Why not?
“Sure.” No sooner did he say the word, a sudden arctic blast seemed to come his way. Looking over to the source of the blast, he wasn’t surprised to find Allie standing in the doorway.
Hell.
Or it was going to…and soon.
Chapter Eight
With quiet dignity—or so she hoped—Allie headed to the coffee pot and then the fridge, where she added her usual sweetener to her coffee—this time, white caramel mocha latte creamer—and marched over to a vacant seat by the window. Studiously avoiding looking at the cozy couple at the other table, she pulled the Salt Lake Tribune toward her from where it sat forgotten and made herself focus on the columns.
The latest update on the fire was on the second page of the local section. No leads yet, just a small piece on how the damage was minimal, and the school was going to be able to stay open with classes resuming this morning—in case she hadn’t caught that. No mention about the murder investigation—not that she was surprised about that, either. It was unlikely there’d be any mention until the person was caught.
Or someone else was hurt. Or killed. She shivered and looked up for a moment. Aside from Sam and Meredith looking cozy and deep in conversation, there were several other faculty members present, and she studied them all.
Could one of them be the person who had killed Mr. Williams?
She dismissed half of them straight off. They hadn’t been a student or a faculty member when Mr. Williams taught here. The other six, she studied a little harder.
Tim, Janine’s squeeze, currently taught biology. And he’d attended St. Andrew’s back when she and Sam attended, graduating the same year she was a freshman. He also would have been on the soccer team, just like Sam, and would have known Mr. Williams well. But did he have any reason to want to kill the man?
Señora Sanchez. She’s been teaching Spanish here for almost thirty years, now. Somewhere close to sixty, she was still an attractive woman, as her previous three husbands had all, no doubt, agreed. She would have been in her forties back then. Mr. Williams was thirty-one. Somehow, Allie couldn’t imagine Mr. Williams, so full of life, would have had any kind of relationship with the woman, much less anything romantic. What other motive would she have had to kill him?
Jeremy was standing at the side of the room, speaking with Brother Luther. They had both been on the faculty fifteen years ago. Jeremy had been a guidance counselor back then. In fact, it had only been the year after Mr. Williams’s disappearance that he was promoted to the vice-principal position. Was that a coincidence?
And Brot
her Luther… Okay. The prospect of the man being a suspect was unimaginable. He got teary-eyed whenever anyone even mentioned Mr. Williams, muttering, “Poor man. Poor man.” She could hardly think of any reason he’d have wanted Mr. Williams dead.
Okay. She was becoming a regular Harriet the Spy. Soon she’d be scratching her crazy thoughts in little notebooks and hiding in garbage cans or lurking in dark alleys to confirm her suspicions. Good grief.
Let the police handle this. She was sure Detective Johnson was on top of this.
Except… Allie seemed to be the person with the most to lose. For whatever reason, she’d become a target. Which meant she had more than a vested interest in getting this mystery solved.
She sipped her coffee and looked surreptitiously over the rim at the cozy couple. And narrowed her eyes. Hmm. Meredith had definitely hated Mr. Williams. Not only had he given her a D their first year at St. Andrews, but he’d been resistant to her charms, which she’d always laid on pretty thick for the teachers as part of her plan to become everyone’s favorite. He hadn’t been so easily charmed, which may have been one more reason Allie had liked him so much.
And Sam. He’d obviously known Mr. Williams. In fact, she had been under the impression he was as upset as the rest of the students when Mr. Williams went missing and later, was presumed dead. Mr. Williams had been his soccer coach and his student advisor on the Crimson Press. But what reason would Sam have to hate him? And would that hatred have propelled Sam to kill his own teacher?
Then again, Sam had been stuck in that basement with her last Friday. He’d almost perished with her in the fire. If he’d been trying to destroy evidence to throw her off the trail, he wouldn’t have placed himself smack in the middle of the danger. She dismissed him from the list of possible killers…but couldn’t quite dismiss his attitude where the teacher was concerned.
“Oh, there you are, Al.”
She jerked up at the sharp, female voice. It was Meredith, who had apparently been so enraptured in her conversation with Sam that she only now noticed Allie’s presence. Meredith crooked her finger in her direction.
Terrific. Her royal highness was summoning her.
Be still her heart.
…
Just when Sam thought he was going to avoid an awkward confrontation with Allie, Meredith had to tempt the fates. What the hell was she doing motioning for Allie to come over? From the mutinous look on Allie’s face, that had either been a well-timed power play or short-sighted gaffe. He’d be curious to see which.
He glanced up. Allie was glaring down at them, her coffee mug in hand.
Gone was the pretty, form-fitting outfit from the weekend, in favor of a practical, loose, white shirt tucked into a long, navy skirt. Except for the slit in the back that ended just above her knee. He’d noticed it earlier as she’d bent down to place the coffee creamer back in the fridge.
She seemed upset. Or…something. He wondered if anything else had happened over the weekend. Would she have called him if she needed help? He hoped so. Someone had to watch out for her.