculous. If anyone jumped out at me, I most likely would drop the keys, wet my pants, and bolt like a jackrabbit spotting a snake.

I made it to my room without incident, grabbed Kyla’s purse, practically grunting under the weight of it, and exited the building. The shadows in the courtyard were now merging with plain darkness, and this time I decided to take the shortcut after all. I could see a faint glow of lights in Building A and, bad memories or not, it seemed safer than walking all the way around the campus again. Besides, if I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late to meet Colin.

I opened the door cautiously, holding it so it wouldn’t slam behind me. After the exposed darkness of the courtyard, the lighting here seemed safe and welcoming. Not that there was much of it—only the minimum dim glow that the security staff left on at all times. Even the theater hall was mostly dark.

Which was odd. My steps slowed as I became aware of the stillness. No late practice this evening, even though tomorrow was the opening night? I wondered if the principal or some parents had finally forced Nancy into giving the kids an early evening. Well, it wasn’t any of my concern, at least not tonight. I walked quietly, trying to hurry, trying not to glance at the door to the women’s restroom. But there was no sign that anything had happened. No police tape, no remaining water, no sign at all that a woman’s life had ended here only the day before. I gave a shiver.

I was almost out the door leading to the parking lot when a scream from the theater ripped through the silence.

Chapter 20

STAGES AND STANDOFFS

For an instant I froze, flinching as though from a blow. Then it rang out again, rising high, then trailing off into a wrenching moan. Heart in my throat, I listened intently, but heard nothing more.

It must be the play, I told myself. They’re rehearsing after all. I told myself to keep going, that everything was fine, that this was nothing to be concerned about. I should hurry away, return the bus, get myself home so I could get a hot shower before Colin arrived. But I knew I couldn’t. Not without making sure. After all, what if someone had heard noises from the bathroom yesterday and had ignored them, thinking it only kids horsing around. I’d just pop my head in the back of the theater and make sure everything was in order. Calling 911 seemed premature. I would feel like an idiot if I summoned the emergency squad and it turned out to be a dramatic scene from the play.

I crept through the theater doors on tiptoe and poked my head around the corner. The auditorium was mostly dark, illuminated only by two spotlights beaming on the closed red curtains, casting a golden glow along the scarlet folds. I hesitated. It was unusual to see the curtains closed. Moreover, they swayed gently in response to some unseen movement behind them. I could hear the sound of feet, quiet but distinct in the eerie stillness that filled the empty room. Silently, I moved forward until I was almost in front of the stage. The feet continued to pace back and forth.

I drew breath. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I called, thinking at the time I was being stupid.

Just how stupid was revealed all in a flash. I heard a muffled oath, then with a motorized whirring sound, the heavy swaying curtains parted, revealing the lavish set of
Moulin Rouge
. The large rolling platforms were now adorned with brilliant silks in turquoise, magenta, cerulean, and lavender. The gems on the elephant winked and twinkled in the lights and overhead a pink feather boa hung quivering from a bejeweled trapeze. A set that shouted to be noticed, yet I was only dimly aware of the gaudy backdrop. My attention was completely and totally focused on the figure of Roland Wilding and the knife he was holding to the throat of McKenzie Mills.

He looked like a madman, golden hair disheveled, light eyes gleaming wildly, face distorted with rage. I glanced at McKenzie. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Behind the pair the figure of Nancy Wales lay unmoving on the stage floor, her enormous pink-clad bulk unnervingly still. I turned my eyes back to Roland and pivoted slightly away, trying to conceal that I was slipping my hand into my purse, reaching for a cell phone.

Only it wasn’t my purse, I realized as my fingers brushed against the unfamiliar clasp. Mine was still stuffed under a seat in the school bus parked beside the tennis courts, and my cell phone and keys were in the pocket of my pants. This was Kyla’s purse. And its secret compartment held a 9mm Glock 19, upright and ready to fire.

“No, no! Stop right there,” called Roland. “Keep your hands where I can see them, or I swear I’ll cut her throat.” The blade of the knife pressed just under McKenzie’s jaw, turning the pale skin white along the length of the blade.

McKenzie choked back a sob as I quickly lifted my hands.

“Roland, no! Look, I’m not doing anything. Just standing here.” I waved frantically to show both hands were empty.

He relaxed a little, lowering the knife a miniscule amount. His hand was white on McKenzie’s small shoulder, fingers digging into her flesh.

Eyes wild, he glared at me. “You’re always butting in, fucking up my chances, doing your best to make sure I fail.”

I swallowed. “No, that’s not true, Roland…”

“Shut up!” he shouted.

I shut up, closing my mouth with a snap. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“You’ve been trying to sabotage me all year,” he went on. “Interfering with our rehearsal schedule. Stealing movie roles. MY movie roles. For your goddamned tennis players who don’t even know what acting is. You just swooped in and took over.”

“That was just an accident. I didn’t…”

“Shut up!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips, briefly caught in the stage lights. “You! You’re going to be in a Michael Dupre movie. Deny it!”

I quivered, but didn’t speak.

The hand holding the knife swept away from McKenzie’s throat as he pointed it at me. “That’s called irony,” he said in a more controlled voice. “Irony of the gods. You would never have had that part except for me. Did you know that?”

I shook my head, afraid to say anything more. He still had a death grip on McKenzie’s shoulder, and she looked paralyzed, a mouse caught in the talons of a hawk. Even if I could get to the gun, I could hardly shoot while he held McKenzie in front of him like a shield.

“You’re so goddamned stupid,” he said. “You never even knew what hit you that day at the park. I could have killed you, and you couldn’t have stopped me. God, I wish I had.”

“That was you?” I asked to keep him talking. My voice shook.

“Of course it was me! Or do you have other people who want to kill you?” He gave a horrible laugh at that. “Actually, you probably do. People lining up to put you out of their misery. And then I find out that my hitting you got you into the movie. A Michael Dupre movie.” There was wonder in his tone.

“I’m sorry, Roland. I never meant for any of that to happen.”

“You think that makes it better? You stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong. That means anything that happened is your fault. Your fault!” He shouted the last words. McKenzie whimpered.

I held out placating hands, willing him to calm down. “I’m sure we can fix it, Roland. Michael Dupre is still here. We can talk to him.”

“Yes, he’s still here. But this bitch has ruined everything!” He gestured wildly at the immobile form of Nancy Wales, the knife glinting in the light. “In one minute she gave away everything I’ve been working for. Everything.”

“What did she do?” I asked, taking a small step forward. He didn’t appear to notice.

“She canceled the show. Canceled it! Behind my back, too. She went to Larry and told him we couldn’t possibly perform this week.”

“But why?” I asked. Although maybe a second murder and an assistant who was completely insane might have had something to do with it.

He looked confused for an instant, his blue eyes darting from side to side as though watching a Ping-Pong match. An unexpected blush suffused his face, turning his cheeks as pink as a girl’s. “Never mind that. She thought we weren’t ready, that’s all. And this one,” he turned the knife back under McKenzie’s chin, “this one kept fucking up her lines. Fucking up my lines.”

I thought McKenzie was going to faint. At his words her face, always fair, drained of the last vestiges of color, bleached as lace. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, then drooped over unfocused eyes.