Teacher's Pet

  (FADE IN:)

  INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – NIGHT

  He had a love/hate relationship with parties. Naturally, he was the focus of attention, as it should be. After all, he was the rich, famous star of the show, was he not? Women lusted after him, everyone wanted to be him. He caught his reflection in the long, tall mirror next to the piano, admired his dashing figure. Sucked in his protruding gut a moment before saying fuck it and taking another long pull from his glass of scotch.

  “I’ve never met a famous writer before.”

  She was just like all the others, hanging off his arm, tall and skinny wearing too much makeup and refusing to eat anything. She drank enough for both of them, though. Which meant he’d probably end up on his office couch with her at some point. But, first things first.

  Time to drain the dragon before slaying fair maidens.

  “Professor!” Damn it, who the hell made her his keeper? He’d just stepped away from tall and scrawny, downing the last of his drink, as the meddling blonde invaded his space. “The dean would like a word.”

  “I’ll be along,” he said, turning his back on her. He’d tried several times to entice her to his office couch to no avail. Women like her—all work and no sugar—gave him hives. Arrogant little snot, she’d had the nerve to report him to the dean when he’d suggested they get to know each other better.

  Dr. DanAllart was on his shit list.

  He stumbled out of the ballroom, not giving a damn the dean was looking for him. Let him wait. He’d accepted this shit teaching position at Silver City College to escape some uncomfortable accusations in New York. Fucking women and their sense of entitlement. Whatever. He liked the West coast better, anyway.

  He must have made a wrong turn, because instead of pushing his way into the bathroom as he intended, the first floor men’s an insult to someone of his importance, he found himself in the courtyard on the other side of the ballroom. God damn it all to Jesus H, Mary and Joseph.

  Grinning to himself, he crossed to the fountain, smiled up at the figure of the angel whose body wept water into the receptacle. And happily unzipped his fly, letting his golden stream join the flow.

  Perfect.

  In a moment he’d go back inside, maybe piss off his ex-wife with a lewd remark or two. The bitch followed him here, joined the fundraising board, just to infuriate him. Well, he’d see who pulled whose chain. Then, he’d tap a bit of tall and scrawny before taking his girlfriend home.

  A belch escaped him as he shook the lizard dry and zipped up. Tasted like bad hors, d’oeuvres and scotch. He’d just have to drown the former in the latter. With a grunt, he turned.

  Into the barrel of a silencer.

  Sobriety wasn’t his favorite state of being, but the rush of adrenaline gave him no choice. His gasp of indrawn breath was so overly dramatic he would have rolled his eyes at himself had he the presence of mind. Instead, he gaped at the face behind the gun, eyes clouding with tears.

  “Why?”

  His assailant didn’t answer. At least, not with words. Instead, the gloved finger squeezed, the silencer shuddering as the muzzle flashed and the single bullet sang out of the barrel, slicing through his forehead and back out again, slicing off the index finger of the angel.

  His body fell backward in slow motion, graceful in death as he hadn’t been in life, crashing with a mighty splash into the icy water of the fountain.

  Epilogue complete.

  ***

  Episode Ten: Teacher’s Pet

  (Smashwords Edition)

  Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen

  Purely Paranormal Press

  www.purelyparanormalpress.com

  Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/

  Sign up for new releases http://bit.ly/pattilarsenemail

  ***

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Director Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com

  Production Designer Valerie Bellamy www.dog-earbookdesign.com

  Editor Jessica Bufkin

  Producer Anne Chaconas www.badassmktg.com

  Series Created and Written by Patti Larsen

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – MIDNIGHT

  Gerri spotted Kinsey almost immediately, though she hardly recognized her small, blonde friend. The anthropologist stood out amid the crowd of fuddy-duddy professors in their black tie attempt at attractiveness and the aging women or young, overdone girls hanging on the arms of their men like eye candy. Kinsey’s floor-length, red dress was tasteful, halter tied neatly behind her slender neck with a thin, gold cord, silk sheath hugging her slim body perfectly.

