Relative Danger (27 page)

A black vehicle approached.

I clenched my fists. I loosened them slightly when I saw it was a car. No other vehicle rolled down this street. Yet. I turned to go back inside. On the cement against the wall lay a chipped piece of red brick. I lifted the piece, found it sharp, and noted the gouged section of wall it had come from. A bullet had nicked that wall. I had a bullet in my purse. It would become evidence if needed, just like this. I set the shard of brick down where it had been. Had someone shot here some time ago? Or yesterday, while I sat outside?

I grabbed Minnie, darted into the condo, and locked the door. I set her down where she would be safe. Nervously, I wiped the stovetop, considering options. I should contact the police. But I also wanted to get to Kat’s school. I needed an excuse.

Some people would already be arriving there. Maybe I could offer to help Cynthia Petre and the other secretaries take phone calls.
Naw
. Tell Anne Little I was stopping by to see if they needed a sub?
No way.
I glanced at Minnie. “I could go in wearing coveralls and tell them I want to apply for the dead custodian’s job.”

I gave myself a light cheek slap for thinking of such a thing. My phone rang. Who was up so early? Telemarketers were intelligent people. They didn’t rise until seven in the evening, it seemed from their calls. Gil? “Good morning! I hope you have a fantastic one,” I said in a sugarcoated tone.

“Gram!” Kat screamed. “I need you!”

“Kat, what’s wrong?” I shrieked into the phone.

“My car…somebody blew up my car!”

I panted, clutching my phone. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

Her quiet moment seemed to extend to an hour. The clack-clacking I heard sounded like teeth chattering.

“Kat, tell me!”

“I’m okay. I’m at school.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Gram, I…” She exhaled heavily and then seemed able to speak again. “I couldn’t get Dad. The police are here.”

I sprinted to the Mustang, talking. “Kat, I’m on my way.” I barreled off in the car. “Tell me what happened.”

More of her heavy breaths sounded before she spoke. “I got here about twenty minutes ago. Parked where I usually do. In the lot. I came in the building and was going to take my first exam, and…”

“I’m with you, baby.” I scooted to the edge of my car seat and shoved the accelerator. “And then what? What happened, Kat?”

“We heard a loud noise. Thought the building was exploding. Everybody started running.” She breathed hard. “People screamed to look out. Then somebody yelled, ‘Kat, it’s your car!’”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Smoke was all over the parking lot.”

Traffic made me brake.
Come on, come on
, I urged drivers. “Kat, I’m heading there and—”

“I have to go. The police want to talk to me again.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Hold on, sweetheart, you hear me?”

The clog of vehicles seemed like sludge on the freeway. I veered off to an exit. City streets slowed me down, but I willed myself to be there with Kat. What happened? Who’d want to harm her? Why?

Her little secondhand car surely wouldn’t attract anyone’s envy. Roger had bought that car two years ago. He’d fine-tuned the motor and knocked out the body’s kinks. Kat’s summer jobs at the rec center helped pay for it. She kept that Chevy in shape with weekly washings and much polishing. She was so good at polishing, I thought, feeling a tense smile when I considered her skills. But who’d want to hurt the car? Or Kat?

Grim thoughts made my teeth clench. Did this have anything to do with Grant Labruzzo’s murder? Was he murdered?

Potentially deadly circumstances connected to Kat’s school were startling. Labruzzo died. A woman who’d subbed was shot. Another, with hair like Marisa’s and wearing denim like her that day, was hurt by spilled chemicals. A beaker broke when someone slammed my classroom door. Was the door locked? Why and how? Was Marisa Hernandez attracting killers? Or was she a killer herself? Did her lure endanger Kat?

I tore through an intersection, my scalp tightening with questions, my heart racing in my chest. A blasting horn made me glance out my door window. I’d cut in front of a car, its furious male driver giving me the finger. Ignoring him, I spied unlit stadium lights ahead leaning forward like tall bug-eyed creatures. I careened around a corner to the school.

Vehicles rushed toward and away from Sidmore High. The parking lot made my stomach churn. Police cars with swirling lights surrounded the half-empty lot. Sirens screamed with squad cars and fire trucks pulling up. Firemen were already hosing a smoking car that I couldn’t see in the middle of the lot. My granddaughter’s car.

