Читать книгу Warning Signs - Katy Lee - Страница 12

THREE

The radio at Wes’s belt chirped out a code that referenced a disturbance at the docks. “That’s my cue to hightail it out of here.” He headed for the classroom door. “I’ll call you tonight to go over the plans for the impromptu locker searches tomorrow.” He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and Owen? Thanks for not being too mad at me for leaving out the fact that Ms. Hunter is deaf. I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. I know it’s a tough topic for you...with your son and all.”

Owen glanced up from his chair behind the teacher’s desk. He could see that Wes was worried. “I’m over it.” He hoped he sounded convincing and picked up the English class syllabus to change the subject. “Besides, the fact that Ms. Hunter gave me this intense of a class when I’m supposed to be investigating only makes me think you might be right about her. If the signing duo’s guilty, their secret won’t last for long.”

Wes relaxed with a grin. “Great. I knew calling you was the right thing to do. Good to be catching the bad guys with you again, buddy. See you tomorrow.”

Owen jerked his head as a goodbye, but his attention was fully absorbed by the syllabus still in his hands. It might as well be Greek. He let the paper flutter to the desk. How was he ever going to teach this class? Why couldn’t he be a substitute gym teacher or maybe a lunch aide?

He picked up a copy of the book the students were presently reading. The Sonnets of William Shakespeare. He hadn’t been kidding earlier when he’d made that remark to Ms. Hunter about understanding Shakespeare. Apparently the jokes were on him now. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d put him in this class. She was probably in her office now, laughing about it with her lackey.

Owen fanned through the paperback book, noting the number of poems that raced by on the flipping pages. “There’s over a hundred of them. How am I going to pull this off?” he said, wondering if teachers could tuck cheat sheets up their sleeves. He made a mental note to make some tonight. He had to appear as if he knew what he was talking about, if for no other reason than to put the laugh back on Ms. Hunter.

After folding the syllabus, he stuffed it into the book and stood from his hopefully very temporary desk. He slipped the book in his back jeans pocket and hit the lights to the classroom.

The hall lights were all off except for red emergency lighting that lit up the corridors like a runway. He followed them back, turning at the corner of his wing into the main hall. The office door was sealed shut at the end of the long stretch. Had everyone gone home and left him there without as much as a goodbye?

What about his note to Ms. Hunter? Had she stood him up? All right, maybe stood up was the wrong phrase. That sounded too datelike, and a date was the furthest thing from his calendar.

He glanced at his watch; the red hue made it hard to read the little hand on the six. Through the glass entry doors, the last rays of sun filtered in, casting shadows on the walls and floor at the end of the hallway. Miriam Hunter and her sidekick were probably having dinner without him right now, thinking up ways to make his job harder. As if things couldn’t get any harder than finding a drug supplier while teaching English.

Owen made his way to the exit. He didn’t have a key yet, but he knew the doors would lock as soon as they closed. A jingling sound came from behind him. His rubber soles squeaked on the tile and echoed through the long empty hallway. He circled around, an ear tuned for the sound again. Something metal, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hello?” he called down the hall. “Anyone here?”

Nothing.

His hand went to his back for his concealed weapon. With his gun at his side, he took a silent step. His eyes darted to each closed classroom door. Anyone could be behind any of them. Any student could have hidden out after dismissal, waiting for an opportunity to make a drop or to get something in or out of the school while no one was there to see.

A door clicked behind him. Owen whipped around. The sight of Nick unlocking the entrance doors from the outside had Owen releasing his breath and reholstering his Glock.

Nick stepped inside, but didn’t notice Owen standing halfway down the hallway. Owen cleared his throat to make his presence known. With a gasp, Nick grabbed at his chest in surprise. “Oh, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you still doing here?”

“Sorry.” Owen walked toward Nick. “I was on my way out, but I thought I heard something. I was checking it out.”

“It’s an old building. It’s always making weird sounds. You’ll get used to it.” Nick headed to the office and fumbled with a set of keys. When he attempted to insert a key into the doorknob, he missed the keyhole and dropped them to the floor with a clatter.

Skittish or clumsy? Owen debated while he watched Nick bend to pick the set up and try again. “Hopefully I’m not here long enough to get used to it. But while I am here, could I get a key?”

“Oh, well, technically, I’m not authorized to hand them out. But under the circumstances, I’m sure Ms. Hunter won’t mind me giving you one.”

“Right, you’re just the interpreter,” Owen reiterated. The question Owen wanted to ask was: What else was Nick Danforth to the principal? “How can I reach Ms. Hunter? We were supposed to meet tonight. I have a few things I need to speak with her about before tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you her cell number. You can text her. Unless you happen to have a TTY machine.”

“I do,” Owen answered, but he wasn’t about to elaborate, even with the dumbfounded look that appeared on Nick’s face.