  Kinsey waved to her, a look of relief on her face as she hurried forward, toes of her heels peeking out from under her hem as she approached. Gerri grinned, despite the circumstances.

  “Nice dress.” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed.

  Kinsey rolled her blue eyes, nose wrinkling as her hands nervously ran down her stomach over the slippery fabric.

  “Stupid fundraisers,” she muttered. “I hate this crap.”

  Gerri glanced around, noting despite the fact she’d been called in on a suspected homicide, the air of barely veiled excitement in the room said otherwise.

  “Doesn’t seem like someone dying did much to kill the party.” She followed Kinsey out of the ballroom, into the main hall. Gerri spotted Officer Mills at the end of the corridor, beside a glass door, her booted feet slowing to give Kinsey time to keep up. There were enough well-dressed people hovering around Mills, despite her attempts otherwise, Gerri had to stop and clear her throat. Loudly.

  The ten or so observers broke off their chatter and turned to face her, if reluctantly. Gerri flashed her badge with a big smile.

  “Anyone I catch standing here in the next five seconds will be assumed a suspect and taken downtown and interrogated.” She winked at one young woman who looked no older than eighteen, hanging off a skinny old guy. Ew. “Full cavity search free of charge.”

  That cleared the path, though the tall, angry looking man with the gray, caterpillar eyebrows didn’t look amused.

  “Detective Geraldine Meyers,” Kinsey said, “may I introduce the president of Silver City College, Dr. Johnathan Mickerel.”

  Gerri knew full well the man in front of her had the power to fire Kinsey in a heartbeat. He'd threatened to do so not so long ago, and not in so many words when the anthropologist quit her assignment with Simone Paris. Like it was Kinsey’s fault Simone pulled her funding of the college after they parted ways. And though her friend still had her job, Gerri was now inclined to treat Mickerel as an enemy. Or, at the very least, someone to watch.

  If he felt her animosity, he either ignored it or shared it, because he certainly didn’t change his attitude. “This is a disaster,” he said, leaning in to Gerri, wrinkled cheeks red with emotion that had nothing to do with grief over the dead. Asshole. “The college simply cannot afford such bad publicity.” He stepped away, looking down his wide, crooked nose at her. “I expect the SCPD to make this matter a priority.”

  She’d show him her priorities. Right after she shoved her boot up his—

  “I’m sure Detective Meyers has the best interests of the college in mind.” Kinsey might have just saved his life. “But, she must be allowed to do her job.”

  The president nod
ded, wiping at his brow with a white handkerchief he pulled from one pocket. “Dr. DanAllart, I expect your full cooperation as well. Time your association with the police department was of some use to this institution.”

  Gerri caught the flicker of disgust on Kinsey's face, the way her hands tightened into balls of rage, but doubted the old PhD did. Too self-centered.

  “If you’ll excuse us, sir,” Kinsey said, stepping past him, voice cold. “As you said, we have a job to do.”

  Gerri moved to follow Kinsey, half-turning as Mickerel brushed past her. The stink of his cologne almost made her gag, no more than the sight of Simone Paris, black bob a perfect, sleek match for her skintight ebony dress, standing at the end of the hall. The college president was talking, presumably to her, but Simone’s eyes never left Gerri. She saluted the detective with her glass, Julian Black hovering at her shoulder, before letting her gaze turn to Mickerel. Gerri watched, stomach churning with the need to go after the woman and tear her into bite-sized chunks, as Simone linked arms with the college’s president and led him away.

  “Ger.” Kinsey’s voice was softer than it had been, but enough of a draw to pull the redhead away from her shaking anger. She turned, looked down, green eyes meeting blue. “Let it go.”

  As if. “Who died?” Better to fall into her work than let this drag her into something she didn’t have time for. Not right now, anyway. One of these days… she’d make sure a dark alley, privacy and Simone Paris were all on the menu.

