Band Room Bash by Candice Speare Prentice Page B

people could be guilty.” She took several deep breaths. “That would mean her death was some kind of personal vendetta. . . . No, I’m sure this was a stranger.”
    I thought she was protesting too much. “Well, you never really know what people are going to do. There are rumors—”
    “Hearsay,” Carla snapped. “You shouldn’t be listening to it.” A red flush worked up her cheeks. “I don’t care if you do solve mysteries.”
    Her hostility seemed a bit over the top to me. Still, I didn’t want to stress her out any more than I already had. I forced myself to laugh. “Yep, gossip can be a killer, all right. Especially in a small town.”
    She visibly relaxed. “Remember our rescheduled meeting tomorrow afternoon. I don’t want anything to distract us from our goals. I want to discuss the advertising for the school play. I’d like to see the paid ads throughout the program. And I want the whole thing professionally printed on heavy, good-quality paper.”
    I nodded even though I thought the idea was ridiculous. This was a school play in a public school, for Pete’s sake. But what did I know?
    “This will raise money for the drama club as well as present our high school in a good light.” Carla slipped into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the meeting.”
    I turned away and wondered what was wrong with our high school that it had to be presented in such a good light. Well, other than the fact that it had been the scene of a murder.
    My spiky-haired bagger followed me to my car with my basket. “Dude, that woman is a freak.”
    “What?”
    He motioned with his head at the back end of Carla’s car as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Her. She’s a freak.”
    “How come?” We halted at the back of my SUV, and I popped the back door open.
    “Too good for everyone. You know? Like those old bags on the BBC.” He started loading my groceries. “She acts like she’s on drugs, man.”
    I had a feeling he would know.
    “You know what they say about the coach, don’t you?” He turned to stare at me.
    “No.”
    “Steroids.”
    I stared at him in disbelief. “Steroids? You can’t be serious.”
    “Serious as a heart attack.” He shrugged. “Took ’em a long time. Affected his head.” He tapped his temple then slammed the car door shut. “Now he makes sure his players do well on tests, if you get my drift.”
    “Steroids?” I asked. “Do they help on tests?”
    He laughed and stared at me. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “He has other ways.”
    “How do you know this?” I asked.
    His eyes narrowed. “I hear things. Listen, I gotta get back to work.”
    “Okay.” I turned to my SUV and used the remote to open the locks.
    “Hey, lady.”
    I turned.
    Bagger Dude scratched his arm. “Be careful about askin’ questions.” He swiveled on his sneakered foot and headed back to the store.
    That sounded like a threat. I shivered, got into the car, and locked my doors. I needed to write down what I’d just heard. I pulled a pen and my steno pad from my purse.
    Bagger Dude says Coach used steroids and they messed up his head. He arranges for players to pass tests in order to stay on the team. How?
    Carla is defensive. Team isn’t dependent on just one player. I stopped and thought carefully about her words. Carla never denied that Jason or the coach had done anything wrong. But she insists that it was a stranger who killed Georgia.
    After staring at the words, I shut the steno pad and tucked it in my purse, along with the pen. As I started my SUV, I noticed my engagement and wedding rings again. They really needed to be cleaned and checked. I would hate to lose a diamond from neglect. And that’s when it dawned on me that Carla hadn’t been wearing any rings. Not even an engagement ring. Strange. I thought she had a fiancé.
    I drove home, mentally reviewing all my clues. Murder investigations have a way of peeling away people’s veneer of civility.