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  Turning away, I almost rammed into Abby Jeansonne.

  “One of those,” she said, eyeing Marisa. To Abby’s silly expression, I merely grinned and walked past. “Just like Kat,” she said.

  I spun around. “What do you mean, just like Kat?”

  “She’s one of those, too.”

  “One of those what?”

  Abby shoved her bangs aside. “Females that Grant liked.”

  “Grant—Labruzzo?”

  Abby’s nod flipped the bangs over her eyes. She started away, but I caught up and grabbed her hand. “What do you mean, he liked them? Not Kat?”

  “She and John Winston broke up, didn’t they?” Abby yanked her hand away from mine and stormed off.

  Implications of her statements froze me in place. I needed to talk to Kat.

  “Damn kids can’t even drink their crap or throw their papers in here!” a lanky man holding a dust mop complained to a male teacher. The custodian indicated empty chip bags lying around a trash barrel. Dark liquid spilled from dumped cola cans.

  Little gratification must come from his job. And he and a couple of others had to clean this entire school. I couldn’t imagine. “Now I’m going to have to mop all this,” the custodian said, although the other man had walked off. “Aw, crap, I can’t go in there.” He’d turned toward the room holding his supplies, the entire hall blocked off with police tape. Numerous fans blew toward an exit.

  On a whim, I spoke. “Are custodial supplies kept anywhere else in this school?”

  He peered at me, his face clouded. Was I some foreign creature? He stared as though I were, and then jerked around, dragging his mop to some other place.

  Could Mrs. Peekers have gone somewhere else to find clean erasers? And would the same thing have happened in that room if someone besides her had been inside?

  Grant Labruzzo liked Kat? And he liked Marisa, Abby said. Earlier, she’d mentioned Anne Little as “One of those.”

  I opened my cell phone. Kat answered on the third ring. “You weren’t at school,” I said, experiencing mixed feelings about that fact.

  “No,” she said, unapologetically, “I wasn’t.”

  I waited until a young couple holding hands walked past me. “Kat, was Grant Labruzzo interested in you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he ever flirt with you?”

  “No. Where’d you get that idea?”

  “I just thought…”

  “Gram, I really need to go.”

  I reminded Kat that I loved her and let her click off. I wanted to sit in a corner and dwell on all I had learned. More students and teachers moved past, glancing back at me. I was standing in the hall, staring at my phone. I put it away and headed for the office.

  Had someone tried to kill that teacher? A chemical could have accidentally fallen over, but she’d been locked in that room, just like I’d been in mine. Hair on my arms sprang up. Were our locked doors connected to the custodian’s death?

  Kat would surely tell me the truth about him showing her any interest.

  A group of students hustled out an exit door, and others scrambled in. New voices came from girls carrying tennis rackets. They headed toward another exit. Today so many people were scurrying about after school hours. How could anyone have found Grant Labruzzo alone and killed him?

  My mind whirled around questions and the day’s unsettling events as I reached the office and barreled past the counter. Only Anne Little was left, except for a few students waiting for a phone. I stared at them, and Anne told me they needed rides home. She blew her nose and sounded hoarse.

  “Today was kind of nice,” I told her. “Except for the emergencies.”

  She shook her head, making the gold hoops on her ears swing. “Kids will be kids. They aren’t happy unless somebody’s pulling a fire alarm or dumping things. And now my sinuses are driving me crazy.”

  The teens near the phone frowned at her.

  “I hope that teacher will be okay,” I said.

  “Me, too. What a stupid accident.”

  I watched the students, their changed expressions suggesting they didn’t believe the latest incident was accidental. They saw me watching and took on stony expressions. Hannah’s voice emerged, along with a man’s. Policemen came with her from the rear hall. They were speaking about Mrs. Peekers. The oldest cop noted people out here and changed topics. “We’ll see about who pulled that fire alarm,” he said. His gaze skimmed the waiting students as if searching for information.

  I headed out. Exiting propped-open doors, I inhaled. Fresh air expanded through my lungs.

  “Thank God duty’s over,” one woman told another. Beyond her, the last students climbed into a bus that squealed and rumbled off.

