Schooled in Murder Read Free

was odd. Not quite as odd as the fact that Benson was currently married to a woman. Benson was five-feet-seven with black hair cut short. His blue jeans said size twenty-eight on the patch on the back. He wore a white shirt, now half untucked, a blue tie now askew, and a blue blazer half off his left shoulder. Freckingwas over six-feet-two with narrow hips and broad shoulders. He had played quarterback for his small Wisconsin college. He wore a pair of gym shorts that were only slightly looser and covered only a bit more than a pair of knit boxer briefs. His baggy T-shirt wasn’t long enough to conceal either how far down the shorts now were or how enthused he was about the activity they’d been engaged in as I entered.
    I turned to leave and then stopped. In a far corner I saw a designer shower-clog and a foot. I pointed to it. “Who is that?” I asked.

2
     
    They stopped rearranging their clothes and looked behind them. I rushed forward. I figured someone might have passed out. The two of them remained motionless. I shoved several boxes aside.
    Gracie Eberson lay on the floor. Someone had crammed one of those oversized chalkboard erasers into her mouth. She wasn’t breathing. I yanked the eraser out. No change. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. I pulled out my cell phone.
    I felt a hand on my arm. It was Benson. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
    “She’s not breathing,” I said. “I think she’s dead. I’m calling 911.” I’d been in the Marines. I’d seen death up close. That didn’t make it easier to deal with, but I knew enough not to panic. At the moment, I had a rush of something to do.
    Benson tapped my arm. “You can’t,” he said.
    I looked at him, my thumb poised over the keypad.
    “Nobody can know we were here,” he said.
    I said, “This is an emergency.” I punched numbers and reported where I was and what the situation was. After I hung up, I called the school’s main office rather than huntfor a call button in the nearest classroom. I got the answering machine. It was late. The secretaries must have left for the day.
    Still kneeling, I noticed bruising on Gracie’s face, mottled with bits of chalk dust and lint. I looked up at the two men. I saw a small patch of wetness on the front of Benson’s jeans. Catching my glance, he quickly held a book over his crotch. His face was beet red. Frecking had a gym bag in front of his midsection.
    “Ah, you didn’t see anything?” Benson asked.
    I said, “Was there something to see?”
    Frecking said, “I can explain.”
    I said, “There’s nothing to explain. My only suggestion is the old cliché, get a room.” Benson began, “My wife–” I said, “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not interested.” Frecking said, “We’re–”
    I said, “You don’t owe me any explanations. I saw nothing that was any of my business to report to anyone. Yours isn’t the first kiss exchanged in this school among faculty members. Once again, I suggest discretion.” I pointed at the corpse. “You have a much larger problem.”
    Benson said, “We didn’t see her. We didn’t know she was here.”
    Frecking said, “We didn’t turn on the light. It wasn’t the first time we’ve been in here.”
    More information than I needed. Good to know someone besides the students was up on the trysting places in the school.
    I said, “Let’s step into the corridor. I’m sure the police will be here any moment.” We reassembled outside and several feet down the corridor. It was empty.
    “What are you going to do about what you saw?” Benson asked.
    “Is there a problem?” I asked.
    “We can’t tell anyone we were there. There’s no logical reason for Steven to be up here. People will wonder what we were doing. You can’t say anything.”
    This was more than a bit much. Lying for trysting lovers, gay or straight or in-between, was not my style. And not when a dead body was involved in the equation.
    I held up my hand and asked, “Why would you