The Last Teacher: A Stand-Alone Mackenzie Mystery Read online

  The Last Teacher

  Mackenzie August Prequel

  Alan Lee

  The Last Teacher

  Written by Alan Lee

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Second Edition

  Printed in USA

  Copyright © 2015 by Alan Janney

  Cover by Inspired Cover Designs

  Formatting by Polgarus

  ISBN: 978-0-9962293-0-2

  Sparkle Press

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  For Sarah

  because you are so pretty

  1

  - Forty days until the first body is discovered -

  “Why do you want to be an English teacher, Mr. August?” The question came from Principal Martin. Her hair was back in a hasty bun, she wore no makeup, and she was apparently too no-nonsense to waste time on smiling. I liked her.

  “I worked at a church previously and I was awful at it,” I replied. We sat in her small office, walled in by overflowing bookshelves. “But I liked the teaching.”

  “You look too big to be a pastor.”

  “And too handsome,” I said. Her eyebrow arched and she remained quiet. Perhaps she was blind. “I wasn’t a pastor. I worked with the youth group.”

  “Why did you leave that job?”

  “I cursed in the pulpit a few times. Huge no-no.”

  She laughed, slightly, as did one of the other three women in the office. The young, cute one. Really cute. The other two did not laugh. Perhaps they were deaf.

  “That’s a deal breaker for God?” the principal asked.

  “Not necessarily for God.”

  “Your resume says you used to be a police officer,” said one of the older women in the room, reading over a paper through her bifocals. “Why did you leave that job?”

  “A cornucopia of reasons. Bottom line, I needed a change.”

  “Were you good at that job?” the Principal asked.

  “Extremely.”

  “Why do you want to be an English teacher?” she asked again.

  “I partially put myself through college as a long-term substitute English teacher, and enjoyed it. And no one will shoot at me. Or point out that I’m bad at church.”

  “I’m not good at church either,” she said. “We’ve been interviewing all week and still don’t think we’ve found the eighth-grade teacher that we need. We even interviewed in-house. SOL scores were down last year. We’re looking for a strong teacher to bring them back up.”

  “I am really strong.”

  “This would be a weird hire.”

  “Yet, a good one.”

  “I must admit, it’d be nice to have a former police officer around. I mean, in addition to our resource officer, who is…” She trailed off with a pained wince. “We think our school is haunted.”

  “Haunted,” I said. “The Ghost of Christmas Break?”

  “I’m joking about the ghost. But we’ve suffered a series of things we can’t explain, like our stuff being moved, doors left open, misplaced items. Things like that. Nothing major. Do not let that deter you, however.”

  “I’m undeterred. Sounds like kids playing jokes.”

  “More likely a nosey staff member. But we can’t catch him.”

  “Or her. You sexist,” I said.

  “You’d be part of a team with these three women. The four of you will teach the core subjects to the same one hundred students. These teachers’ opinion of you is very important in making this decision,” she said.

  “I’m eager to please.”

  “Who has questions for Mr. August?”

  The two older women had both been teaching for over twenty years and interviews were old news to them. Other than being slightly amused at my size and former occupations, they lost interest in me after I satisfied their professional grilling.

  The younger, dark brown-haired teacher was one year out of college and willing to be friendly. “Why South Hill?” she asked.

  “I posted my resume yesterday. Ms. Martin called me this morning and asked me to drive down. If I’m hired, I’ll cancel the other interviews I made on the way here. Otherwise, I’ll drive around Virginia for interviews until someone hires me.”

  “You have an unusual accent.”

  “Louisiana roots,” I replied.

  “You sound like Harry Connick Jr.”

  “Lucky him.”

  “What’s your first name?”

  “Mackenzie,” I said.

  “Do people call you Mack?”

  “Most everyone.”

  “So you don’t care where you end up?”

  “As long as it’s someplace new,” I said. “I’m looking for a change.”

  “South Hill is tiny. There’s not much to do around here.”

  “The county website claims excellent golf and fishing. What else is there?”

  “You play golf?” Principal Martin interrupted.

  “Poorly, yes.”

