Murder Is Our Mascot (2 page)

"Otherwise, someone surely would have heard a struggle, don't you think?" Mr. Matthews continued, addressing both Emily and the detective.

"I do," Emily answered, nodding emphatically. "Jim Layton wasn't a quiet or passive man. If he had been arguing or struggling with someone, he definitely would have been overheard. Something like this couldn't have happened to Jim without him fighting back."

"I agree, Ms. Taylor." Detective Welks seemed to be debating on whether or not to say anything else. He must have decided there was no harm in Emily or Mr. Matthews knowing as he continued. "Mr. Layton had several lacerations on his hands and wrists. Looks like he probably died from blunt-force trauma to the back of his head, but it would appear that Mr. Layton did, in fact, struggle with his attacker."

Emily felt tears welling up again. What a tragic waste of life. Who would have wanted to hurt Jim? Granted, Emily hadn't known Jim Layton that well on a personal level, but he had never struck her as an especially violent or despicable man. He had appeared to be what he was—the typical football coach focused on obtaining a winning season. But unlike other coaches Emily had worked with, Jim never acted like he was above the rules followed by the rest of the teaching staff. He had seemed to genuinely care about not only the athletic but the academic success of his players as well. Emily had admired the interest Jim took in his athletes. His players and their parents seemed to respect him, and he was the guy who was always ready with a joke, making everyone laugh at faculty meetings and such. Emily couldn't fathom what reason anyone could possibly have to hate Jim Layton enough to end his life this way.

Emily tuned back in to hear Mr. Matthews saying, "Emily? You look like you're about ready to drop. Why don't you go on home and get some rest? It's okay for her to leave now, isn't it, Detective?"

"Of course. We have all the information we need from Ms. Taylor for now. If you would, though, come by the station and sign your statement later this afternoon, okay?"

"Yes, I will," Emily mumbled, then headed for her classroom to retrieve her things, grateful to be leaving the gruesome events of the morning behind her, if only for a little while.

"Ick!" Goose bumps pebbled Emily's flesh as she peeled out of the red turtleneck and wide-legged black pants she had worn to school that day. She stuffed them into a large black trash bag she had hauled into the bathroom. Steam billowed out of the waiting shower. As soon as she took a turn under the scalding water, she planned to throw the entire outfit in the dumpster, even if she had picked up her shoes on sale at Macy's only the week before. Said red patent leather pumps had been left by the door, since she didn't want to risk tracking sticky soda and goodness knows what else across her floors. Now that she was home and surrounded by her own familiar and comforting things, she was anxious to divest herself of any remains of this awful day.

Twenty minutes later, feeling somewhat better after scrubbing herself raw, she shrugged into a pair of well-worn jeans and an Ellington High sweatshirt. She ran a brush through her still-wet chestnut bob, then headed to the kitchen in search of another soda. Hey, no judging. It had been a long morning and, in her defense, she
had
spilled her first one of the day.

Staring out the small window over her sink, she noticed that the storm showed no signs of abating. Emily switched on a few lamps to push back the gloom as she headed to her bedroom for a pair of warm socks. She was tugging on her shoes, preparing to make a mad dash to the dumpster, when she heard a sharp yip. It had to be Duke, Helen's dog, barking next door. Helen Burning, the high school counselor and Emily's neighbor in the duplex next door, had become fast friends with Emily's mom when they had bonded at a pottery-making class. Emily's mom was notorious for exploring new creative outlets.

Emily had found out the hard way that she was allergic to Duke when she had offered to "dog sit" him one weekend while Helen went to visit some friends in the city. Since then, she had kept her distance, but she rarely heard a peep out of him. He was a well-behaved dog. Emily wondered what was bothering him. Maybe he was glad to have Helen home early. Emily hadn't seen Helen at the school this morning, but maybe they had missed each other amid all the confusion. Emily wanted to offer her services in any way she could, knowing the students would be upset and confused when they heard the news of the coach's death. Especially Stevie. Jim had been the one person who had been able to forge a connection with the withdrawn new student. She would give Helen a call later, she thought as she sprinted through the pelting rain, slamming the dumpster lid on her discarded clothes.

