Cranking the air in my car, I dialed Larry. I hoped he’d have time to get together and chat. Damn. Voice mail. I opted not to leave a message, hung up the phone and hit the gas. No way was I going back into Aunt Millie’s house until the coast was clear. The clock on my dashboard read 3:14 P.M. The school would still be open. Maybe Larry was putting the finishing touches on his lesson plans.
Football practice was still going on in the field to the left of the school, which meant at least one door to the school would be unlocked. Larry had given me a key to the choir room and another to his office, but I wasn’t entrusted with a key to the front door—yet. Guess they were waiting to see if I could resist the urge to steal the erasers.
The side door near the practice field was open. I walked down to the Fine Arts wing, trying not to look as out of place as I felt. My high school experience hadn’t been terrible. In fact, compared to those of a lot of my friends, my high school life had been downright wonderful. I’d gotten better than average grades, scored leads in the musicals, and even got elected to prom court my senior year. Still, despite the fond memories, returning to high school in any capacity wasn’t something to which I’d ever aspired. And yet, here I was cruising the halls and championing one of the students I had never wanted to teach. Life was strange.
The choir room door was locked. I knocked just in case Larry was inside. Nothing. I got out my shiny new key and twisted it in the lock.
No one was inside. The adjoining office was also dark. Drat. Still, now that I was here, familiarizing myself with the space wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps I’d poke around some desk drawers, flip through whatever papers I could find—all in order to understand Larry’s organizational system, of course. And if I found something incriminating, well, I couldn’t help it.
I went over my reasoning twice to make sure I could spout it back to someone if I was discovered. As a performer, I liked knowing my lines. Certain I could bluff with the best of them, I crossed the room and began pawing through the stacks of paper on the piano. Lots of bad choral arrangements. I resisted the urge to hide the worst of them and looked in the piano bench. Larry’s metronome and conductor’s baton sat inside along with several ancient-looking cough drops. The rest of the room was filled with equally professional items. Not exactly a surprise, but under the circumstances, disappointing.
That left the office.
I got out my other key, took several deep breaths, and let myself in. Hitting the light, I stepped into the room. Just standing in the small, cluttered space made my muscles tense. Two filing cabinets and an upright piano were positioned against one wall. A large metal desk sat on the opposite side of the room. A desktop computer sat on the desk, along with enough paper to throw a ticker tape parade. On the wall were photos of kids in glittery costumes smiling wide at the camera. In the middle of each group of kids was Larry.
That’s when it hit me. This was Larry’s personal space. Yeah, I was allowed to use it, too, but as a guest. This felt like breaking and entering. For the first time in my life, I was probably doing something more illegal than photocopying music. Illegal was bad. Then again, so was being threatened for trying to help a teenage boy prove his innocence.
Shoving my doubts aside, I headed for the filing cabinets. Locked. Good. One less thing to feel guilty about invading. I sat down at the desk and flipped on the computer. While I was waiting for it to boot, I scanned the desk calendar. In perfect penmanship, Larry had written in all the official school events. Every football game, dance, and choral concert for the upcoming year was accounted for.
I sifted through the stacks of loose papers. Class lists, music theory worksheets, Illinois Music Educators Association memos, and a bunch of pamphlets for the Symphony Center and other professional Chicago choral groups were piled on the desk. I even found a folder containing handwritten notes about dance steps to the clichéd show choir songs Larry suggested yesterday.
Yikes. The steps weren’t just basic, they were boring. I wasn’t an expert on these competitions, but from the videos I’d seen, any choir doing these steps would be blown out of the water. Judging by the notes in the margin, Larry knew this as well. This combined with his desperation to win might have made Larry snap.
Shoved in the back of the dance steps folder was an overdraft notice from Larry’s bank. He probably didn’t even know it was in there. It was dated a week ago. Poor Larry was more financially strapped than I was, which was saying something.
I put the papers aside, turned to the computer, and clicked through a bunch of folders. Nothing terribly exciting. A couple of folders labeled Grades and followed by a class number were password protected. I clicked on Larry’s e-mail and a password screen appeared. For kicks, I tried a couple of musical terms.
