Strangled by Simile, page 21
“He was real calm,” Emma said. “Did you believe him?”
“Well, I think it’d be easy enough to check out. We can do a little research on whether his job makes the kind of money that would support this house, at least. But he wasn’t thrown at all, didn’t even hesitate.” Leslie looked behind her at Edward. “Or we could ask the superintendent—he knows what kind of money’s been going into the football program or not.”
“I’ll get on the phone with William as soon as we get back,” Edward said, “and onto the computer as far as any information we can find about Frank’s finances. Come on back in the car, Miss Emma.”
Emma jumped into the passenger seat and buckled up. As Leslie peeled out of the Hammond driveway, Emma opened the letter and looked at it again. Frank’s finances. Fantasy football. Fat fanny pack, fat fanny pack, F-F-F where have I heard that before? That’s the F word that’s been bugging me. But it’s not fat fanny pack, is it? It’s flat fanny pack! And I remember who said that in the heat of the conversation. I remember. “Leslie, I’ve figured it out! I know who killed Charlie!”
One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery.
– As You Like It, III.2.190–1
Chapter 28
Monday, October 30
It’s almost Halloween!
Do you know WHAT your children are?
Fright this way... enter if you dare!
Welcome, foolish mortals.
“I’m sorry, Edward,” Emma said. “I just don’t remember you having so much—holiday spirit—last year.” She gestured to the signs covering the walls of the small library office and back to Edward, who was dressed, of course, like Harry Potter. Complete with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, carefully fashioned with stage putty he’d borrowed from the theater prop loft. He’s so adorable. Finally into the high school spirit we all love so much. I hope he’s having fun!
“Wait, wait, wait,” Hunter said. “Quit stalling with your Halloween hijinks. Eddie looks great as Harry Potter. I feel like I have that Einstein thing down.” He patted the frizzy riot of hair on his head, which he’d sprayed white, moussed, and teased. “You are a divine Dorothy, red sparkly shoes and all. And, Leslie, you’re a perfect”—his nose crinkled—“what are you, again? Cotton candy?”
Leslie straightened the cardboard square atop her head and smoothed her very pink pantsuit. “Gum, Hunter. I told you, I am gum stuck under a desk. And I agree with you, even if your memory sucks. At least you failed miserably on the Leslie-must-be-something-sweet side.” She tugged on one of Emma’s long pigtails, which were adorned with shiny red bows to match the shoes. “We’ve been waiting patiently for your revelation since last night, Grasshoppah. Your conclusions should be clear by now. Why, again, do you think Andy Marston is the killer? He seems to be guilty of cheating on his wife, which is horrible, but lots of people cheat. We can attest to that personally because of our own cheating bastard exes. But hey, as far as we know, our two exes never killed anyone.”
“Why, again, does TJHS have their Halloween celebration the day before Halloween?” Emma asked, raising her eyebrows in a posture of innocence. She loved building the suspense. She hadn’t thought about having MS since figuring out Charlie’s killer. Well, not too much anyway. “I mean, if it was the Friday before a weekend Halloween, I’d get it. But it’s a Monday. Before a Tuesday Halloween, for Pete’s sake. What’s the point?”
Leslie yanked on the pigtail again, harder. “Abigail, of course. She had some sort of wardrobe malfunction with a Halloween costume—it’s her all-time favorite holiday—like six years ago at a no-cape, no-claws, no-candy party, and she figured a pre-test was in order every year since. Now, speak, Emma Rose. Andy? Killer? Why?”
Edward adjusted his cape and sat down at their lunch table, even though it was only seven a.m. Hunter sat at the computer chair next to Emma, hands on his knees. She addressed Leslie. “Do you remember the other week, right after Charlie died, I told you I came upon the Lounge Lizards being all secretive while talking in the lounge? And I tried to eavesdrop but couldn’t hear anything valuable? At least I thought I didn’t, but based on our investigation swoopin’ on over to the money topic, I remember Andy said something that wouldn’t even matter except for what Frank Hammond said yesterday about Charlie and his fat fanny pack!” Emma smiled in triumph.