“Oh, I guess you came prepared, huh?” With a turn of the key, Nick unlocked the door and opened it in one clean movement. He flicked a wall switch and flooded the office with white fluorescent lighting, a harsh difference from the red emergency lighting in the hallway.

“I’ll wait here while you write her number down.” Owen stayed put, still wondering if someone else was in the building. He wanted to be in a place where he could observe if someone snuck out of one of the rooms.

Nick approached the secretary’s desk and opened a drawer beside it for a pad of paper and pen. “Well, I’ll give them to you, but you won’t be able to reach her right now.” Hunched over the desk, he scrawled the pen across the pad in quick movements.

Owen stood in the doorway, his arms crossed at his chest, legs spread. “Why’s that?”

Nick shrugged. “She left early tonight. She was gone after I returned from giving you the tour.” His chin jutted at the coatrack. “Her coat’s still here, but her car is gone.”

Owen cast a glance at the lightweight blue Windbreaker. She’d probably figured it was warm enough and didn’t need it tonight. But what was the rush that she didn’t even tell her interpreter she was leaving? At least it wasn’t only me she neglected to bid adieu to. “Is it normal for her to leave without saying goodbye?”

Nick tore the paper from the pad. “No, but the season for swimming is coming to an end. She probably wanted to get some exercise in before the sun set.”

Owen nodded once, remembering he’d found her out on the rock about this time last night. Apparently it was part of her summer routine.

“I’ll be right back with your key. Wait here.” Nick unlocked Ms. Hunter’s office and disappeared through the door. After a quick minute of sliding and slamming drawers, Nick reappeared with key and note in hand. “Here you go, Agent Matthews. I put my number on there, too, in case you need anything else. Anything at all.”

Nick seemed much friendlier than he had earlier in the day.

“Great. Thanks.” Owen turned to leave, pocketing the key and note in his jeans. “And, Nick, you should get into the habit of calling me Mr. Matthews. So you don’t blow my cover.”

Nick smacked his forehead. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of that. Good thing I didn’t make that mistake with the kids around, huh? All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Matthews.”

“Yeah, sure.” Owen inched toward the exit, thinking something didn’t feel right. Almost as if Nick was giving him the brush-off. As though he was in Nick’s way. Owen pivoted to find the guy still in the office doorway. “Out of curiosity, what brought you back here tonight?”

“I forgot something.” He thumbed over his shoulder, insinuating whatever he’d forgotten was in the office. “I’m gonna grab it and get out of here. Have a great night.”

Owen didn’t move, still not completely sure about the whole scene. “Where do you recommend eating on the island?”

“Eat? Um... The Blue Lobster on Main is great. There’s also a German restaurant if you’re into beer steins and lederhosen.”

Owen smirked, picturing Hansel and Gretel Hummel dolls. “Nah, embroidered velour isn’t my style.”

“Yeah, me neither, but the pretty little aprons the waitresses wear are something to see at least once while you’re here.”

Owen nodded. “I’ll make sure I put it on my list. See you in the morning.”

“You, too.”

Owen made it to the door and placed his hand on the metal bar to open it. As he pushed, the jingling sound he’d heard before sounded again. He scrutinized Nick over his shoulder. “Old building sound?”

Nick nodded, his face set firmly. “Old building sound.”

Owen surveyed the hallway, peering into every dark corner the red lights didn’t reach. Something did not sit right at Stepping Stones High. His hand dropped from the bar; he debated whether to check out the classrooms or to take Nick’s word.

Seriously? He inwardly scoffed that he’d even considered the word of Nick Danforth.

Owen backed away from the bar and strode away from Nick, who in Owen’s estimation was becoming more weasel-like with each passing moment. “I’m gonna check the rooms out anyway.”

Nick scurried out of the room to come alongside Owen. “Is this really necessary?”

“Nick, I’m here to investigate a crime, so I would say yes, this is necessary.” Owen opened the first classroom to his right and flipped the light switch. A scan between desks turned up nothing.

The same for the next two classrooms.

“There’s no one here,” Nick said from behind Owen. “See? Nobody. Nada. Nothing but an empty school.” Nick’s voice rose an octave with each word.

To alert someone, perhaps? Owen eyed Nick more closely. “Why do I feel like you have something to hide?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Nick huffed, and exited the classroom. He went to the next room and opened it himself. He continued to expose room after room, flicking lights on to prove his innocence. “Like I said, no one is here.”

Owen had to agree, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be digging a little more into who Nick Danforth was and where he’d come from. But for tonight, Owen had exhausted his search, and there was nothing left but to go home and continue his investigation in the morning.

They walked back down the hall, classrooms closed up tight once again. “What time do you arrive in the morning?” Owen asked.

“I get here at seven. Ms. Hunter is usually here— Hey, now where ya going?”

