Murder Is Our Mascot (8 page)

Emily and Gabby debated nearly the entire contents of her closet before Emily settled on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a turtleneck sweater, boots (with heels, of course), and dangly earrings. Emily finished off her look with smoky eye makeup, dark lipstick, and perfume. Some mousse and backcombing gave her shiny bob some volume. Strapping on her favorite watch, Emily noticed she still had plenty of time before she had to leave for Tad's. Knowing that if she settled down to watch some TV she would end up gnawing off her lipstick, Emily grabbed her favorite confidante, her journal, and headed to her breakfast nook, which had always been her favorite place to write.

Those close to Emily considered her journal writing a type of obsession. She had an entire shelf in her office dedicated to the journals she had kept over the years. She didn't think of her writing as a compulsion but rather as a way for her to process information. She thought things through more clearly by writing them down, and right now, she had plenty to puzzle over. After scribbling several pages about the events of the last few days, Emily reviewed what she had written. Chewing on the end of her pen, she considered what questions she still had concerning Jim's death and Helen's disappearance. She listed them:

1. Where's Helen?

2. Did Helen need money badly enough to blackmail someone?

3. Who could Helen have been blackmailing? Jim? About what?

4. Could Helen have killed Jim?

5. Could the money mentioned by Mrs. Quinton be simply the ramblings of an addled

 mind?

6. Who would have known that Jim would be at the school that late?

7. How did Mr. Barnes afford that fancy car??

Emily knew she might be fixating on Barnes because she disliked him so much, but the timing of his new car ate at her. She had a sudden flashback from
Varsity Blues,
in which the main character, Mox, asks the same question about his health teacher. Turned out she was a stripper on the side. Could Barnes be a stripper on the side? Emily shuddered and slammed her journal shut. Enough speculation for now. If she had to think of Barnes in a tiny Speedo, she'd lose her appetite for dinner.

* * *

Tad answered the door wearing a soft, gray sweater and jeans, with a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. Emily blamed her salivating on the smells that wafted from the kitchen. "Smells delicious," she said as Tad took her coat. "What can I do to help?"

Tad motioned to the salad makings laid out by the cutting board. "I thought you could work on the salad while I finish up the roast chicken and new potatoes." Emily was impressed. She loved to cook but had had no idea that Tad did too. When she mentioned that, he turned to her with a slow smile. "There are several things you don't know about me, Em." His eyes held hers so that her hand faltered on the knife she was using to chop up a red pepper. She was relieved when he turned back to the stove. Chopping off a finger would definitely put a damper on the evening. "I had an excellent wine picked out to go with the chicken but figured you'd probably prefer soda," he said over his shoulder.

Emily laughed at the cold, fizzy drink he set in front of her. "You know me well, Tad. You know me well."

Tad leaned in closer, their arms brushing as he whispered, "I do, Em. That I do." Emily would have sworn that electricity was snapping in the air around them. She felt her eyes drifting closed as she swayed imperceptibly closer to Tad. Then a furry head bumped her leg at the same time claws dug through the back of her jeans. She yelped and jumped back. Duke stood, giving her his "poor me" doggy eyes. She had completely forgotten about the tiny dog. Tad looked as rattled as she did as he bent to give Duke a good rub.

"Poor guy must be hungry," Emily managed irritably. "After all, it does smell amazing in here." Duke wagged his tail happily, and Emily glared at the little traitor. The moment between her and Tad dissolved into that abyss of lost chances.

Once they were settled at his small kitchen table, Tad started in on the research he had compiled so far on Coach Layton. Emily savored the moist chicken but was frustrated by how little Tad had been able to uncover. Apparently, Jim's electronic footprint only went back as far as eleven years ago. At that time, he was teaching and coaching in a small district in Iowa.

"So where was he before Iowa?" Emily asked again.

Tad ran a hand through his hair. "That's just it, Pit. I have no idea. There is nothing out there, at least that I can find, before he started teaching in Peculiar Bluffs, Iowa."

Emily fiddled with her fork. "You know that Principal Matthews would never hire someone he hadn't completely vetted. Jim had to have had references. Maybe some of those would lead us to where he was before Iowa?"