She had just regained her porch when her mother's car pulled into her drive. Emily left the door open and toed off her sopping shoes. Her mom hurried in the door right behind her, shutting out the wind and rain. Knowing this was bound to be a trying conversation, Emily grabbed up her soda can from where she had left it on the coffee table. Her mom hung up her raincoat on one of the hooks by the door and turned to frown at the open soda in Emily's hand. "Don't start," Emily warned, motioning her to follow into the kitchen. She stuck a mug of water to heat in the microwave for her mom's preferred herbal tea. Emily shuddered at the smell alone, wondering how she could come from someone who would drink such a vile substance.

Surprised by her mom's silence, Emily started the conversation. "How did you find out? Did Helen call you?" Turning to hand her mom her tea, she finally took in her mom's appearance. She had on a pair of loudly striped orange-and-hot-pink capri pants, paired with a turquoise cable-knit sweater and the most hideous pair of dark green mud boots Emily had ever seen.

"What in the world are you wearing?" Emily asked before her mom could answer her.

"Oh," Emily's mom, the impetuous Susan Taylor, glanced down at herself and waved her hand dismissively. "All I could think of after hearing the news was getting over here to you. I grabbed the first things that came to hand." Emily silently decided it was time to help her mom weed through her closet if these were the first things that came to hand.

Out loud she said, "Thanks for coming, Mom."

Emily relived all of the details of the awful morning with her mom but didn't feel any better for having shared the story. Instead she felt angry and helpless. Angry at whoever had committed such a violent act and helpless to do anything to change things. Both she and her mom watched the lightning play across the sky through the window over Emily's breakfast nook. They were uncharacteristically silent. Emily assumed they were both thinking how futile words were in this situation—they could change nothing.

Emily was the first to break the silence by asking, "So, when did Helen call you?"

"Oh, Helen didn't. Tad called your father." Emily should have guessed. Tad Higginbotham, or Theodore, as Emily's dad called him, had been one of her dad's favorite students when he taught history at Ellington High. He and her dad had remained in touch over the years, and now Tad was her soda-stealing neighbor from the class next door. A flash of lightning lit up the kitchen as Emily started to make a comment about Tad being a tattletale. But her words were swallowed up by a deafening crack of thunder. Darkness followed as the power once again went out. Emily headed to her utility drawer for a flashlight, but her mom had already whipped out a lighter and lit the candle Emily kept in the center of her table. Emily stared at her mom in surprise as the homey scents of vanilla and cinnamon filled the room.

Emily asked, "Really, Mom? What the heck are you doing with a lighter?" Her mom had given up smoking before Emily was even born.

"Um…for incense," was Susan's mysterious reply. "Look, I gotta head out. Call me later." And then she dashed out the door before Emily could even form a response.

* * *

Emily watched her mom's headlights slice through the downpour, then turned to survey her darkened living room. Emily lit a few more candles and decided now was as good a time as any to get caught up on some grading. After her second essay on the themes in
Macbeth
, she felt herself slipping into a grading coma. By the sixth essay, she was drooling. She dreamed of Lady Macbeth's blood-stained hands and Jim's lifeless body. When a sound awoke her, she was both relieved and disoriented. Springing off the couch, she sent papers cascading to the floor. Her heart was pounding. What had she heard? A piercing bark sounded. Duke. That was the sound that had woken her. This was definitely not normal behavior for him. Maybe she should make sure things were okay. She needed to talk to Helen anyway.

A quick glance out the front window showed that the rain still had not let up, so she grabbed a raincoat before making the quick dash between her duplex's front porch and Helen's. She pounded on Helen's front door and shivered, waiting for Helen to answer. By the time her teeth were chattering and she had pounded her fist sore, Helen still hadn't come to the door. Maybe she hadn't made it home yet? Squishing through puddles, Emily made her way around Helen's side of the duplex to look in the kitchen windows. Duke was pacing and clawing at the door. The poor guy looked desperate to go out, but there was no sign of Helen, and her trusty Tahoe wasn't in the carport either. Figuring this was as close to an emergency as she needed to use the spare key Helen had given her a while back, Emily rushed back to her own duplex, grabbing the key off a hook by the door. She had barely gotten Helen's door open, when Duke raced out between her legs to cower under the front maple to do his business. Emily grabbed a towel out of the linen closet and met Duke at the door, wiping down his paws. She followed him as he padded back into the kitchen toward his food and water bowls. His empty and dry food and water bowls. What the heck? Helen might not have made it home yet this morning, but she wouldn't have left Duke without fresh food and water.