  Principal Martin kicked me out so the four of them could talk about me behind my back. I sat in the office waiting room and did my best to be oblivious to the suggestive looks I was getting from the guidance office secretary. Five minutes later the three teachers walked out and passed me. Two of them nodded politely and kept walking. The youngest paused to rest her hand on my shoulder, and her pinky brushed my neck.

  “I’ll help you get started.” She smiled. She winked. And she left.

  The principal walked out without a smile.

  “If you’ll be the golf coach, you’re hired.”

  “Done.” Free golf.

  “Tomorrow’s Friday. You start then. Kids arrive Monday. Think you can handle that?”

  “As long as the kids don’t bring guns, I’m great.”

  “Welcome to South Hill Middle School.”

  After a brief tour of the school, inc
luding a stop by my classroom, I told the principal I’d see her tomorrow. I walked to my car and stopped just before reaching the door.

  My car was unlocked. I never leave my car open, and yet I could clearly see the popped lock through the glass. I opened the door without using the key and slid in. The glove compartment was open. My pistol was still there.

  Pistol, registration, flashlight, service records…all still within the compartment. Nothing seemed to be missing.

  Who’d want to break into my car and not take anything? Had I left my car locked? I knew I had. Local police? Neighborhood kid with a Slim Jim?

  The nosey staff member?

  If I had enough time over the next twenty-four hours I might dust it for prints out of curiosity, but I doubted it. Nothing was taken.

  2

  -Thirty-nine days until the first body is discovered

  I spent the night at a local hotel. I woke up, bought breakfast and a change of clothes at Wal-Mart, and went to work. No one had broken into my car, which was nice.

  The classroom I’d been given was actually a large trailer beside the school. Several other trailers squatted with mine in a semicircle surrounding one of the school’s exits. I unlocked mine and went in. Principal Martin arrived soon after.

  “The teacher you’re replacing told me she was quitting just over a week ago. She took everything with her, including school property. That explains why this room is pathetic as hell.”

  “Hey, I didn’t make fun of your office.”

  “Do the best you can with what you have. We’ll give you a small redecorating budget in addition to your supply allowance. Open house begins at noon.” The principal paused to evaluate me. “Gosh, you’re a big man,” she said on her way out, closing the door behind her.

  I spent the next few hours rearranging the classroom. After disentangling the pile of twenty-three desks, I pointed them as closely as possible to the dry-erase board in the corner of the room. Beside the dry-erase board I planted the old wooden podium and the older swivel stool. I made a small fort in the back of the room with three small tables that’d serve as my desk.

  It looked like a real classroom. I wondered if I looked like a real teacher.

  Teachers came to introduce themselves and brought me posters I could hang up. Apparently students didn’t learn until the student/poster ratio was met.

  Taylor, the young brunette knockout from my interview, stopped by with a handwritten list of suggestions to prepare me for my first day. Somehow, I hadn’t caught her last name the day before. She thought I sounded like Harry Connick Jr.

  “It’s an improvement,” she said, looking at my trailer with mild disapproval. “I guess.”

  “I’ve already applied to be on the TLC special Pimp My Classroom,” I said, and crossed my fingers for good luck. She laughed. Those had to be porcelain veneers. No one has teeth that perfect.

  “I’m in the trailer next door.”

  “You’re out here in the trailer park?”

  “I prefer trailer quad. Somehow it validates my four year degree.”

  “Prestigious.”

  “Last year, some asshole spray painted ‘Ms. Williams is trailer trash’ on the side.”

  “Taylor Williams,” I said, and cocked a brow.

  “Yes, I know it sounds like a news anchor.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I have two last names, get over it.”

  “Way over it,” I said.

  “Good. Where are you staying?”

  “Hotel near the interstate.”

  “Switch to the bed and breakfast downtown. It’s cheaper and nicer,” she said.

  “By downtown, do you mean the immediate vicinity surrounding the single stoplight?”

  She pointed at me on her way out of the room. “Don’t make fun of my hometown, and I’ll be really nice to you.” The door closed behind her. Never make fun of South Hill. Because those were elite legs.

  My next visitors were both seventh grade teachers. Ms. Friedmond and Mr. Cannon. Mr. Cannon brought me a few posters. He taught seventh grade English. He was very thin, and had shaggy blonde hair and a thin goatee. He wore glasses, and a short sleeved white button up shirt. I hated those. But still, it was nice to see another guy teacher. Mental note to stop by his room and see how another man had decorated his English classroom. He had a classroom, not a trailer. I bet he thought himself superior.

