Relative Danger Page 17

  “Cajun Delights,” a cheery female voice answered.

  My breath caught. “Sorry, wrong number,” I said like a schoolgirl, and disconnected. I’d reverted to previous behavior, turning to Gil for help in reasoning out thoughts that confused me. But I couldn’t turn to him any longer.

  “I am woman!” I said, facing Minnie but reminding myself. “I can do anything—alone.” I didn’t need anyone to fend for me or make my decisions. I was quite capable of handling problems on my own. A sensation rose above my diaphragm, my chest filling with…regret?

  I shook my head. I could go through life without being half of a couple. That’s what I wanted. “It is,” I told Minnie.

  What had I heard at Sidmore High School?

  Cactus Growers Society came to mind, along with a knowing that something there I couldn’t directly put my finger on had clashed. I did a new search on the Net for the society, while an expletive I’d overheard heard at school came to me. I wanted to shout the word (it started with F)—because I knew I’d go back to that school. But at least this time I wouldn’t teach.

  My doorbell rang, and I jumped from surprise. Scooting to the door, I peered through the peephole. “What a nice treat,” I said, letting Kat in.

  “I thought you’d want to know. Mrs. Peekers will be all right.”

  “I am so relieved. Do you know what happened?”

  Kat remained inside the doorway. “Somebody locked her in the supply room. Boxes of cleaning supplies had been delivered and left outside that room. Then somebody took bottles from two of the boxes and poured stuff from them under the door.”

  “What was in the bottles?”

  “Ammonia and bleach.”

  I gasped. “Even I know that those cleansers can create a deadly combination.”

  Kat nodded grimly. “Especially if they’re inhaled in a small enclosed space. Mrs. Peekers was lucky. She got weak right away, and everybody was in class. But a guy was cutting his class and passed that room and heard her yelling for help.”

  “Thank goodness. How’d you find out?”

  Kat’s eyes flashed. “I still have a couple of friends.” Her comment and tight lips let me know the chill between us remained.

  Without moving closer, I said, “Did you talk to Roxy?”

  Kat glanced across the den. “Nice place.” She looked at me. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Oh, come in. Sit down.”

  “I have things to do, Gram.”

  “This late?”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.” She opened the door. “Just do me one favor. Please stay away from my school.” Kat turned and left.

  I watched the door, hoping she would return. When she didn’t, I lolled through the condo, considering. Someone had tried to kill that teacher. I quit walking, my arms still moving with trembles. Had the same person tried to kill me? Locked in a room, spilled chemicals.

  I’d thought I smelled bleach in the hall near the custodians’ room. And what was that substance I had seen written on the label of the vial that broke in my classroom?

  Sulfide. I ran to my laptop and did a quick search for that word.

  The results offered me 103,000 choices. Drat. I had such a limited knowledge of chemistry. Still, I began to scroll some articles. Selenium sulfide, used to treat dandruff. Pyrite, the most common sulfide mineral, is fool’s gold. Ah, Toxic Sulfide.

  “Sulfide can kill miners,” I read aloud. “And hydrogen sulfide gas can kill sewer workers. The colorless gas reeks of rotten eggs.” Yes, that had to be what spilled in my classroom. Although a liquid had wet the floor. Toxic sulfide, I read with interest, could be harmful in hydrothermal vents, deep-sea vents, seeps, and estuarine mud.

  Oh, not quite the situation I’d been in. There were other sulfides, and even this hydrogen sulfide was sometimes used in water supplies. I quit reading. This search was only making me more confused.

  I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the sink. I smelled it. No fart-rock odor and no rotten egg stench. I was grateful that police and maybe even scientists would be solving the mystery of what had transpired at Kat’s school. Maybe what Kat needed to do tonight included studying for finals.

  I sipped my unscented water, sharing it with Minnie in the den. I also repeated Kat’s good news since I’d failed at discovering Minnie’s type on the Web, and positive comments were probably best for plants to hear. “Mrs. Peekers will be all right.” But someone had locked her in that room. Poured potentially deadly substances. I had only Abby’s word that the substance spilled in my classroom hadn’t been lethal. Suppose someone was really out to harm me. And Kat was close to me—really close.