“Right, right!” Leslie said. “Frank said the fanny pack never came to school unless it was stuffed full. But the autopsy report we—er—read completely legally, said the empty fanny pack was amongst the objects brought from Charlie’s office.”
“That’s the F thing I was trying to remember,” Emma said. “It was what Andy said when I was listening in at the Lounge Lizards’ secret meeting. They were talking about Dominique, and Mike Reznick said something about stealing her, and Andy said something about his threats being as empty as Charlie’s flat fanny pack. If he always brought it stuffed full of money, no one but the person who killed him—”
“Woulda likely emptied it of money then seen it flat.” Leslie nodded. “If Charlie brought it to school, it makes sense with the whole fantasy football gambling ring we think is happening now.”
“Right?” Emma knelt and straightened her Dorothy knee socks. “If Charlie and Frank were the ones depositing the money, but the football kids thought a coach or coaches were betting big money on fantasy football, killing Charlie and emptying the fanny pack to keep gambling would be logical. I’m still not sure why Andy would kill Charlie instead of just keepin’ on stealing from him.”
Leslie nodded. “Because you thought it was a quote-unquote crime of opportunity, so there was Charlie with the bag o’ money, and there was the golf club. Maybe Andy was stealing some money right then, and Charlie caught him in the act, and that’s what got him killed.”
Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Poor Charlie.”
“So how are we gonna prove it?” Hunter asked. “Right now this is all supposition and circumstantial evidence but not real evidence. Even Niome—especially Niome—is gonna laugh you out of the park.”
Emma crossed the floor and ran her fingers across the sign that said, Welcome, foolish mortals. “Remember the trap we set when we were trying to catch Melvin’s killer? I think we should do that again.”
“That was an article in the school paper, though, telling all the teachers to bring in their hard copy gradebooks so we could catch the person who’d been altering grades on the computer.” Leslie shifted her cardboard “desk” to the other side of her head, like it was a graduation mortar board she couldn’t get straight. “Martha’s not doing the school paper this year—it’s Mrs. Miller. I’m sure she’d be up for a few shenanigans.”
Emma shook her head. “I think we should set us a trap Shakespeare style. My first-period actors are all about Shakespeare right now, or at least about figuring what ol’ Willy is saying and how they’re gonna use a swordfight or a knee to the nuts to portray it. And my acting class starts Right. Now. All y’all leave it up to me. We’re gonna do the Bard as part of a Halloween celebration on actual Halloween. I’ll call up Billy and the superintendent. Edward, you call David and Frank Hammond—say it’s another tribute to Charlie, which we can make it be that, right? Hunter, will you please call Niome? He should sneak in after we’ve started, or he can wait for us outside the auditorium. And between that group and the students and teachers, we’ll have everybody we’ve investigated right there in front of us. Leslie and Hunter, you’ll have to be the ones keepin’ your ol’ eagle eyes on Andy and his reaction. I’ve got a show to run.”
NOBODY WAS IN THE AUDITORIUM yet. She’d stopped in her classroom to pick up her copy of Hamlet, and she sat on the stage, flipping through until she reached act three, scene two, at which point she began making a list of the characters in the scene. Hamlet, Claudius, Ophelia—ah, there’s Queen Gertrude, but we’ll still need some girl students to play boy parts. Oh well, we love switchin’ it up from what they did back in Willie’s time, right? Right. As the elements of her plan developed, Emma’s smile grew bigger, and by the time the first students entered, she felt like the proverbial cat and the big ol’ mouthful of canary. This is gonna work. It has to.
“Nick! Sawyer! I think this’ll be an excitin’ extra credit opportunity for you both.” She gestured them over as they entered. Almost as if it was predestined, the two were the exact students she’d been thinking of to play the parts of Hamlet and his murdering uncle. Nick Luchyky was an outgoing, some-would-say-loudmouth guy with a heart of gold who’d been a standout student of hers since ninth grade, and Sawyer, well, Sawyer had been a part of it since the beginning. It seemed only appropriate he would be a part of it until the end.
“Extra credit!” yelled Nick. “That’s always music to us poor seniors’ ears. You know it! What’s going on?”