Hot tears blurred my vision. My body convulsed with trembles. I gripped the steering wheel, overwhelmed by a feeling of losing control.

Where was Kat? How could I find her with all this confusion? I kept telling myself she was okay. The reminder wasn’t working.

Roadblocks had cut off the street in front of the school. Adults wearing worried faces were pulling up all over the adjacent road near the stadium, where people scrambled to cars and each other. Out of the field house between the stadium and the main building came a large policeman with a black Labrador. Police dog. Bomb-sniffing dog.

I parked in the stadium lot and ran with swarming parents who shouted their fears to each other. They hollered names of their children, relief flooding faces when they found kids unharmed. A sense of the surreal washed ever me. Police, teachers, and students everywhere. People sobbing. They spoke into cell phones, telling others they were okay. Many rushed away from the scene, the new crime scene.

“Kat!” I yelled, my head whipping from side to side as I darted through groups, skimming faces. Some I recognized, most I didn’t. I moved through swarms of frantic people and called Kat’s name, asking if anyone had seen her. Teens and adults shook their heads, running past me. My mouth was shaking, my jaw aching from my teeth hitting against each other. The sea of people was thinning, the walkway to the school ahead of me blocked off with tape and adult guards.

I spied a familiar woman. “Anne. Anne Little!” I called, rushing toward her. She didn’t seem to hear my voice between the sirens’ wails and shouting voices, and headed into the field house.

I ran in behind her. The stench of urine and stale body odor made me bite back the instinct to gag. People were talking loudly beyond the locker room.

In what must have been a coach’s office, I saw Anne Little. She sat at a table with other adults. And Kat.

“Gram,” Kat said, shoving herself up to her feet. She came to me, and we gripped each other.

“It’ll be okay,” I murmured, rubbing her back and feeling her trembles matching mine.

“You must be Katherine’s grandmother,” said a man seated at the table. He was bald and wore a sports coat. The police officer beside him had freckles and looked too young to be wearing a uniform. Anne Little gazed at me with sad eyes and shook her head. Kat and I wiped off our tears and sat.

“Yes, I am,” I replied. I held Kat’s hand and faced this person, who rubbed his hand back and forth under his fleshy chin.

“I’m Captain White,” he said. “Katherine wasn’t hurt. And nobody was in the parking lot, as far as we know, so we were lucky. It doesn’t seem like anyone was injured.”

I breathed relief. Then I said, “Who did this?”

“We don’t know yet.” He peered at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. “We’re securing the school and trying to keep everybody safe.”

I squeezed Kat’s hand. Kissed her forehead. Saw her expression relax into one of gratitude.

“Captain White,” I said, voicing what I’d just surmised, “it probably wasn’t a bomb. Maybe something went wrong with Kat’s car. I’m sure she told you it’s old.”

“Mrs. Gunther, it was a bomb,” he said, his statement settling hard in my chest. “Katherine said she had no idea who might have done this.”

He faced Kat. “Have you offended anyone? Have you caused anyone to be embarrassed?”

“Kat doesn’t have enemies,” I snapped.

Captain White looked at me. He left his wattle alone and peered at Kat.

“I haven’t hurt anyone,” she said, “that I know of.”

“Did you see anyone around your car when you left it this morning? Or when you drove up?” he asked, and Kat shook her head.

Roger rushed through the doorway. “Kat!”

“Dad.” She bounced up, and they hugged. Clung. The pain in Roger’s face mirrored all the sorrow he’d borne while watching Nancy die.

Tears stung my eyes. I yearned to stop all this suffering in my son and grandchild.

“I was checking out the motor in a car,” Roger said to all of us, “and just got back to the shop and received the message. I can’t believe this happened.”

Captain White spoke to him. “I’ll need some information and then you can all go.” More questions would come later, at the station. Anguish remained in Roger’s face while he gave answers and held Kat. She looked more peaceful by the time we left, with her father’s arm still secure around her shoulder. Kat seemed especially frail, held by the gaunt man at her side, my grown boy.

We were out of the building when Roger glanced at me. “I’ll take care of her, Mom.”

“I could help.”

He shook his head. “I’m taking Kat home. She needs rest.” They both thanked me for coming, and Roger said he would keep in touch.

