Murder Is Our Mascot (18 page)

Emily hated to point out the elephant in the car, so to speak, but the question begged to be asked. "Could that have been Helen?"

Gabby hesitated. "Whoever it was is definitely small enough to be her. And that
is
a dark SUV. But without taking a closer look, who can be sure?"

 "You said it," Emily agreed, already reaching for the door handle.

"Wait!" Gabby screeched. Once again, she fumbled through her cavernous purse, this time producing a dark scarf that she deftly tied over Emily's blindingly white cast.

"Smart thinking," Emily nodded approvingly. "Is there anything you don't have in that purse of yours?"

"Doubt it," Gabby assured her. "Let's roll out." Emily hid a smile at the grave note in Gabby's tone.

"Yes, commander." Emily gave her a smart salute and eased out of her side of the minivan. She considered rolling over the hood of the minivan in an imitation of Channing Tatum in the remake of
21 Jump Street
, but then she realized Gabby was already across the street, crouching next to the SUV, motioning her forward. She made a furtive dash to join Gabby, reminding herself not to enjoy this all quite so much. This was a serious mission. Whoever drove this SUV could be the same person who ran them off the road. This sobering thought had her crouching even further down. She and Gabby made their way around the Tahoe, closely examining the front and back bumpers. It was the same color as Helen's, but there was no discernable damage, which Emily adroitly pointed out.

Gabby countered, "The damage could already have been fixed." Emily nodded, but she was skeptical. Granted, she didn't know much about cars, but this one looked brand new. There were no personal items in the car, the interior spotless.

Emily motioned to the windshield. "Helen always has a Scentsy hanger on her rearview mirror."

Gabby nodded. Again she asked, "Now what?"

Emily frowned. "I can't believe that Helen would be in cahoots with someone like Barnes, but we need to see what else we can find out."

Gabby gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know you don't want Helen to be guilty, and"—she held up her hand when Emily started to interrupt—"and I don't think she's guilty either, but we need to be objective. This might be Helen's vehicle still, and what if she's actually here to harm Barnes? He could have been blackmailing Helen
and
Jim. If you're right, and Barnes killed Jim, Helen could have left town to avoid facing the same fate. Maybe she's here to convince Barnes to turn himself in, or…" She left the rest unsaid, but Emily could follow the direction of her thoughts. Or, Helen could be here to eliminate the problem.

"What could Barnes possibly have on Helen that would be worth blackmailing her over?" she asked Gabby.

Gabby shrugged. "I have no idea. How well do we ever really know the inner workings of someone else's life? If Helen did kill Layton, Barnes could have been a witness. You said yourself that Barnes practically lives at the school. But, honestly? I have no idea. Maybe…" Gabby cut off in midsentence. "Did you hear that?"

Emily strained to listen, but all she heard was the sigh of the wind through the trees. And the low moan of a…what? "Yep. What is that?" Whatever it was, it had the hair on the back of Emily's neck standing at attention. There was no reply. Emily glanced behind her and frantically whispered, "Gabby!" as she was nowhere in sight.

"Over here," came a hiss from the shadows next to the house. Emily crab-walked over to the sound and watched as Gabby strained on her tiptoes, trying to see in a side window. "All the windows have shades on them. You'd think the guy was paranoid someone would try to see in." Gabby looked so irritated in the dim light provided by a low-hanging moon that Emily forbore to mention the obvious. Given their current occupation, Barnes had every right to be paranoid. Emily crept along behind Gabby, peeking in at each window they came to. The low moaning sound continued, and half of Emily hoped Barnes was suffering a fate worse than death, as befitted the toad, but the other, more sensible half, hoped to find nothing as they continued their search.

The sound was definitely getting louder as they rounded the far side of the house. Gabby bounced around like a spastic cheerleader, trying to find a window she could peer into. At the last window on the far side of the house, they finally found a crack in the blinds. Gabby motioned for Emily to boost her up so she could get a better view. Emily shook her head and motioned to her cast. Gabby pantomimed frustration, stomping her foot on the ground. Looking around, she spotted a small flowerpot discarded in the well of a darkened basement window. Gabby perched precariously on the pot with one foot, grasping the sill with both hands. She turned to Emily and said in a stage whisper, "It's an office." Then they were both silent, listening intently for any further sound. The moaning and groaning resumed, louder now. Emily slipped her phone out of her pocket, gripping it tightly in her left hand, ready to dial 9-1-1. Although she truly despised Barnes, she was now terrified that he actually was dying a painful death while they lurked outside like Peeping Toms, doing nothing to help.