“Do we get to swordfight?” asked Sawyer. Both boys sat in front of Emma on the auditorium’s first-row seats. “Or... whaddya call it? Rack someone? That was pretty cool.”
At that point, other students filtered in.
“Oh, prithee!” yelled Gino Ramirez from the back. He bounded down the aisle. “Pray, prithee, whoop-dee-doo, may thouest rack Sir Sawyer today? Kneeest him in thou nutso?” He grinned and leapt over Nick, tackling Sawyer and knuckling him in the head as they wrestled.
Emma laughed. “I have no idea what you’d call that noogie in Shakespeare’s time. Skull-play? My heck, you two are hyper. Why so festive on a Monday morning?” She handed the play to Matt Kareus, because he was an office aide. “Matt, please run and make a class set of copies for act three, scene two and act five, scene two. Thank you kindly!” As Matt ran out, she turned back to the others. “I mean, it is almost Halloween, I guess. But no pillowcases full of candy yet, so...”
“Aw, we’re just in the Shakespeare spirit, Miz Lovett.” Nick reached out to grab another actor and commenced with the noogies for that guy. “Give us some morea that stage combat. We’re all over it.”
Emma addressed the entire class, who had all filtered in, before the noogies got out of control. “Good morning, actors! Gather round, cherubs. I have an extra credit opportunity for all y’all!” She brandished a set of papers. “A Halloween performance in honor of Coach Foreman.”
Allie Krischek’s eyes grew wide. “We have to say stuff out loud? Shakespeare stuff? In front of other people besides this class?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. I’m not that sad about how the coach got killed—how anybody got killed, literally.”
Emma laughed. “I understand, Allie. I know performing can be daunting for many of you. But I’ve figured it out. We’re going to do two pivotal scenes from Hamlet right here on this stage because there is much opportunity for fun and swordplay in this Shakespearean tragedy, and there are parts available for everyone. But see, not all the parts need to be spoken. I’ve arranged it so the entirety of the act-three scene—where the players perform the pivotal play, which exposes Hamlet’s uncle of committing fratricide—those players will simply act out those roles with a narrator, no speaking necessary.” Allie let go of a tense breath. She’s okay with the extra credit if she doesn’t have to say it, just show it.
“What’s fratricide?” Gino asked.
“Anyone want to tackle that one?” Emma asked.
Laura raised her hand. “I know that -cide has something to do with killing. But frat? Like a fraternity?”
“Well, same prefix,” Emma confirmed. “It’s from the word ‘frater’ meaning ‘brother.’ And a fraternity is like a club that calls themselves brothers, so...”
“It means killing your brother?” Greg said. “Dude, that’s crazy. My little brother is my nightmare, like, always. But I wouldn’t kill him.” He chuckled. “Prob’ly I wouldn’t.”
Matt ran back into the auditorium, huffing, and handed the scenes to Emma.
“Yes, well, I hope you wouldn’t.” Emma passed out the scenes. “But power-hungry Claudius would, and Hamlet uses a play about fratricide to trap his uncle into admitting it.”
“And does he? Admit it?” Sawyer flipped through his pages. “Do we have to memorize the lines to get the extra credit?”
“He doesn’t admit it, actually,” Emma said. “He ends up killing Hamlet. Hamlet’s mother accidentally gets poisoned, and basically everyone in the room dies—except for Horatio. Hamlet wants someone to tell the story to the people.” What are we gonna do if this has no effect on Andy? I’ll have to figure out something else. Doggone it. Relax, Emma. This is about paying attention and making connections. We will figure this thing out. “Anyway,” she lied, “I chose this particular play only because it seems to have the most possibilities for utilizing our stage-combat techniques. And goodness gracious, of course you don’t have to memorize all your lines. We’ll just spend today working on voice inflection and fight-scene choreography. Halloween is tomorrow!”
The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.
