Dying to Teach Read Free Page A

principal’s office, just steps from the wide, glass front doors—through which twenty-five hundred students would soon rush. It would be hard to explain her presence in school this early in the morning, especially since she was more frequently late than anything else. Kiana tucked the key into the lock. More difficult than explaining her presence though, would be explaining how she came into possession of a key to this particular room.
    The door opened on silent hinges. A peek verified that the place was empty. It would be. Teachers didn’t come to school over an hour early. Kiana stepped inside and locked the door.
    On the right, two long leather sofas faced each other rather than the wide screen television attached to the far right hand wall. To the left, near the windows, was a small kitchenette. At her far left, beside the door where she’d come in, were spaces for teacher’s personal belongings. The spaces looked like what she had back in nursery school, rectangular wooden cubbyholes with black magic marker names written on tape under each.
    Kiana checked first for Gwen’s compartment, but it seemed she didn’t have one. It wasn’t really surprising; she spent very little time mingling with the rest of the staff. Since Kiana had no idea what she was looking for, it would be best to look at everything, though time was of the essence. She reminded herself to be methodical. That way you didn’t miss anything. She would start at the top left, with Mr. Philmore’s compartment and work across the row. His cubicle contained only a Michael Bublé CD.  Michael Bublé ?
    The oh-so-ordinary looking Mr. Philmore wasn’t a very good teacher; he stuck strictly to curriculum, never veering away to add lessons from real life or take them on field trips. As a person he was an okay guy, a little pushy but maybe teachers had to be that way sometimes. Kids weren’t always on their best behavior in school. She used to be in that group, talking back, playing pranks. But in the summer between junior and senior high, major changes had happened in her life. Discoveries, she guessed they might be called. Things that put the words life and future in better perspective. Kiana had done some big-time soul searching and come out of it determined to apply herself, to make a future her mother would be proud of.
    She moved left to right performing a systematic search. Some of the spaces contained bottled water, stacks of microwavable meals, books—gee, the prim and proper sociology teacher read science fiction!
    So far, none contained what she sought: something, anything that might lead to Gwen’s killer. Disappointed, Kiana shoved away the chair with the backs of her knees and examined the lowest row of cubicles. The first on the left was Mr. Chalmers’. Though they kept it quiet, he and Gwen had been seeing each other for almost three years. Kiana never saw the attraction. Mr. Chalmers was a slob and Gwen a perfectionist. He was ordinary looking with the thinning hair and thick calves. And those perpetual sweatsuits! Kiana thought Gwen was beautiful. Her cocoa color skin and dark eyes made her look sultry and mysterious. To Kiana’s mind, she and Mr. Chalmers were as unsuited physically as cats and mice. His compartment sat empty.
    As Kiana turned to put the chair back where she found it, her foot kicked something. The object shot like a bullet under the microwave table, clanking off one of the casters. She knelt and groped through the awful cobwebs—what did the janitors do with their time anyway? She reached left. Nothing. She probed right. Where was it?
    She leaned down, bracing herself on the lowest shelf that held a mishmash of microwavable containers. With her left ear almost touching the floor she squinted underneath. It took a moment to adjust to the dim light, but there it was—about three inches long and two inches wide—almost invisible against the far right side caster. She’d just wrapped her fingers around it when a