Gabby hopped off the flowerpot so she could better whisper to Emily. She reached out a hand to push Emily's cell phone away. Emily gaped at her. "What are you doing? We need to call for help. He could be dying in there!"

To Emily's astonishment, Gabby shook her head. "Or?" She left the word hanging, raising both eyebrows and waggling them suggestively.

Emily was not following. "Or?"

"Or," Gabby repeated, "he's in there having sex."

For a full minute, Emily gaped like a fish out of water. The image Gabby had planted in her brain seared her retinas. Blinking away the white spots, she swallowed down the bile that had risen in her throat. Gabby giggled at her expression but then turned serious. "We have to find out for sure. One way or the other."

Emily grimaced. "Do we have to? Can't we just call the cops and run?"

Gabby stared at her but said nothing. The censure in her gaze was not lost on Emily. "Okay, okay. I dragged you into this, so I'll risk being scarred for life. I need something sturdier and taller to stand on than that puny flowerpot, though." They once again scanned the side yard for something to give them a leg up, but seeing nothing, Gabby dashed off to her minivan. Emily hoped against hope that she was not finally giving up on all these shenanigans and leaving her to fend for herself. She needn't have worried, though, as Gabby was soon back at her side, toting a child's potty seat.

"How fitting," Emily said drily. "Do I even want to ask why this was in your van?" Emily gave the object a wide berth, wondering how much use it had seen.

Gabby huffed out an indignant breath. "You have no idea how trying potty training is," she whispered furiously. "Especially with girls. It's not like they can go on the side of the road like boys can. This is our solution. But don't worry—neither of the twins has taken the slightest interest in this yet. Pull-Ups are still their preferred means."

Emily placed the potty-chair under the window and put her phone back in her pocket to free her hand. She was as prepared as she could be to risk her mental well-being. "After this, I may wish I had on Pull-Ups myself," she whispered down to Gabby, and then she was peering inside.

At first, all she could see was a wall of books and a small fireplace. She was surprised to find herself filled with envy at a room in Barnes's house. This was the perfect, cozy library. She strained to see further to her left. A table came into view, and Emily leaned closer to the window, flattening her nose against it. She could now see three-quarters of the table and recognized it for what it was—a massage table. A small Asian woman kneaded the pale flesh of Barnes's back as he lay stomach-down and, thankfully, covered by a sheet. In a flash of understanding, Emily realized that the figure entering Barnes's house had not been carrying a briefcase after all, but a portable massage table instead. Portable appeared to be the word of the day.

Emily snickered and turned, giddy with relief and ready to make their getaway. They might not have found out any dirt on Barnes, but at least this night had provided them with some good laughs. Gabby was yanking at her sweater, anxious to know what Emily had seen. Emily had the first words on her lips when the phone in her pocket picked that particular moment to blare out her signature "Crazy Train" ringtone. Emily froze, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. She fumbled her phone out and tried to stab the reject button before dropping to the ground. She torqued her body to look back at the massage table. Despite her hope that the sound had not been heard inside, Barnes had jumped to his feet. The sheet that had been covering him slid to the floor like a shedding skin. In one horrific flash, Barnes stood in front of the window, in all his birthday-suit glory. Emily stumbled backward in horror, and without waiting on Gabby, sprinted toward the minivan, hoping to outrun a sight that would scar her for life. Without looking back, she could hear Gabby's footfalls pounding behind her, the potty-chair banging against her leg but not slowing her down.

They propelled themselves into the van, and Gabby cranked the key. In seconds, they were flying down the road, giggling madly, like two teenagers sneaking out of the house. Emily knew pure adrenaline had them laughing at their panic, but she couldn't stop the chuckles. As she choked out the story of Barnes leaping from the massage table, Gabby dissolved in waves of laughter, and soon, they were both wiping at dripping eyes. In mid-laugh, Gabby turned huge eyes on Emily. "What?" Emily asked, startled into seriousness by Gabby's expression.