  “Dr. Malcolm MacIntosh.” Mills answered, bobbing a nod to Kinsey who let her speak. “Professor of English here at the college.” She closed her notebook, flashed a nervous grin. “I love his books.”

  Books? Kinsey’s sigh and head shake preceded her turning on her heel and marching away. Gerri followed her.

  “Dude’s a writer or something?” She stepped out into the night, a small courtyard with a fountain in one corner. CSI Chase looked up briefly from her work, the two other white coverall suited techs with her ignoring Gerri as they photographed the scene and gathered what evidence they could find. The sight of a familiar brunette in a navy blue jacket with MEDICAL EXAMINER stenciled across the back gave Gerri a brief jolt of relief.

  Her gang was all here.

  “Malcolm is,” Kinsey paused, “was a famous writer. New York Times bestseller. The Montrose Murders series?” Gerri shook her head. She didn’t find time to read much. “Detective Silva Brom?”

  Now she got it. “I loved that movie.”

  Kinsey grunted, like it offended her. “You would. Anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling at the silk, “he was an asshole, Gerri. I mean, class A, puddle scum jerkzinga.”

  Gerri watched as Ray stood, turned toward them. “Does that mean you didn’t like him?”

  Kinsey laughed, brief and sharp, before covering her mouth with one hand, looking guilty. “Don’t make me laugh at a murder scene.”

  Ray tilted her head as she came to a stop, looking back and forth between them. “I miss a joke?”

  “Kinsey here was just filling us in on the fine qualities possessed by the dearly departed.” The blonde snorted again, eyes wide.

  “Gerri, stop.” Which guaranteed, naturally, Gerri wouldn’t.

  “COD is a single gunshot wound to the forehead.” Ray pulled off her gloves with sharp, snapping sounds as the paramedics loaded the body onto a stretcher. “I place TOD at about 10PM.”

  “Two hours ago.” Gerri made a note. “How long ago was the body found?”

  Kinsey pointed further into the courtyard, where Gerri’s main pain in the ass, Detective Jackson Pierce, questioned a young woman in a bright yellow gown. Her blonde hair was too white not to be from a bottle, makeup running down her face as she dabbed at tears with a wad of tissues.

  “Varley Porter,” she said, her tone telling Gerri she held Ms. Porter in about the same regard as Dr. MacIntosh. “Malcolm’s latest conquest. I mean student.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, ex-student by about three months.”

  Another ew.

  “Mickerel is going to have a heart attack if this doesn’t clear up quickly.” Kinsey didn’t sound nervous, more amused than anything. “And the loss of Malcolm will just make things worse. His reputation—at least as a writer—gave a lot of weight to these events.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “Even if he was so drunk most of the time he was just a dick to everyone.”

  Gerri could only assume Kinsey had been a target of his attentions. “So, lots of suspects, is that what you’re telling me?”

  The anthropologist shrugged. “As far as I know, the only person who liked him was Varley. And maybe fans who’d never met him. Anyone who got to know Malcolm quickly learned to hate his guts.” Again she covered her mouth. “I’m a bitch.”

  “But, probably right.” Gerri watched Chase ordering around the other two techs. “Where’s Binks?”

  “On another case.” Ray stuffed her gloves into her pockets. Was it just Gerri, or did she look a little off? Frazzled? Gerri let it go as Jackson looked up and gestured to her, a sour expression on his face.

  What else was new?

  She joined Jackson, leaving Ray to follow the body, Kinsey trailing along beside her in a whisper of silk. Her partner’s bad humor didn’t alter as she closed the distance, coming to a halt at his side. He didn’t even bother to scowl at Kinsey, just ignored the blonde.

  “Your turn.” He left the weeping woman, striding off like he had better places to be. Gerri watched him go. Good riddance. When she turned back to face the girlfriend, she was leaning on Kinsey’s shoulder, crying openly. The blonde anthropologist gave Gerri a help me glare, but this was just too much fun.