A quick glance in the bedroom showed the bed still neatly made. That wasn't really surprising, though. Helen was a neat freak. There were no breakfast dishes in the sink either, so could that mean Helen hadn't been home last night? Or had she just straightened everything up before leaving for school this morning? While a foreign concept to Emily, she knew that some people actually preferred things neat and tidy, not chaotic and "piled." Emily turned a circle in the empty kitchen. Duke whined, so she went ahead and refilled his food and water bowls, which he attacked like a tiny, ravenous wolf.

Helen had been at school yesterday— Emily had talked to her on her way out. So did she ever come home? Emily had been in her allergy medicine-induced coma before dark, so she wouldn't have heard anything from next door even if Helen had been holding a rave. Which, of course, was highly unlikely. So if Helen hadn't come home last night, then where was she now? And did she even know about Jim Layton's murder?

Leaving Duke happily munching away, Emily used Helen's landline to call Tad. His phone rang several times before he answered with a wary, "Hello? Tad Higginbotham."

"It's me, Emily. I'm calling from Helen's duplex."

"That would explain why I didn't recognize the number. A landline? Really? I wasn't sure anyone had those anymore, though they definitely come in handy in weather like this."

Emily rolled her eyes. Why did every conversation with Tad sound like a lecture? "Listen, I don't have time to debate the merits of landlines with you right now. Have you seen Helen?"

"Are you okay, Pitbull?" Tad had called her Pitbull ever since they were teens. He always said she was like an attack dog if she didn't get her way or she was defending someone she loved—she'd bite your leg off and then beat you with it. Emily hated the nickname, which was probably why Tad insisted on continually using it.

"What? No, I'm fine. I just want to know if you've seen Helen since school yesterday."

"You told me that you're calling from Helen's place. Aren't you looking at her? Are you in trouble? What's going on?"

"Whoa there, Cowboy. I'm fine. Duke was barking his head off, so I came to check things out. When he clearly needed to uh…use the facilities, I used the spare key Helen gave me to let him out. His food and water bowls are both empty. Did you go up to the school today? Did you see Helen there?"

Finally full, Duke came over and stared up at Emily with sad, brown eyes. He put his paws on her leg, begging for attention. She wished she could give his belly a good rub, but she knew if she touched him, she would be toast. Her allergies were already in full swing, and one touch of that dog, and she would be one giant snot ball.

"No, Pit. I haven't seen Helen since I left school yesterday. I did go up to school this morning. I always try to get there early, as you know, to be fully prepared for the day." Emily gave another eye roll. "But instead, I found the place crawling with cops. I talked to Principal Matthews, and he told me what happened. I'm really sorry you had to be the one to find him, Em." Tad's voice lowered in sympathy. Emily tried to smother the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach at his warm, caring voice.

Instead, she paused to clear her throat. "What should I do about Duke?" Ears perking up at the mention of his name, Duke lay down at Emily's feet, baring his little, pink belly. "He needs looking after, and I'm allergic."

Tad laughed deeply. "I'd forgotten that. Ironic. The Pitbull is allergic to the Yorkie." This time Emily not only rolled her eyes, she also snarled. Tad hastily continued, "I can take him. The Cruises won't mind if he stays here temporarily." Tad lived in a converted loft above the local hardware store. The Cruise family had run the store for years. Emily had fond memories of that loft space, but not because Tad lived there. The summer before her freshman year of high school, she and the Cruises' youngest son, Josh, had snuck up to what was then an empty loft to share their first kiss.

"Great. I'll gather up his supplies and bring him to you." It was only after she hung up that Emily realized she should have had Tad come to them. There was no way she could transport Duke without touching him. Oh well, sacrifices, sacrifices.