– Hamlet, II.2.602–3
Chapter 29
Tuesday, October 31
Halloween
Yesterday, Emma had been brutally cold in her Dorothy costume. Halloween morning, she was grateful to be able to put on long underwear under a hot-pink sweater and black pants. Sometimes sexy Halloween was overrated. Okay, come on, Emma. Sexy Halloween is completely overrated and immature, really. Always. You know your mind is sexy. Your big heart, that’s all kindsa sexy. Get a grip. Use your mind and heart—and long underwear—to catch you a killer today. She bundled farther into her puffy coat, kissed Sir Toby and Trinky, and hustled out to the Honda.
“Good morning, Miss Emma!” trilled Delilah Thornberry from her front door. “And a Happy Halloween to yoooo-uu! It’s a beautiful brisk morning, so I’m going to have myself a walk before I put on my costume. Nate and I are trick-or-treating this evening, although I think he does it to check on all his little high school kidlets. I’m in it for the costume, of course!”
Emma grinned. “Oh, and I’m sure it has absolutely nothin’ to do with the candy. You can’t fool me, Delilah! What is your costume, by the way?” She waited by the car door, impatient to get going but also curious about Delilah’s costume. It occurred to her that Delilah had never shown an interest in Halloween before, not until Nate.
“Well it was just butt-cold yesterday, ya know? I noticed, even in my Sorels. So I found the niftiest Eewok costume. I’m all warm in it, plus the neighbors can’t tell I’m a sixty-five-year-old lady askin’ ’em for candy!”
Emma chortled. “Well, your secret’s safe with me, lady! I’ll probably even have some candy ready for you if you and Nate knock on my door tonight. No trick-or-treatin’ for me, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe you should think about a scooter. I know unreal fatigue is a big part of having MS.” Emma had told Delilah about her diagnosis as soon as she told Nate, and her sweet neighbor hadn’t said a word, just enveloped Emma in the biggest bear hug she’d had since she met Billy Foreman, for whom giant hugs were SOP.
“Hey, a scooter sounds like a nifty idea. I’ll look into it. Bye!” Emma waved and hopped into her car to chug out of the driveway, probably motoring at scooter speed, come to think of it.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, students and staff, thank you so much for attending this impromptu Halloween tribute to the memory of Charlie Foreman.” Emma stood center stage, arm linked with her new happy friend, Billy, assessing the audience before the lights went down.
Carl Niome had checked in as soon as she arrived at school then proceeded somewhere close, she guessed. She’d been surprised he was so agreeable to her plan. All he’d done was a slight grumble about “damned amateur crime-solvers,” but he arrived before she got to school even. Now, he was nowhere to be seen. The energy emanating from Billy’s body was palpable, and Emma smiled, remembering his squeal of delight when she’d called the night before to offer what he called “another party for Charlie!” His father, the superintendent, waited in the wings with Nate.
Three Lounge Lizards—Mike Reznick, Norm Gilder, and Andy Marston—clustered with Frank Hammond against the auditorium wall to the right of the front row. Leslie and Edward stood sentinel at the opposite wall with Leslie taking guard duty very seriously, arms crossed and glowering like a gargoyle. Hunter stood at the back in case Andy tried to escape that way. In addition to David Brookside, splayed out in front—a sweatsuit from Nate covering his Speedo wear—the audience was filled with students from her class and all the other coaches or teachers who’d worked with Charlie. She could tell they were excited to be missing their first-period class. Well, at least they’re happy about Shakespeare for some reason, whatever that reason is.
“I think all y’all have probably heard of Hamlet—as a matter of fact, your parents or some of your teachers have probably seen the Mel Gibson movie!” Emma grinned. “I hear he was quite the handsome Hamlet for his generation.” She waited for some of the student snickers and oohs that accompanied any statement like that to subside. “Hamlet is the perfect play for Halloween time and for this acting class, not only because there is a ghost at its center—” More ooohhs and ahhhh’s. “But also because it lets these actors practice their stage combat!”
Cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd.
Billy pulled a sword he’d been hiding behind his back. He thrust the point toward the audience, shouting, “Ghosts and swordfights, yeah! Charlie’d love it!”
The cheers and whistles grew, with some students stomping their feet like it was a pep rally or sports event. Emma reined Billy back in and glanced at the Lizards. They all looked stoic, ready to jump in if students got too rowdy, but none of them looked guilty.