  Duty. Duty hair. My lunchtime duty and—I’d missed afternoon bus duty!

  I rushed toward the students’ parking lot. Only about two dozen vehicles remained. No smashed bodies on the ground. Excellent. I took bouncing steps toward my mail truck. I was glad I hadn’t taken that final duty. I’d done enough. I was famished.

  Gil would be especially cheerful on his birthday. That would make me happy, at least for a short time, even if he was going off with Legs. I needed to call Chicken Boy to finalize my gift.

  Bliss filled me while I neared the mail truck. “Yes!” I shouted, throwing my arms up. I was free to leave and never had to return to a school.

  My vehicle sat like a big chartreuse box as I walked closer, drawing out the key.

  A red marker had scrawled across my door LEAVE OR DIE BITCH.

  Seeing the stark crimson letters bleeding across my mail truck’s ugly green, I cursed and spun around, searching for anyone who could have written this.

  In a field near the parking lot, boys practiced baseball. I couldn’t see anyone around the school’s extension that housed the swimming pool. Across a narrow road, girls slammed tennis balls across nets. Hard to imagine any of them writing this graffiti. Easy to envision Sledge, with a stolen red marker, penning these mean words on my vehicle. My vehicle? I already had one car in a shop for repairs.

  I slung myself into the mail truck and slammed the door so hard that anybody around would know I was furious. I cranked the engine and sped out of the lot. Whatever the school board paid substitute teachers wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover my repair bills. What had I done to warrant all this vandalism?

  The Lexus wouldn’t be ready yet, and I couldn’t bring this truck to the same repair shop. Explaining the damage to both was beyond what I wanted.

  I drove around until I found a decent-looking repair center. I told the man with a broken front tooth that some kid who thought he was clever wrote this. “How long till you can repaint it?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes up as though the answer were inside his eyelid. “Couple a days, if I can match this color. You got insurance?”

  I said I’d pay cash and left my phone number and address. Then I strode across a boulevard and walked the long block to Sanders Auto Sales and Rentals. Along the way, I phoned Chicken Boy. We made final arrangements while my belly did flip-flops and yodeled. I reached the dealership and went straight to a rental lot that was filled with numerous makes and models. I didn’t want a truck and I wouldn’t have to worry about kids at school anymore. A vulture-like creature swooped down on me. I said, “I’d like that one.”

  “The white Mustang convertible? Yes, ma’am!” Drool drizzled down the man’s craggy beard. I filled out the paperwork and paid. Putting the top down, I took off.

  “This isn’t duty hair,” I told Chicken Boy when we met outside Cajun Delights, his gaze steady at my head. “This is Mustang hair.”

  Chicken Boy carried the yellow head, a heavy-looking appendage with eyeholes. He seemed to be in his late teens. Dark brown eyes, long black hair, too-thin face. A breeze puffed up the feathers of his costume. “Did you know we got other costumes?” he said, holding the head up toward me like an offering.

  “At Rent-a-Costume,” I
said. “Well who would imagine?”

  “Yeah, we got a Mickey Mouse suit. And Santy Claus and Pokemon and even a caveman. Lots of women like that one.”

  “Uh-huh, but I like the chicken.”

  “Figures.” He draped on the head. “Look at those big chickens.” His admiring tone echoed from inside the beak, his wing pointing to a gaggle of geese that wobbled up a hill near the pond.

  I took a sharp breath and peeked inside the restaurant’s front door.

  Gil came into view. I exhaled, watching him saunter through the large room with few customers. Mmm, Gil had kept broad shoulders for a man his age. A tapered back. A fine tush that fit well inside my cupped hands. I wanted warm chocolate chip cookies. And sex with Gil before that.

  “We goin’ in?” Chicken Boy bumped into my backside.

  “That’s him,” I said, losing all sexual desires.

  Chicken Boy crouched to peer through the doorway. His beak must have captured someone’s attention. Workers turned toward our door and chuckled. “Hate it when they laugh at me,” the boy said, adjusting his wing feathers.