Denied.
I didn’t know Larry well enough to make a real attempt at cracking his password. With Aunt Millie it was easy. Plug in the name of one of her dead dogs, and you were in. My former roommate was even easier. Her theatrical memory skills were impeccable. Her daily memory was sketchy at best so she kept a list of her passwords taped to the bottom of her desk drawer.
I scooted the chair back a few inches and stared at the desk drawers. Larry wouldn’t do something that silly. Would he? I pulled out the side drawers. Lots of paper clips, rubber bands, highlighters, and sticky notes. I even found a few grade books and binders, but nothing had passwords written on them. I tugged on the middle drawer. Locked. Since picking locks wasn’t my specialty, I was going to have to call it quits. Unless…
Pushing the chair all the way back, I got on my hands and knees and crawled under the desk. Ick. The janitorial staff definitely needed to vacuum. Sneezing, I flipped onto my back and looked up. Taped to the bottom of the desk was a Post-it Note. The tape was also yellow, giving the impression that Post-it had been there a long time. On it were written combinations of letters and numbers. Each combination ended with the numbers 2003.
Huh. I scribbled the numbers onto a new Post-it, backed out of my position under the desk, and sat back down on the chair. Armed with passwords, I started typing.
None of them worked. I looked back down at the combinations. Could 2003 be the year Larry taped the Post-it to the bottom of the desk? If so, maybe he changed the passwords every year. I tried all four with this year’s numbers at the end. Nope. Damn. Well, maybe he forgot to change the password when the calendar changed this year. Nope. I scrolled back another year.
Open sesame! My heart skipped several beats as the graphic changed. I was in.
Larry’s e-mail appeared on the screen. Right off the bat I decided not to touch any of the new ones since I wasn’t positive I’d be able to return them to their currently unread state. I scrolled past the ten bolded, unread e-mails and focused on the others in the inbox. I saw e-mails on music orders, textbooks, and riser setup. Riveting. Nothing suspicious.
Clicking on the save folder, I selected the most recent message dated almost two weeks ago from a KRIS42. I skimmed it and sat up straight in the chair. Ok. I’ll do it for $1,500 cash. Tell me when you need it done.
The sender didn’t sign his name, and his e-mail address didn’t provide any hints. I scrolled down the saved e-mails. The only other one from KRIS42 was sent a week before the one I’d just read. I clicked it. If you want me to kill, it’ll be $4,000.
The back of my neck started to sweat. Larry’s e-mails to KRIS42 weren’t included on KRIS42’s replies. I might be jumping to conclusions, but the amount of money combined with the word kill had warning bells going off in my head.
Hands shaking, I clicked on the sent box. I saw e-mails dating back months, but nothing sent to KRIS42. They had been deleted. I clicked on the deleted folder. Nothing there. Computer geeks somewhere might be able to recover the e-mails Larry sent, but I was at a loss. Which really made me wonder. From the looks of things, Larry never deleted his sent e-mails or cleared out his e-mail trash can. Yet, he deleted these specific e-mails. Why would a person do that unless he had somet
hing to hide?
I jumped at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Heart racing, I closed down the e-mail program and logged off the computer. The footsteps were getting closer. I hit the off button, hurried out of the office, and closed the door behind me just as the choir room door swung open.
Felicia walked in, spotted me, and smiled. I shoved my hands in my pockets so Felicia wouldn’t see them shaking. Next time I broke and entered, I needed to bring a lookout.
“Hey, Paige. Have you seen Larry?” Felicia shoved some papers into her purse and frowned. “We were supposed to meet to go over a few ideas for his choir’s costumes.”
Larry’s choir had double the number of kids as mine. They competed in a different division and only went to half the competitions, which meant they only got to spend a fraction of the overall costume budget. Making thirty kids look fabulous on almost no money took skill and a lot of creativity.