I watched them sag against each other. I had to keep my feet planted to keep from grabbing them and forcing them to come with me. I’d take them straight to the airport and shove them in a plane. We’d fly far away.

I walked across the grass to my car, peering over my shoulder to keep the two of them in sight until they were gone from my view. Few people remained in the area. I slid into the Mustang and sat slapping the steering wheel, cursing whoever had caused my family such anguish. I peered out, saw a brilliant, clear sky, and cursed that, too.

Vehicles were inching by, the people inside them staring at the school parking lot. I drove away, my inner eye viewing the grief I’d just witnessed. I wanted to be with Roger and Kat. But my son had taken charge. Could he find sudden power?

The image of Gil’s shoulder came, the cushiony space where I had often leaned my head. I could curl up on his lap and let him hold me. Tell me not to worry.

I gave my head a shake. Strength had to come from inside me now.

Captain White had told Kat, Roger, and me that we’d have to go to the station as soon as possible to give more information. For me, this seemed like a good time.

I drove there and walked in without concern about the place or its people, but noted the strong odor of a sweet cigar. Maybe the fruit trays weren’t working. The man I had spoken to before wasn’t here today. He’d probably gone to the school early this morning to question John Winston.

Detective Sandra Jones led me to her office. The dark-skinned, petite woman told me to sit, and I did. She sat at her computer.

“Who could have had a bomb?” I asked. “That should tell you who to arrest.”

“Anybody with computer knowledge and a little sense could have learned how to build a simple pipe bomb. We’ll check with places that sell the parts and see if we can find out who bought them, but they’ll probably be hard to trace.”

My mind rummaged through people from Sidmore High. No student in my first day’s classes could have figured out how to make a bomb. But all of those kids were in that construction class. They learned how to build things. Did all kids today have expert computer knowledge?

“When you went to Sidmore High School to sub,” Detective Jones said, “did you antagonize anyone? Would any student have it in for you, Mrs. Gunther?”

I made rapid eye blinks. “You think somebody did this to Kat because of me?”

“Kids do all sorts of things to get even.”

Her comment dumped a crushing weight on my chest. I had decided to do something about Kat at her school. And
I
could have caused her death. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting.

Slumping back in the chair, I tried to force away all my trembling. My pulse throbbed in my head, and I leaned toward this young woman. Words tumbled from my mouth. Anything. I had no idea what information the police might be able to use. Sandra Jones wrote, her fingers seldom slowing on her keyboard. I told about Sledge. Roxy, who was probably okay, but she’d once pulled that knife on Kat. My head reeled. “Kat likes this teacher.” I talked a little about Marisa Hernandez, waiting to see Jones’s intense expression change. It didn’t. “I heard that Miss Hernandez has been a prime target in your investigation of Grant Labruzzo’s murder.”

Jones stopped typing. She stared at me. “He was murdered? Do you know that for a fact?”

I shook my head. “Uh-uh, but I thought—”

She typed more while I told my concerns about murderous-looking Coach Millet and tiny red-faced Miss Gird. Jones’s eyes scrolled down to mine. “Are they connected to Katherine? Did either one of them threaten her?”

“No. But Miss Gird teaches her now.” I considered. “Oh, and Roxy said the police should be questioning a teacher named Abby Jeansonne.”

“Why?”

I was blank. “Roxy just said.” I raised my shoulders. “Your killer could be anyone in the office or driving those trucks and Jeeps and cars.”

“Again you say we have a killer. Are you sure of that, Mrs. Gunther?”

Air left my lungs with great sound. “I’m not sure of anything.”

Of course Detective Jones knew about Mrs. Peekers. She was fine, Jones said, when I asked of the woman’s condition. Went home from the hospital Saturday. “Anything else you can give me?” Jones asked. “Anything that seemed threatening? To you or your son or granddaughter?”

“Roger only fears having Kat leave him soon for college.” A recent concern sprang to mind. “Do you know if anyone from your office questioned a student named John Winston today?”

She didn’t know. I told her everything that had transpired with the boy. She typed, stopped, and with big brown eyes peered at my face. “Any threats to you?”

My eyes rolled up. Which events to tell? Anything that might help Kat. I looked at Jones. “Well, my Lexus was keyed and kicked in when I parked with the students.”