Owen had noticed a closed wooden door he hadn’t checked behind yet and he bisected Nick’s path to cut across the hall. He pushed on the door marked Faculty Women, but it didn’t budge. Locked. “Where’s the key?”

“I guess on Stephanie’s desk, but I don’t know why she locked it. The bathrooms aren’t usually—”

“Just get the key.” Owen cut off his rambling.

“Right.”

Owen gave the handle two more yanks out of impatience while waiting for Nick to return.

A thudding sound came from behind the door. Owen stumbled back in surprise. More banging alerted him to the fact that someone was on the other side. “Who’s in there?” he shouted over the rising noise.

No answer. Only more banging.

“Please, calm down and tell me who you are.” Owen turned his head and hollered down the hall. “Hurry up with the key, Nick. Someone’s locked inside.”

Nick came running out of the office, searching for the correct key on a ring of many. “Here, try this one. I think that’s it.” He thrust the keys into Owen’s hand and Owen inserted one into the lock.

With the person on the other side, he couldn’t push through as he wanted to. The person was obviously distressed. “Move back so I can open the door,” he instructed, but it didn’t help. The pounding continued. Was it a student who’d been left behind?

Owen pushed in a little, hoping the person would see the door opening and move out of the way. With the door ajar, he saw no light coming through. The poor thing was locked in the dark. He spoke through the crack. “You’re all right, but you need to let us in to help you.” He pushed a little more and suddenly the banging stopped.

Owen could now hear snippets of a voice. Little squeaks, followed by a moaning much like the one he’d heard yesterday.

Miriam.

“Miriam!” Nick said it in the same moment Owen thought it. The smaller man elbowed Owen out of the way. He succeeded, but only because Owen allowed him to pass.

With no other lighting besides the red backlight, Owen could only make out the outline of Miriam clinging on to Nick for dear life. Obviously, he was someone special she went to for comfort. He was more than an employee to her.

“Bring her out here.” He held the door open to allow Nick to guide her out of the dark. Owen walked behind them down the hallway, listening to Miriam’s sobs muffled in Nick’s shirt. Each sound squeezed his chest and built in him a need to reach for her as Nick had.

It wouldn’t take much to push Nick aside. Owen gave himself a mental shake. The direction of his thoughts confounded him. What was wrong with him?

He put himself back on the task of figuring out how Miriam had gotten locked in the bathroom in the first place. How long had she been in there? Was it Stephanie who’d locked her in? Had it been an accident? Or another, more daring, prank? And why were the lights off?

How did Miriam bear that?

Her sobs quieted to murmurs, but Owen thought perhaps she hadn’t borne it very well at all. He wondered when she’d given up hope of being found for the night, and thought of Cole and how his eight-year-old son needed to sleep with a night-light. The dark posed more than the absence of light to him. It meant he was silenced. It meant he didn’t exist anymore.

Owen followed the two into the office and watched Nick gently put a disheveled Miriam in a chair. The hair that had been twisted up in the back so neatly a few hours ago now hung in thick, teased clumps around her shoulders. No trace of the earlier humor in her eyes remained.

Nick reached his hands out to hold her face and to pull her attention to him. His thumbs gently wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. He knelt in front of her and signed to her slowly. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you anymore. This is going to stop now. If you won’t call the police, I will. You understand?”

Miriam didn’t reply. She looked over at Owen with red-rimmed eyes full of fear. The fact she didn’t hide it now twisted Owen’s gut. He took a step closer to her, not sure what he meant to actually do when he reached her. He wished more than anything the mischievous twinkling would fill her eyes again.

That he could be the one to restore it.

Focus on the case, Matthews. This was not an accident, and you need to figure out how it’s related.

“Are you sure her car is gone?” he asked Nick, trying to put the pieces together. He remembered that tidbit of info Nick had told him earlier.

Understanding of where Owen was going with that dawned on Nick’s face, and he nodded emphatically. “It’s not in the parking lot. That’s why I thought she’d left.”

“Then someone stole her car.”

Miriam inhaled sharply as her head shook back and forth, her face a mixture of different emotions. Shock, denial and disbelief paraded across it. She obviously had read his lips accurately. She jumped to her feet; her words sped so fast her hands tripped over each other. “Someone stole my car? This is crazy! I have never done anything to the people in this town. Why do they want to hurt me like this?”

Nick began to translate, his voice filled with deep sadness, projecting the pain she felt with each word. He obviously knew her well enough to know her words were not filled with anger. Owen wondered how deep their relationship went—and why he cared.

He backed a step away, reaching for his cell phone to put his mind on a different, more innocuous, track. “I’ll call Wes to report the stolen car,” he announced. “How far could it go on this island, anyway? I’m sure we’ll find it.”

At the same time Owen would find out who was behind the threats and put a stop to them. Because there was only one thing worse than being responsible for destroying a pure heart.

Not protecting one.