"Good idea," Tad replied, stacking their plates and carrying them into the kitchen. "I'll check with Mr. Matthews first thing in the morning. You up for dessert? I picked up a red velvet cheesecake at Mae's Bakery yesterday." Tad waved the familiar pink-and-white-striped box under her nose.

Emily closed her eyes and inhaled as Tad slid a slice in front of her. Mae's was one of her favorite places on Earth, and Tad knew it. Her eyes snapped open, but she waited to speak until she had shoveled in the first creamy bite of heaven. She tried to keep a tiny moan from escaping, but this was Mae's, for crying out loud. Tad was watching her carefully, his slice still untouched. Emily broke off a white chocolate curl from the top of her piece and pointed it at Tad. "How did you know I'd be here for dessert?" Her eyes narrowed, but Tad didn't squirm.

"I didn't. I had to go in to order some donuts for the Mathletes' meeting, and when I saw she had one of these babies in her cooler, I couldn't resist. Why?"

Emily became intensely interested in her cheesecake. Why was she always jumping to the conclusion that Tad was trying to flirt with her? How narcissistic could she be? It was too bad that jumping to conclusions didn't burn calories, she thought, or she could be as skinny as Gabby in no time. Ignoring Tad's question, Emily changed the subject. "What about the social media sites? Surely Jim had a Facebook page or a Twitter account or something."

Tad nodded. "He does have a Facebook page, but it's only a few months old." Emily blew her bangs off her forehead in a huff. "But," he continued, "his page did say that he was in a relationship with Stephanie Lowell."

"Who's she?" Emily asked. Knowing Tad, he already had that all figured out.

He did. "She's a personal trainer at Perfect Fitness." He smirked at her. "I thought we could swing by there after the memorial service tomorrow and see what we can find out."

Emily groaned and dropped her head to the table. "Why couldn't she have been a chef? Or a clothing designer?" She knew she was perilously close to whining, but she didn't care. Of the top ten things she hated most in life, gyms rated right up there with mornings and running.

Tad had moved back to the kitchen and was running hot water in the sink to start washing dishes. Emily hurried to help him, but he shooed her away. "I'll do the dishes—you agree to go to the gym with me."

Emily crossed her arms in front of her. "Only in the name of research," she finally groused, taking a seat at the counter. "And speaking of research, don't you think we should check further into Mr. Barnes?"

Tad had pushed his sleeves up past the elbows, and Emily was trying not to notice the fine, dark hairs glistening on his forearms as he plunged his hands in the soapy water. Who knew doing the dishes could be so sexy? To detract attention from her heated face, Emily continued. "There's no way he could afford that car on our salary. What if he's like that Miss Davis in
Varsity Blues
?"

Tad frowned at her, trying to recall the reference. "You know, the sex ed teacher who was a stripper on the side?" she said to jog his memory.

The plate Tad was drying nearly crashed to the floor. "Are you suggesting Mr. Barnes is a stripper?" He stacked the last plate carefully in the cabinet before coming around to sit beside her. "That has to be the most ridiculous, and truly nightmare-worthy idea, I have ever heard you come up with."

The look of horror in Tad's eyes tickled Emily's funny bone. A giggle slipped out, and when Tad chuckled in return, Emily let loose with a full-out laugh that ended in her gasping for breath. The laughter eased the tension in her shoulders, and as Emily brushed her hair out of her eyes, she realized she was practically sitting in Tad's lap. She straightened so quickly, she banged his chin with the top of her head. Tad quit laughing and rubbed his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," Emily gushed, hopping up and dragging on her coat that had been left draped over the back of the couch. "One of the hazards of being short, I guess." She carefully buttoned every button on her coat, unsure of what to say or do next. Tad wasn't helping alleviate her awkwardness either. He stood casually in front of the door, her only means of escape. Terrified of making another stupid move, Emily blurted, "Thanks for dinner. And the research skills. We'll plan on the gym tomorrow."

Tad smiled at the grimace she couldn't quite mask at the mention of the gym. "You're welcome. It's a date, then." When he still didn't move, Emily took a hesitant step forward. Tad must have had the same idea she did because they collided a foot from the door. Trying not to lose her balance, Emily gripped Tad's waist. His arms came around her to steady her, and they shared an awkward hug. Emily never raised her eyes from his chest, but instead, she turned and darted out the door with a hastily called "thanks again" over her shoulder.