  “I’ll be right back.” She left Kinsey with the sobbing girl, joining Officer Blake Purcell who seemed to be finishing up with a pair of people who looked equally upset and frustrated.

  “Detective.” Purcell backed off as Gerri took over. He was a good looking guy for his age, but he really needed to lay off the pizza.

  “I’m Detective Meyers.” Her notebook was out, pen poised.

  “Donald Ipps,” the older man said. “Ophelia Agency.” Nice suit, one he seemed comfortable in, equally nice haircut to his thick, silver hair. Well maintained body, the type of man who aged gracefully. “I was Malcolm’s agent.”

  His companion wasn’t quite so put together. Mid-twenties was Gerri’s guess, not enough shadow on his chin to be a beard, shifty, hazel eyes and a protruding Adam’s apple she found distinctly distracting. His suit didn’t conform to his body, less custom and more rental, beginning of a pot belly just pushing against the buttons of his white shirt.

  “Zed Bettle.” He ran one lean hand through his brown hair, doing nothing for the limp, styleless mess. “Malcolm’s assistant.”

  Gerri’s gut growled at her. Liar. But the agent didn’t argue, and the kid couldn’t have been shitting her in front of obvious witnesses. Still, there was more to this story, it seemed.

  “You were both here at the party at the time of the murder?” She waited, watched. Hadn’t given the TOD. Hoped there might be a hint of slip up.

  But, they were both either too slick for her or had nothing to do with it.

  “I got here around 8PM,” Donald said, smooth voice rough around the edges with grief. “I met with Malcolm briefly, had a drink. Then, he started working the room, as he was wont to do.” He hesitated before going on. “I slipped out around 11PM to make a call to a client in Australia—time zones being what they are—but was back shortly before 11:30 when the unfortunate discovery was made.”

  From the way her gut grumbled, whoever he called, it wasn’t Australia. Gerri’s instincts told her that much. But his alibi window was off by an hour anyway. If he was at the party at 10PM, he wasn’t her killer.

  Zed shrugged inside his cheap suit. “I had work to do. Went to his office at 9PM.”

  “Did anyone see you?” This was a big place, lots of people to ask.

  The young man look
ed uncomfortable, exchanged a look with Donald. “I don’t know,” he said. “But there are cameras. I think.” That small perk of information seemed to make him feel better. “If you check those, you’ll see me on the feed.”

  Gerri’s instincts were on the fence, though the kid didn’t feel guilty to her. Not of murder, anyway. He wasn’t being totally honest with her, but her instincts didn’t tell her to drag him to jail by the scruff of his neck, either. She’d get to the bottom of it.

  She always did.

  “Can either of you think of anyone who would want to hurt Dr. MacIntosh?” She waited for them to defend the man, after what Kinsey said. After all, the two worked for him, or at least with him.

  Donald’s face contracted into a grimace as Zed looked away, coughing into one hand. “Malcolm could be… difficult.” That seemed to be a kind way to put it. “But, honestly, aside from his penchant for adultery and love of alcohol, he was a good person.” The agent swallowed, probably trying to force down his own lies.

  Zed grunted. “He was an asshole,” he said. “But I can’t see anyone would want to kill him. He might have been a dick, but he didn’t hurt anyone.” His hazel eyes landed on Donald. “Right?”

  The agent shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Porter,” he said. “She seemed to have Malcolm’s ear these days.”

  “Yes,” a woman’s voice interrupted, sharp and shrewish. Gerri half turned to find a small, older woman with a pinched face and too much cosmetic work done for her own good had joined the conversation. She gestured toward Kinsey and Varley, sloshing champagne over the side of her glass, hard, cold eyes glittering under her heavy makeup, dark red hair shining with spray. “Let’s ask his flavor of the week, shall we?”

  “Bethany.” Donald reached out to the woman, but she jerked away before he could stop her from spinning, her dark brown dress swirling around her ankles, and headed for Kinsey.