Felicia sniffed at the air, took a step closer, and sniffed at me. Her nose crinkled, and she let out a high-pitched sneeze. I sniffed at my shirt. Oh God. I smelled like a funeral parlor.
“My aunt was having a Mary Kay demonstration. I guess I got too close to the perfume,” I explained. Then I directed the conversation back to less embarrassing ground. “I haven’t seen Larry.”
Felicia sneezed again and frowned. “He’s not answering his phone. I was sure I’d find him here.” She walked toward the office, and I prayed to God I’d remembered to turn off the light. I turned around and let out a whoosh of air. The lights were off.
“I tried to call him, too,” I admitted. Then I got an idea. Felicia seemed to keep up with the gossip. Maybe she could answer some questions for me. “Maybe he’s with his new girlfriend.”
Felicia frowned, and her eyes narrowed. “Larry has a girlfriend?” Three more sneezes. “Who is it?” Felicia didn’t like being left off the gossip train.
“I thought you might know. Someone mentioned Larry was escorting a tall blonde to his car the other night.”
Felicia shook her head. “I’m betting she’s just a friend. Larry has a hard time making the first move. He needs the woman to do it for him.” Her phone beeped. She flipped it open and laughed. “Larry is sitting at Starbucks waiting for me to show up. I mentioned we could grab coffee while we talk. He must have forgotten I said for us to meet here. Oh well. No harm. Do you want to come with?”
Hell no. After finding those e-mails, I wanted to stay as far away from Larry DeWeese as possible. Only, unless Detective Mike stumbled across the e-mails I just read, the truth about them and the identity of the mysterious KRIS42 wouldn’t come out anytime soon. It sucked that I couldn’t just hand the messages to the detective. But stolen evidence wouldn’t be admissible, and I’d end up cooling my heels in an ill-fitting jumpsuit for breaking and entering. Orange was definitely not my color. What I needed was real proof that Larry offed Greg. And I figured the only person who had that proof was Larry himself. Which is why I said, “I’d love to go.”
Larry was sitting at a small table in the back of the Starbucks when we arrived. He waved at Felicia and gave me a pleasant, albeit confused smile. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, Paige, or I would have gotten you a drink.”
An iced coffee was sitting on the table. Felicia picked it up and winked at Larry. “Isn’t he the best? If only I dated men that were half as wonderful.”
Larry blushed.
“Felicia and I ran into each other.” I pulled out the chair across from Larry and took a seat. “She asked me to come along.”
“Do you want a coffee? I’m happy to get one f-f-for you.” The only other time I’d heard Larry stutter was when Greg was antagonizing him. What was causing Larry’s emotional lather this time—my presence or Felicia’s flattery?
I turned down the offer for caffeine. I was jumpy enough without adding a stimulant to my bloodstream. “Let’s talk costumes.”
We did, which made me wish I’d accepted the coffee offer. The discussion over whether rhinestones or sequins sparkled more was enough to make me fall into a coma. Larry and Felicia finally decided to bedazzle the costumes and moved on. Hallelujah.
After another half hour of costume chat, Felicia tucked her notes away and finished her coffee. “This is going to be a fabulous year. I can feel it.” She leaned over and kissed Larry on the cheek. Larry looked like he was ready to pass out as Felicia giggled, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have done that. Your girlfriend might think I’m trying to move in on her man.”
“G-g-girlfriend?” Larry swallowed, and his eyes darted around like a man trying to escape. “I never said I had a girlfriend.”
Felicia smiled. “You didn’t have to. Someone spotted you and your blonde companion getting into your car the other night.” She winked at me.
“A b-b-blonde?” Larry’s eyes opened wide, and he shook his head. “Oh, her. She’s helping me with a financial issue.”
Felicia sighed. “I was hoping one of us was starting to get lucky in love. Oh well. I guess we just keep trying.” She sneezed and looked at her watch. “Speaking of getting lucky, I should go home and change for my date. I’ll see you two on Tuesday morning.” She pushed back her chair, and all male eyes in the place, especially Larry’s, watched her hips as she swished out the door.