"Your ringtone," Gabby breathed.

Emily waved a dismissive hand. "I know," she commiserated. "I can't believe I didn't put my phone on silent. Rookie mistake."

"No, that's not what I mean. Barnes heard your phone ringing."

"Right…" Emily drawled, wondering where this was headed.

"You work with Barnes." Gabby's eyes were now filled with worry.

"Right again?" Emily began to feel a niggling of worry, but she still had no idea what Gabby was concerned about.

"That's been your ringtone forever, and—"

"I know. I'll change it. I happen to really like that song, though." Emily defended her ringtone.

Again Gabby shook her head, dark ringlets escaping from her ponytail and lashing her cheeks. "You've taught with Barnes for several years now. You've had that ringtone for a coon's age. He has to have heard your phone ring before. Even if he didn't see you out the window, he's going to know it was you outside."

"Oh.
Oh
." Emily tapped her fingers on her thigh, the situation no longer hysterically funny. "Maybe he hasn't paid that close attention to my phone. Or maybe he'll think it was a student."

"Sure," Gabby agreed, but Emily detected a note of sarcasm. "All the kids these days are playing 'Crazy Train.'"

Emily swatted her arm. "If you want to throw stones for ridiculousness, how about you sprinting across the yard with a potty-chair? If Barnes looked out the window, I'm pretty sure he won't think a student was lurking around his house with a child's toilet in tow."

"Touché," Gabby responded. "Either way, the damage is done. What do we do to repair it?"

Emily considered a moment, and then she and Gabby came to the same conclusion. "Ice cream."

* * *

Over caramel sundaes at their favorite late-night drive-thru, they debated their next move. "Who was calling you, by the way?" Gabby asked through a mouth of soft-serve vanilla.

Emily dug the offending phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her list of missed calls. "Mom," she answered, hitting the button to return the call.

Her mom answered before the first ring ended, and Emily felt guilty for not checking her phone and calling her back earlier. "Where were you?" Her mom's voice was accusing.

"I'm with Gabby. Grabbing some ice cream and having some girl time. Must not have heard my phone in my purse." Emily winced at the white lie. She hated lying to her parents. Gabby knew it, too, and waved her red spoon at her in a reprimanding manner. Emily ignored her to focus on her mom's words. She was saying something about remembering a news story.

"You remembered what?" she asked her mom.

"Jim Olsen." It took Emily a minute to place the name, as her mind was still wrapped up in her adventures at the toad's house. "I remember where I heard his name."

Emily straightened in her seat. "Where?" she asked anxiously.

"He was in the news, oh, quite a few years ago now. You were probably nine or ten at the time, but I remember I still watched you like a hawk for a long while. A young baby was kidnapped in New York. The search was intense, but the poor mother couldn't handle the strain. She blamed herself and was suffering from postpartum depression. Several months after the kidnapping, she committed suicide. My heart broke for that poor young mother." Her mom's voice was soft.

"So, Jim was the baby's father?" Emily clarified.

"No. Sorry. I think the dad's name was Stephen. Jim was his younger brother. He was the spokesman for the family through much of the investigation. After the mother's suicide, the story slowly faded into obscurity, as they so often do. It's tragic, really."

"What happened to the baby? Was the kidnapper ever found?"

"I don't believe so. I don't remember hearing anything about the baby being returned to his family."

"The baby was a boy?" Emily brushed away Gabby, who was practically sitting in her lap, trying to hear what her mom was saying. She placed the phone on speaker so Gabby could hear too.

"Yes, I believe so. Why, that baby would probably be sixteen or seventeen by now." She didn't add what they were all thinking. That would be the baby's age
if
he had survived.

"If Jim was the brother of a man in New York who lost both his child and his wife, how did he ever end up in Ellington, Missouri?" she asked.

"Good question," her mom answered. "Your dad and I were just discussing that. Unfortunately, now that poor Jim has been murdered, we may never know."