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Señora Sanchez had been recently divorced back then, with a son in college. Even though she’d have been in her early forties and at least ten years Mr. Williams’s senior, Margarita Sanchez would have been considered attractive by most men.
It was more than possible she was the teacher Mr. Williams had dated.
What else did Allie know about her? Not much, since the woman was so stand-offish and not exactly Allie’s biggest fan. From South America—Ecuador, was it?—she’d been married three times, her last husband having died in a drowning accident just before Allie started at St. Andrew’s.
What would Jackson Williams have had in common with this woman? Señora Sanchez was such a snob about her culture, her background, her heredity. She rarely mingled with the other teachers. And Mr. Williams was as Wonder Bread as they come. From Ohio, for crying out loud.
But suddenly, Allie remembered, there had been a copy of Don Quixote in the box containing his personal possessions. In Spanish… Hmm. If he was able to converse in Señora Sanchez’s native tongue—would he have been deemed worthy of her friendship?
Allie hadn’t looked too carefully at the book before, but…could there have been an inscription inside? Particularly if it had been given as a gift from—or to—someone he was dating?
It was a stretch, but Allie was unable to stop thinking about the possibility.
Detective Johnson had given her an inventory list of everything the police took as evidence. Where had she put it…? She dug through her handbag. There! She pulled out the two-page list and scanned it.
The book wasn’t listed.
Her pulse kicked up.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she’d found the key to solving the murder. Was the Spanish book the reason she’d been attacked twice? If the book contained a damning inscription—
Allie halted her wild train of thought.
It all seemed so farfetched. So she thought it through again. Yep. She sounded certifiable.
But she also couldn’t help believing she was right.
She just needed to find a way of proving it before she sounded the alarm on a witch hunt that could make her sound like a lunatic.
Heck, that was easy. She could confront Jeremy with what she suspected about the Spanish teacher, and he could confirm if Señora Sanchez was, or was not, the woman who—
She looked at the t
ime and cursed. Damn! Jeremy would be gone by now. There was a standing principal’s meeting every Monday at five.
Allie hesitated for only a moment, then picked up the phone. Sam would tell her if she was crazy or not. Even if he wasn’t talking to her.
She got his voicemail.
The line beeped. “Sam. It’s…me. I may have found something. I was looking through the inventory list and think I remember what’s missing. A book. Don Quixote. Call me, please. I’d like to see if you remember seeing it, too—it was in Spanish.”
There. She hadn’t accused anyone of anything, just mentioned a book. She jumped when she heard a muted slam. Someone closing and locking their classroom door. She looked at the clock again. Hell.
Soon, she’d be alone in the building.
Sam, please call.
Another minute ticked by. That was it. She was getting out of here. She’d head home and wait there for Sam to call her. And she’d try Jeremy later.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out of the stairwell and stepped into the fresh, warm air outside. There were a number of students hanging out in the parking lot. Safety in numbers. She waved when they called good-bye to her. Everything appeared perfectly normal.
And yet, that didn’t stop the wave of chills running up and down her spine, despite the warm sun on her back. She walked quickly to her car.
On the way home, she called Ryan for another report on Violet, smiling when her daughter came on to tell her how much better she felt.
This was normal. This was her life. She had let her imagination run wild a little back there.
She blew her daughter a kiss over the phone and promised she’d see her the next afternoon.