  I needed to do something that might help this troubling situation. I flipped through the phone book, found the location of the nearest police station, and drove there.

  Detective Dantin, a uniformed man of medium size and age, guided me down a grimy hall where I spied a handwritten note taped to the wall. Fruit break at 9 and 2, the note said.

  “What’s a fruit break?” I asked, following Dantin into his office.

  “Some of the guys went to a class to stop smoking.” He sat behind his desk, while I took a chair. “They used to go out back for a smoke break at nine and two. Now they bring fruit trays out there instead.”

  I grinned and leaned forward. “Can you tell me what happened yesterday to a Mrs. Peekers at Sidmore High? My granddaughter goes to that school.”

  He made a half smile. “We have the incident under full investigation. Right now, we can’t give out further information.”

  “Well, I was there, and I saw the police wheel the woman out of that supply room.”

  His smile lessened. Still no comment.

  “I was subbing, and somebody tried to kill me.”

  That statement got his attention. Dantin typed my information on his computer. I told him I’d been locked in the classroom. Maybe. One of his eyebrows lifted. I explained that Abby said my door wasn’t really locked, but I was certain it was. Of course, John Winston had opened it. He said the door just opened when he tried the knob.

  “John Winston,” the cop said. “Is he a student?”

  “Yes, but only for a few more days, just like my granddaughter Kat. She used to go out with him, but they broke up. Now they’re about to graduate.”

  “I’ll send someone out to school Monday to talk to this John Winston.”

  “Don’t do that!” I explained about Kat already being mad at me for insinuating that John had caused a problem, and John told her he’d get everyone to stop being her friend.

  “Sorry about that,” Dantin said, although he didn’t look like he was. “But we can’t rule out a connection between these incidents until we investigate every lead. Thank you for bringing us this information, Mrs. Gunther.”

  Dammit. I wanted to kick my interfering butt while I drove away. I should have listened to Gil and stayed away from the school. Sadness swept through me. I really needed Gil’s comfort. I told myself not to, but turned around and headed toward his restaurant.

  Anticipation built as I neared his place.

  Cajun Delights was all dark. The lot was, too, except for two vehicles parked near the rear. They rested close to each other.

  Gil was probably inside, alone with Legs.

  I accelerated past the restaurant. It had shut down early, maybe so he could have a grand celebration with his girlfriend. Grrrr. If he was having sex with that woman, well then I could have sex with someone else, too.

  I drove around, looking for barrooms. Passed one. Undid my top button to show some cleavage. To hell with Gil. I’d find another man. Mature men and even much younger ones often gave me sidelong glances. I could pick up a guy from a lounge, take him back to the condo, and make mad love all night long. Yes, I could. My sources on sexual behavior had assured me that older women, who were no longer bothered by concerns about getting pregnant, often enjoyed sex more than they did when younger. I shoved up on my underwire to make my fa
t boobs poke up higher.

  I passed another bar. Restaurants. More bars. Spying a brightly lit one with many cars sitting out front, I slowed the Mustang. Pulled into the parking lot.

  But making love—and having sex—two entirely different experiences. I wanted one, not the other.

  I veered away from the place. “I’ll keep my nose out of everybody’s business,” I told Minnie when I rushed into the condo and swooped her up. “And I’ll never make another deathbed promise.” I would also stay away from Gil forever, but I needed to quit thinking about him.

  Minnie’s soil was black from the last water I dumped. I apologized, returned her to the kitchen counter, and turned off the light. I needed to hide away in the dark, too. Maybe I needed to avoid everyone. Kat was already furious with me. And now the police would show up at school and question John Winston, and he’d become extra furious. He would take it out on Kat. Maybe she’d never speak to me again.

  I didn’t know how to correct that situation. And now it seemed I was destroying Minnie. Unhappiness held on like a giant leech clinging to my skin.

  A glow came from my laptop screen. I went to power it off.

  The results of my last search were up. When I left sulfides, I’d returned to the Cactus Growers site. I sat down to exit the Web, and the words on screen captured my attention. Cacti have ovaries below the petals, I read. The tissue contains a cambium, a woody heart… Oh, Minnie did have a heart. And an ovary. I glanced at the dark kitchen and smiled. Would she give me babies?