  “They laugh with you,” I said, right before he yanked the door open.

  Chapter 14

  Most of the restaurant’s patrons snickered while Chicken Boy strutted, his wings bumping the sides of his stout stomach until he reached Gil.

  I crept inside. Chicken Boy faced Gil and sang the birthday song. People around them all clapped. In a cracking voice, Chicken Boy added, “And we hope you have many, many mo-o-ore.”

  Gil’s deep-throated laughter erupted. “Cealie!” he said, striding toward me. “I should have known you were involved.”

  He embraced me. His chest felt warm. Safe. I told myself I should stay here. Gil felt secure. He felt… What he felt like made me horny.

  “Happy birthday,” I said, drawing back, my cheeks heating from what I’d been thinking. It involved a picture of Gil naked. Nice picture. Very nice.

  With his hug to me, most people went back to eating or their duties. Gil gave me a smile. “I’m glad you remembered.”

  “How could I forget?” I again felt only in his space, forgetting others were near. A fake cough reminded me. It sputtered from a hollow space within feathers.

  “Excellent job,” Gil told the boy in costume while thrusting out his hand. Chicken Boy shook it, muttered thanks, and looked at me. I pulled out my wallet, but Gil tipped him before I could. The youth looked about nine feet tall when he strutted out. Gil turned a different smile to me. This smile came with his piercing gaze. Parts of me reacted.

  A male customer chuckled. He didn’t watch us but conversed with friends at a table. Seafood platters covered its checkered cloth. “I’m starving,” I told Gil.

  “You’ve come to the right place.” He led me toward his table, and I glanced around to see if I’d find Legs. No sign of her. I pranced beside Gil. If his current girlfriend were here, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. But I did know that this time I wouldn’t leave without eating.

  Gil called a waiter named André, introduced us, and said I was a special guest. Then he told me, “We have crayfish.”

  “Yum,” was all I had to say.

  “Please bring her a double serving,” Gil said to André. “Two dips to go with it, and a Bud Light.”

  When André left, Gil peered at me. “Cealie, you look…” He may have wanted to say something like great, but his gaze skittered to my hair. I smoothed it, almost saying duty hair. But I didn’t want him to know about my teaching since he’d already expressed an opinion about me getting involved in the investigation. “I’m driving a convertible,” I said, and he responded with that fabulous grin.

  A busboy cleared the table beside ours. Gil complimented him on the way he lifted every condiment and sprayed the tablecloth. “Thanks, Mr. Thurman.” Wires on the boy’s teeth shone with his smile, reminding me of Cynthia Petre’s braces and the complaints I had heard in the lounge.

  “Gil,” I said, and he inclined his head to listen. “When someone is hired to clean a school, would the school personnel hire that person?”

  “I believe the school board does that, although someone from the school might make a recommendation. Why?”

  Assorted crackers and my beer arrived just in time. “I wondered.” I swigged the beer, buttered some crackers, and ate.

  Gil’s face lit with a smile. “I see that you didn’t cook again.”

  “Nope.” I guzzled more crackers.

  He seemed pleased to sit back and watch me. “Wish I could get crayfish every day,” Gil said. “Just for you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  He leaned forward, making my whole torso heat up. “How are things going with Kat?” he asked.

  “Ah, Kat.” I lost my body warmth. “She went to school yesterday. But not today.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Make sure you keep me up on graduation. You know I want to be there. If she decides to graduate.”

  I promised to let him know, and Gil waved to get his manager’s attention. He made introductions between Jim Harris and me. Gil whispered to Jim, who gave me a grin and then strode to the mike on stage and announced, “Joke contest time.”

  I smiled at Gil. He was having this now for me. “One of these days, you’ll have to get up and tell one,” he said.

  “Maybe I’ll be second. Right after you.”

  “Touché.”

  A young man wearing a fraternity T-shirt hopped up from a table with other males dressed like him. He reached the mike. “Boudreaux’s cat was sick, so Thibodaux drove him and his cat to the vet. The vet put the cat on a table, ran his hand back and forth over it, and gave Boudreaux two pills. ‘Give him these,’ the vet said. ‘That’ll be three hundred dollars.’”

