Kate Carlisle - The Lies That Bind

“Stay back, please,” Mitchell said, stretching his arm across the hall entrance to block her.

“Who the fuck are you?” she said, with a contemptuous curl of her lip.

Ah, there was the Minka we all loved to hate.

Mitchell simply waited her out, not taking his eyes off her for a second. After a long standoff, Minka huffed. “Fine, whatever. Jerk wad.”

As she flounced back down the hall, I looked at Mitchell and sighed. “Sorry about that, but thanks.”

“No problem. She’s a peach. What else can I do to help?”

“Can you take Naomi to the lounge? She needs to sit down.”

“No,” Naomi protested. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You’ve had a bad shock, Naomi,” I said. “You need to sit down or you’ll pass out. I promise I’ll watch her until the police arrive.”

“But she’d want me to stay with her.”

“You’re probably right.” Layla had always loved bossing Naomi around. Still, she was a dead weight in my arms so I gave her an affectionate squeeze and said, “You’re so thoughtful to consider what Layla would want, but I’m more concerned about you right now.”

She sniffled, then began to sob. I traded glances with Mitchell, who immediately stepped forward and took hold of Naomi.

“You can come with me,” he said gently, putting his arm around her shoulders. Before he led her away, he turned and said to me, “Police should be here any minute. I got Ned to stand guard at the other entrance to this hall.”

“What other entrance?”

He pointed to Layla’s office. “That office has a separate entrance leading to another hall that curves around to the back of the building. I had to run to the men’s room the first night and got lost coming back. I followed the hall around and ended up in there.”

I hadn’t noticed a second doorway the other night when I brought Layla the book. Probably because I was so distracted by her sleazy scheme to pass the Oliver Twist off as a first edition.

I thought of Ned on the other side of the door. I didn’t want to say it aloud, but even though I trusted Mitchell’s instincts, I wondered if we could trust Ned.

Mitchell led Naomi away, and within seconds Tom Hardesty lumbered up, out of breath. “I was outside. It’s cold. What’s going on? Mitchell said you might need some help.”

“He did? Well, maybe you could-”

“Wait. Who is that?” Tom peered around me to stare at the body. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He shook his head. “No, it’s not. No. No. No.” His voice grew louder and more high-pitched and I scanned the hall looking for help.

Finally, I had to shout over him, “Tom, shut up.”

“But she’s… oh, God. She’s dead.”

“Yeah, we all got that,” I said loudly. “Where were you when the memo went out?” I probably shouldn’t have talked that way to a board member but he was such a twit. Seriously, Mitchell had sent this guy to help me and now he was having a panic attack? I’d lost any last drop of sympathy I might have had for him.

He didn’t seem to notice my acerbic response, just shook his head and whispered, “I was outside making a phone call.”

“Guess you missed all the excitement.”

“She can’t be dead,” Tom whimpered, and tried to move closer.

I sidestepped to block him.

“Noooooo,” Tom moaned.

I’d reached the end of my rope. “Tom, shut the hell up.”

Without warning, he fell to his knees and tried to reach for Layla’s hand.

“No!” I slapped his hand away just in time. “Crime scene. Get out of here.”

He collapsed on the floor and curled up like a baby in a womb.

Stunned by his behavior, I yelled down the hall, “Where’s Cynthia? I need her, now.”

“I’ll look for her,” Alice cried, eager to be of service.

I stared at Tom. “Get a grip, man.”

He began to weep as Cynthia stalked down the hall. “So this is where he disappeared to.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She dropped to her haunches and smacked Tom’s head. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“It’s Layla,” he sobbed. “She’s… oh, my God, she’s…”

“She’s dead,” Cynthia shot back. “And good riddance.”

Whoa.

Tom didn’t seem to notice his wife’s antipathy as he rocked in agony.

“Jesus H,” Cynthia muttered. She exhaled heavily, then took a deep breath and seemed to gather every last ounce of patience in her body. She patted his back and said in a soothing tone, “Come on, honey. The police will be here any minute. They can’t find you like this.”

That moved him to stand up. He wobbled once but she grabbed and steadied him.

He blinked, then gulped and said, “Thanks, honey.”

She smacked his arm. “We’ll talk about this later. Come on, let’s go.” Then she gripped his shirt to lead him away.

I had a feeling Tom would get an earful when he arrived home. Maybe that was a good thing. God knows, it seemed their relationship thrived on discipline. As they moved down the hall, I noticed that some of my other students had witnessed the entire scene.

Kylie grimaced. “This is all too surreal.”

“Two attacks in one week is more than surreal,” I said.

Whitney and Gina returned to the group, and Whitney rubbed her arms. “It’s really freezing out there.”

“Hey, I wonder if the local news will show up,” Gina said.

“We should call them,” Whitney whispered, and Gina nodded with excitement.

I rolled my eyes. Just what I needed, to be accosted by nosy reporters. All they had to do was link me to Abraham’s murder and the Scotland murders and I’d be known forever more as Bloody Brooklyn-or some equally annoying nickname.

Brooklyn’s Bloody Bodies “R” Us. Very catchy.

“Where are the cops?” I wondered aloud.

As if on cue, a siren screamed in the distance, growing louder and finally stopping right outside the front door.

“About damn time,” I muttered, more than ready for a good stiff drink.

As the sirens faded outside the building, I had a sudden realization. What was I doing here? Why was I the one protecting a crime scene as if it were my job? As if I were some officer of the court? I wasn’t. I was just some poor schnook who’d seen too many dead bodies lately and knew the score. I realized the area needed to be as undisturbed as possible so that evidence could be saved and justice served. This time, I’d even left a fabulous old book on the floor, untouched. I wish I’d taken it, though. After all, it wasn’t like the book had killed her, right?

I’d done my duty, but now I was starting to freak out over my recent proclivity for finding bodies. I couldn’t blame my head for screaming, Get away from the dead body! People are starting to talk!

I heeded the message and signaled Mitchell over. “I need to return to the classroom.”

He was taken aback. “You’re starting up the class?”

“No, no. No more class tonight. I just need to get away from here. Can you watch her for me?”

Mitchell glanced over at “her,” and said, “Sure. Go. I’ll let the cops know where you are.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He chuckled as I scurried off, back to my empty classroom. I toed my shoes off and curled up in one of the cushioned high chairs stationed around the worktable. Now that it was quiet, I took a moment to wonder, again, what was up with my karma. Why me? Why dead bodies? Was the universe sending me a message? Whatever it was, I couldn’t read it.

Layla was dead and I felt nothing. I mean, I was alarmed that a killer might be getting away with murder. But otherwise, I felt nothing except complete relief that I’d never have to deal with her crap again.