  Some cacti live for centuries, I saw, skimming more. Some lived a year or two. Uh-oh. New Zealanders can’t be trusted with Lophophora. Maybe I was part New Zealander. I hoped Minnie wasn’t a Lophophora. I still hadn’t found her type anywhere. This society that Harry Wren mentioned said it was America’s organization for growers of cactuses. In the last two years, there had been 77,000 visits to this site. So Mr. Wren certainly wasn’t its only member.

  I had an urge to order the plants I saw with long hard spines and stick them where they would hurt whoever was causing all the problems with Kat’s school. The custodian dead, a sub shot, Mrs. Peekers and I locked in. Chemicals spilled. Leave or die, bitch.

  My body stiffened with new knowledge. Absolutely, they were connected.

  Policemen were taking care of the situation. That was good. Maybe. And would Kat ever want to see me again?

  My fingers trembled while I hit on computer keys. I wrote the cactus society a confession, admitting all the liquid I had poured on Minnie. I didn’t know what the Ekkiwola Cacti Vault was, but saw it listed as only being able to operate through donations by visitors to its site. I made an online donation to the vault in atonement for hurting my plant.

  I stood up and stared at the door. Everything inside me yearned to dash out there, drive through the dark, and find Gil. I wanted to snuggle with him. No, I’d want more than that.

  But he was with the sexy woman with long legs. And what would they be doing to finalize the celebration of his birthday?

  More emotions rose. Hatred was a sentiment I didn’t like to harbor. I struggled but couldn’t shake it from my body. I felt the need for human contact. It was too late to call my friends in distant places. Too late to immerse myself in a crowded theater. And plant lovers all over the world were surely angry with me now. I couldn’t even go to their chat rooms.

  Gil was snuggling with his lover. I could toss on my slut outfit, drive out, and pick up a man. I could show Gil. Yes, I could.

  I shivered. Returning to the laptop, I saved “Beginner’s Guide to Growing Cactuses” on a disk that I would take some place to get printed out. I slid the disk into my purse and then checked e-mail. Live people would have sent that.

  Nine messages popped up. One promised to lengthen my penis. Three others said their cream would increase my bust measurements. Had Marisa Hernandez ever been tempted by such an ad? Hannah had high breasts for a woman her age. Maybe she’d discovered the Wonder Bra like Millie, who cursed the papers she ran off in the lounge. Anne Little, dubbing herself “keeper of the keys,” was a big woman with medium-sized breasts. Tom Reynolds had called in sick yesterday. The only time he’d missed, a few hours before that, it seemed, was to attend Grant Labruzzo’s funeral. Who pulled the fire alarm? And who dumped the cleansers? A man died at that school.

  Flirtation. Jealousy. Motives for any of those horrible events?

  Let’s go back to Cairo, a subject line on my screen said, and the tension in my jaw relaxed. I clicked for that message, sent by Betsy Tullis. Betsy and I had met while riding camels near each other. Betsy first belted out her contagious joyful laugh when I’d said I wanted to sit up on their humps—I said I always liked to straddle humps. Betsy was someone I planned to keep as a friend for a long time.

  Cealie, have you been to Serengeti? If not, you need to rush right over. The stars are brilliant tonight and seem set in a velvet carpet. They look like they’re right overhead—I believe I could touch them. I’ve watched exotic creatures in the wild and yesterday, took a sunrise balloon safari. The wildebeest have been traveling in columns several miles long. They must’ve spied a sexy female up ahead. Sexy like you and me.

  Miss you, Betsy.

  I grinned. I thought of a sexy female, conjured an image of Legs, and lost my smile. I typed up a reply. Betsy, I’m coming right over! Leave the door open. (Oh, you probably don’t have one.) Well, leave a space by your side and I’ll be there. I considered a moment and then wrote, I’d really like to, but I’m near Chicago, about to watch my granddaughter graduate. Was I telling the truth? I told you about Kat. (I also mentioned Gil. He’s here too, but that’s another story.) I smiled as my message went off toward the stars of Serengeti.