  We all snickered about the charge and then waited for the punch line.

  “‘Three hundred dollars!’ Boudreaux cried. ‘Just for two pills?’ The vet shook his head and said, ‘The pills only cost fifty cents. The rest is for the CAT scan.’”

  Everyone laughed. The jokester bowed, hopped down, and joined his approving friends.

  “That was great,” I told Gil, and he agreed.

  A plump older guy with a perky smile reached the mike. “Boudreaux and Thibodaux went out fishing, and the fish started biting like crazy. Finally it was getting dark, and they had to go home. Halfway down the canal, Boudreaux asked Thibodaux, ‘Did you mark that good spot so we can find it again?’ Well ole Thibodaux said, ‘I sure did. Look here.’ He pointed to a big X he had painted inside the boat.”

  We all chuckled. The man held up a hand for us to quiet and then said, “And Boudreaux replied, ‘Thibodaux, you did a good job.’”

  Everybody laughed. The chunky man bounced back to his seat. “That was great, too,” I told Gil.

  People glanced at each other, but no one else went up. Gil waved for the manager and told him something. He returned to the mike. “I think we all agree that our jokesters were terrific, so we’re declaring both of them winners.”

  Cheers of approval erupted. “How nice of you,” I told Gil. He brushed off his deed with a shake of his head. The restaurant quieted. So did our table. Gil kept staring at me.

  I wanted to stop feeling his magnetic pull. To my relief, André showed up with a tray piled high with red crustaceans smelling of crab boil. “I adore you,” I told André.

  He grinned, and Gil asked him to bring me another beer. I popped off the head of a boiled crawfish and murmured, “Mmmm.”

  Gil leaned back. “You’re getting pretty turned on.”

  Happily, I swallowed cold beer. I cracked open more crayfish, ate some without dip and drenched others through the pink well-seasoned cream before sinking my teeth into their chewy bodies. “I could say this is better than any sex I’ve ever had,” I said between munching, and Gil’s eyebrows shot up. “But you’d know better,” I said, to which his brows lowered and he smirked.

  I offered to share, but he’d already eaten. Gil preferred boiled
seafood in the evening. I needed to have crayfish sooner or later, but sooner was always better.

  With my immediate need of avoiding starvation satisfied, my mind flitted to concerns from the day. My locked door, a broken vial, spilled chemicals. Some other chemicals spilled near a door that locked a teacher resembling Marisa Hernandez in the custodians’ room. A stretcher hauling her out. I prayed she was all right.

  I wanted to tell Gil about all of this. I’d also mention that some person called me a bitch. How rude. Avoiding Gil’s steady gaze on me, I considered the words penned on the mail truck—could they have been a real threat? Or had the kids who’d keyed my Lexus and kicked in its door decided they’d ruin another of my vehicles?

  A mental scroll reminded me that I’d seen the spirit stick returned to the office window. Maybe I should’ve taken that long stick and stood guard in the parking lot.

  Gil waited for me to say something. How I wanted to discuss all that happened. But he’d warned me. And if I’d heeded his advice, I never would have been around Sidmore High. A crustacean’s claw reminded me of what I had seen in Harry Wren’s office. “I’ve decided to raise a plant,” I said. “A cactus.”

  “Ah.” Gil’s gaze met mine, saying he wanted more from me than I was mentioning. We’d never spoken about our breakup, about what our lives had really been like since then. I didn’t need to hear about his finding someone else.

  I ate, my peelings creating a nice mound. I was sipping beer when I spied Gil’s girlfriend. Swells of people had poured into the restaurant for early dinner, and Legs was bent over. From the alcove near the front door, she eyed us.

  “What is it?” Gil asked.

  “Nothing.” I looked at my food, not wanting him to see her yet. At least let me gobble a few more crayfish before she came to join him. Gil, the gentleman, would tell me to stay. But would I want to?

  No way. I chose to stop being with him, I reminded myself, choking down the anguish balling up in my throat.

  “You aren’t finished already?” he said.