“So,” I said, trying to get Larry’s attention. “I hope the financial situation isn’t serious. My aunt had a run-in with the IRS a couple years ago, and it wasn’t fun.” In truth, Aunt Millie had loved every minute of being audited. The IRS auditor was the one who hated the process, including meeting Killer. Millie had every deduction backed up with color-coded receipts. Too bad the auditor didn’t know when to cut his losses. He ended up losing the case, his job, and part of his sports coat in the process. Killer had a fondness for polyester.
Larry shook his head. “It’s nothing s-s-serious. You can forget about it.”
Yeah, right. I gave Larry my best nonthreatening smile and said, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you know Dana Lucas?”
Larry went still. “Dana Lucas?”
I pretended not to notice the color draining from Larry’s face. “I met her yesterday at the gym. She wasn’t all that upset that her husband was dead.”
“Th-they got d-d-d-divorced for a reason.”
“I know, but…” I bit my lip and tried to look conflicted.
Larry leaned forward. “But what?”
Ha! So much for the teacher that gave me a B on my acting final in college. “Detective Kaiser asked us to report anything out of the ordinary. Don’t you think this qualifies?”
“No.” He swallowed hard. “I think pointing fingers at people would make us look bad. I have to go. See you on Tuesday. It’s the first day of school so don’t be late.” He pushed out his chair and stalked to the door.
The minute Larry hit the sidewalk, he got out his phone and started dialing. I grabbed my purse and got to the door in time to hear him say, “I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
Hmm.
I got in my car and watched as a Larry walked down the block to his. A few minutes later, I was cruising several car lengths behind his silver Dodge Neon as it wove through Friday afternoon traffic. If Larry was meeting Dana, I wanted to be there to see it.
Larry pulled onto a residential street and parked in the driveway of a two-story white brick house. The house looked expensive. After seeing his financial statements, I figured Larry would be more the no-frills renter type. I parked on the street several well-manicured lawns away and waited. A few minutes later, a cherry red Jeep pulled in behind Larry’s Neon, and Dana Lucas climbed out.
Score one for intuition.
Dana walked up to the front door with an agitated Larry trailing behind her. She unlocked the door, and the two disappeared inside.
Huh. Now what?
My watch ticked off the seconds as a man walked his German shepherd down the sidewalk. A squirrel scampered up and down the tree to my left four times, and a bird crappe
d on my windshield. Other than that, nothing happened. How was I supposed to learn anything by sitting out here watching the grass grow? Stakeouts in movies always looked way more exciting than this.
I was considering heading home when something knocked on the passenger window. I turned and screamed as a face stared back at me. Then I realized the face belonged to Detective Mike, and I wanted to cry. Going to jail for stalking was going to really suck.
Sweat ran down Mike’s face as he pointed to the lock on the passenger door, and I hit the switch. A few seconds later, he slid into the passenger’s seat with contented sigh. “Your air-conditioning works a lot better than mine.”
I blinked. I was waiting to be arrested or at the very least yelled at. The conversation about car efficiency threw me.
Mike shifted in his seat and smiled. “So do I need to ask what you’re doing here?”
I could be honest or try to be cute. “Right now I’m allowing you to use my air-conditioning.”
“Which is the reason I’m considering not hauling you in for obstructing justice.”
Yikes. Cute wasn’t working. I switched to honest. “Someone told me Larry and Dana have been spending time together. I thought that was strange, so I decided to check it out.”
He half laughed, half sighed. I wasn’t sure if that was a good response, but it was better than anger.
“You could have called me instead of playing private investigator. Larry could have spotted you tailing him.”
“How did you know I followed Larry?”
“I watched you do it. I’m parked right over there.” He pointed to where his car sat—directly across the street from me.
Oops. I’d been so focused on Larry’s car, I never noticed Mike’s Mustang. Note to self—next time watch the entire street. “Why are you sitting here watching Dana’s house? I thought you told me she wasn’t a suspect.”
“I said she had an alibi.”