  I deleted other messages until the second-to-last subject line said, Come visit us, Cealie. Wilma Setton, whom I’d met on another trip, wrote it. Wilma had advised me about what to see and places to avoid while in Singapore. When we met on the plane, she’d just left her fourth husband. I didn’t want to keep close company. Wilma believed she’d evolved from a cat, since her favorite activity was stretching up against males and sometimes trying to claw out their eyes. Here she invited me to visit her and her new mate in Denver. I deleted Wilma’s message. The final subject line read YOU’RE IN DANGER!

  Tightness gripping my chest advised me not to read the message. My semi-psychic cousin Stevie had sent it. I ignored my instincts and read what she wrote anyway.

  Stevie’s entire message shouted: CEALIE, YOU AND SOMEONE NEAR YOU ARE IN EXTREME DANGER! YOU MUST LISTEN TO ME. MUST—STOP—WHAT YOU’RE DOING. I HAVE HORRIBLE VIBRATIONS. I SEE VISIONS. THEY SHOW THREATENING PEOPLE AROUND YOU. LEAVE THAT PLACE, CEALIE. I’M NOT KIDDING!

  YOUR FAVORITE COUSIN, STEVIE.

  Chapter 17

  Stevie’s warning dried my mouth. I touched the delete button, not wanting to believe her e-mail message. More often than not, my cousin’s foretelling missed the mark. But she had helped her local police solve a crime they’d considered unsolvable. And there were threatening people at Kat’s school. What if Stevie was right this time?

  My mail truck bore a message: Leave or die. How clear was that?

  Who else around me might also be in danger? My arms hit my sides with their shaking, and I said, “Kat.”

  A person had died at her school. Another had been taken off on a stretcher. I could avoid Sidmore High forever, but would Kat? Should she? I pondered alternatives, walking out the condo’s back door into the dark. How important would graduation really be in Kat’s future? Could ending her school years by going to take final exams bring about an end to her?

  A knot balled up in my throat. I dropped to a lawn chair, barely noticing that people walked past. Night veiled the surrounding apartments. I stared out, my mind viewing unwanted scenes, trying to sort them to discover what seemed wrong. The threatening Sledge. The nonthreatening appearance of Marisa. Blood covering Grant Labruzzo, draped across folded chairs. Roxy, lips painted brown. The flap-
flap of papers running through a copy machine, Deidre’s pen bleeding red across tests. Coach’s murderous voice. Hannah’s jutting breasts, and Anne’s swinging hoop earrings. Abby’s eyes hidden beneath bangs. Clashing voices and symbols. Leave or die, bitch.

  All was silent now in the dark. I stood and found my legs unsteady.

  Dashing into the condo, I slammed the sliding door to the courtyard. Turned the bolt lock. My pulse pounded. Who might threaten Kat? She was a child. I needed to protect her. I needed help.

  I ran out front and took off in the Mustang. I drove, veering through Saturday-night-out-on-the-town traffic, and neared Cajun Delights. Staring ahead, I passed by it. I tore through streets while Stevie’s warning bounced through my mind.

  Kat’s car was gone from the driveway when I reached her house. I parked behind Roger’s truck. Lights were on in the kitchen and his bedroom. I shoved the bell at the back door.

  A flicker of surprise crossed Roger’s face, and then the smallest smile appeared. “Hello,” he said, looking weary.

  “Hi.” I attempted a chipper tone, pecked a kiss on his cheek, and walked in.

  He looked askance toward shiny appliances. “Can I get you something? Tea? A beer?”

  I dropped to a chair, and Roger shifted his feet. “No thanks,” I said. I forced myself to chitchat first. “Kat and I had a nice morning shopping.”

  “I saw the panda.” He glanced toward the door. “Kat’s at a movie with a friend.”

  “A girlfriend?”

  Roger nodded, and I leaned forward, unable to keep up any pretense. “How do you think she’s doing?”

  “Doing?” He gave me a blank look.

  “Toward graduation. Life in general.” I wasn’t exactly sure of what I wanted from my son. But I needed something. Someone. I required the comfort of knowing that Kat would be supported. And safe.

  Roger’s response came from the bottom of his sigh. “I’m not sure.” Unable or unwilling to express his real thoughts, he pulled out a chair and sat beside me.

  “How is she, Roger?”