* * *

All the way home, Emily kicked herself for the way she had fumbled the good-bye at Tad's. What was wrong with her? She was a grown woman, not a hormone-addled teenager with a crush. They were working together, and that was it. At least that's what she told herself as she let herself into her duplex, but she knew what an awful liar she was.

Even though it was late, Emily picked up the phone to spill her guts to Gabby, hoping for some sympathy. Instead, Greg answered, explaining that Gabby was busy rocking one of the girls who had woken up with a cough. Hearing how down she sounded, Greg offered to help, but Emily assured him that it was nothing but a silly girl problem and she would be fine. He reluctantly let her go, reminding her that all she had to do was call.

She settled for Bunny Tracks ice cream and old
Friends
reruns as her comfort instead. Yes, she had just had cheesecake, but she had to go to the gym tomorrow anyway, right? A commercial for an online dating service came on, and Emily briefly wondered if she should try something like that. It might be harder to embarrass herself over the Internet. Nah, with her track record, she could still mange it. Emily snuggled in the soft, maroon-and-navy throw blanket her mom had made her during her freshman year of high school, feeling sorry for herself. She changed the channel and came across a late-night marathon of
Golden Girls
reruns. Emily was chortling along with Dorothy, her favorite character, at one of Rose's silly stories, when it hit her—the
Golden Girls
were Helen's bedtime ritual. Emily often heard the theme song muffled through their joint walls when she was going to bed at night. The laugh died in her throat, and she stabbed the off button on the remote. Where could Helen be? Was she okay? Was she tied up in this mess of Jim's murder? And if so, how?

Since she had no answers, she could only pray that the morning would help to shed some light on these questions. Tossing the empty ice cream container in the trash, Emily shuffled down the hall to try and get some sleep. So what if she dragged her throw blanket to bed with her for comfort? No one was there to be the wiser.

After a restless night, punctuated by disturbing dreams combining Helen, the
Golden Girls
, and Jim, Emily finally fell into a sound sleep ten minutes before her alarm was set to go off. Emily slapped the offending clock hard enough to send it crashing to the floor and skittering under her bed. Pulling the covers over her head, Emily contemplated calling in sick to school. Mornings were number one on her list of "most hated things," so add to that the awkwardness she was sure to face with Tad, and the amount of sweets she had consumed last night with the looming dreaded trip to the gym, and she had the perfect recipe for a reason not to go to work. However, her desire to dig further into Jim Layton's past and help clear Helen's name was strong enough to propel her out of bed. Although the bags under her eyes were large enough to carry her papers to school in and dark enough to make her look like she'd gone a round with Mike Tyson, Emily was consoled by the new pair of gray suede ankle boots she finally had a chance to wear today. If there was a reason to get out of bed, for Emily, it was to wear a new pair of shoes.

Twenty minutes later, Emily stomped down the hallway toward her classroom, her boots making sharp staccato taps on the aged tile. She managed only to unlock her door and flip on the light before Tad stuck his head in the room. Emily immediately felt her face suffuse with heat, but in the quick glance she cast at his face, she was secretly delighted to see that his eyes looked as tired as hers. Not knowing how to break the silence, she merely shuffled papers around, searching for the folder she had put together for her meeting with Arlene.

Tad cleared his throat, but Emily didn't look up from her desk. Finally he said, "I went ahead and talked with Principal Matthews about Jim this morning. I didn't expect you to be here this early."

Her head snapped up, and she glared in his general direction. Of course Tad would be here early enough to have taken care of business. She refused to give him the satisfaction of asking what was said, although she was itching to do just that. Instead she said, "I have an early meeting with Stevie's mother, remember?"

"Of course. Sorry," Tad mumbled, and Emily relented because Tad never mumbled. He clearly felt as awkward as she did. Last night had ended on a very strange note. Should she ask him about it, or ignore it and focus on the information about Jim? Tad settled the matter by saying, "Apparently, Jim came here with impeccable references from Iowa. He taught at Peculiar Bluffs for six years before coming to Ellington. Principal Matthews gave me a copy of his references if we want to contact them?" That final part came out as more of a question, and Emily pounced on it.