Read 2 Death Makes the Cut for Free Online

flourish with one hand. “I’m the drama teacher here.”
    “Assistant drama teacher,” I corrected.
    “Well, yes. Assistant drama teacher,” he admitted, throwing me a cool look. “Only my second year, have to work my way up the ladder, you know, while I’m building my reputation as a screenwriter,” he added with a flash of white teeth.
    “Hmm. And when did you last see Mr. Argus?”
    I liked that Detective Gallagher knew Coach Fred’s name without having to consult his notes.
    “Yesterday,” said Roland brightly. “He was here on the courts, and I was just over there with the drama club. We were cleaning the stage area, painting props, that sort of thing. Preparing for the new season. The play we have planned is going to be something extraordinary. I’ve written the adaptation myself.” He drew breath, apparently to expound on the glories of the Bonham theater season and his own scriptwriting skills.
    Detective Gallagher headed him off just in time. “And did you notice anything unusual? Did he appear to feel well?”
    Roland shrugged. This was far less interesting than the theater. “As far as I could tell. He was working with the kids. Seemed fine.”
    “Other than the tennis players, did you see anyone else in the area?”
    “Not exactly, but people were coming and going all day yesterday. Most of the clubs had practices or work days. Why are you asking? Is something wrong?”
    Other than a dead teacher? I stared at him with distaste, but Detective Gallagher took it in stride.
    “Not at all. It’s just policy to try to find out who might have seen him last.”
    “We were here until about ten o’clock last night, but I left through the front door.” He gestured. “I didn’t notice anything over on this side of the building, but then it was dark and I wasn’t looking. Want me to ask Nancy if she saw anything?” He glanced toward the school where a small crowd had gathered.
    Nancy Wales, the head drama teacher, was instantly recognizable. For one thing she was a huge woman, well over six feet tall, and built like a linebacker. Then, too, she favored bright colors and loose-fitting clothing, which would have made her stand out even if she’d been petite. Today, she wore a turquoise and cobalt silk caftan that billowed gently in a breeze of her own making. Her blue-black hair was thick and long, and today she had it swept up into a twist and fastened with a claw clip, which made her seem even taller. When she was in a good mood, she glided through the halls like a barracuda, silent and watchful. In a bad mood, which was her default, she was more like a shark preparing for a really good feeding frenzy, sniffing for the first sign of blood in the water. Freshmen scattered like minnows when they saw her coming. Now, though, she looked concerned, even a little frightened. Was it possible that she actually felt something because of Fred’s death? Or was she—and this I considered to be much more likely—worried that the police had discovered that she was actually an escaped convict who’d had an only partially successful sex change and had arrived to haul her back to prison?
    Roland began waving to her without waiting for Detective Gallagher to respond. She looked aghast, skittered a little like a nervous horse on the verge of bolting, and then reluctantly approached.
    “Hey, Nancy!” Roland called, his actor’s voice easily carrying over the sound of traffic. “Did you see Fred here last night when we were leaving? This officer is trying to find out who spoke to him last.”
    She reached us, shaking her head with certainty even before he’d finished speaking. “I park out front. I never come over this way.”
    Detective Gallagher asked for their names and made notes in a small notebook. “All right. Well, thank you both.” He handed them each a card. “If you think of something that might be relevant, you can contact me at those numbers.”
    Nancy took her dismissal with obvious relief