  Ms. Friedmond said, “How about church? Found one here yet?”

  “Not in the past twenty-four hours, no.”

  “Well, hey, we’ve got a real nice place over at Chase Baptist. You should come check us out. Real nice,” Cannon said.

  Friedmond nodded. She looked sassy. I liked her.

  “You’re a big guy,” Mr. Cannon said, hands in pockets and rocking on his heels. “Play football? In college?”

  “I did, but we were a juggernaut of terrible.”

  “Where?”

  “Radford University.”

  “I didn’t know they had a football team.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Have you found a place to live?” Mrs. Friedmond asked. “I got a spare bedroom. I’ll make popcorn. We’ll watch Netflix.”

  “You’re naughty, Ms. Friedmond.”

  “Offer stands.”

  “I haven’t started looking.”

  “Well, great. If you’re interested, our church is renting out its parsonage. Real nice place.” Cannon pulled out his business card and handed it over. The letters were glossy and stood up from the card. Fancy pants. “That’s my number, just in case. I designed the card myself. Something of a computer whiz. I’d be happy to help set up your computer. Anyway, I can have the church contact you about the parsonage.”

  “Tell you what. As soon as I get situated I’ll contact you for your church’s number.”

  “Do that.” He nodded. “Do that. And I’ll give you directions.”

  Despite being a showoff, I liked Mr. Cannon. Eager and friendly.

  Mrs. Ballard came in a few minutes later, with my handbook and various papers to sign. I had already lost track of teachers, but she reminded me I was on her “team.” I signed things she told me to sign until the door opened and my eight-month-old son entered the room, carried by his grandfather.

  My son was one of those babies who came out perfect and looked like he could make a fortune modeling baby clothes or food or diapers. Big blue eyes, a hint of hazel. Front teeth coming in. Still not much hair. That was getting embarrassing.

  He came close to hyperventilating at seeing me. I took him, greeted Timothy August (my father), and introduced Mrs. Ballard.

  “I didn’t know you had a son,” she cooed over him, her professionalism melting. Love at first sight.

  “He stayed with his grandfather for a few days while I traveled.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Kix.”

  “He’s adorable,” she said.

  “He gets it from his mother.”

  “Is she moving here too?” she asked.

  “She died in childbirth.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t know you were a widower.”

  “I’m not. She wasn’t my wife.”

  “Oh…forgive me.” She stumbled through her nerves. “I keep forgetting girls don’t mind getting pregnant out of wedlock these days.”

  “She was married. To my best friend.”

  Speechless. Strike three. You’re out. My father shook his head. He hated when I didn’t tell the whole story. Kix patted my face affectionately.

  “I told you I was a terrible youth pastor.”

  3

  -Thirty-six days until the first body is discovered -

  I arrived at school thirty minutes before the buses were scheduled to roll in. I wore modern brown Sketchers, khakis, brown belt, blue button-up and a red tie. South Hill is hot. My sleeves were rolled up.

  Teachers are required to sign in, so the office will know to make emergency sub
calls if a signature is missing. I went to the office, nodded good mornings and signed in. My mailbox read, “New English Teacher.” I chose not to make a scene my first day, so I gathered the attendance folder and went to my trailer.

  Someone had been there before me.

  My door locked two ways. A quick lock that sprung open when the inside handle turned and a permanent setting that would keep the door locked until intentionally disengaged. I had left the lock on its permanent setting, but when I entered the lock immediately clicked free.

  In other words, someone had been in here with a key.

  I scanned the room, only mildly intrigued. Nothing in the room was worth stealing. Curious. The trash can was spilling over a little, just like I’d left it on Friday, so the intruder wasn’t the custodian. Nothing new was waiting for me on my desk.

  First, my car. Now, my classroom.

  The principal had been right - our school had a busy little bee. And the bee kept breaking into my stuff.

  My door opened with ten minutes to go before the start of school and in walked a bald, black man wearing a tie with “I Love Jesus” written on it a hundred times. He was fifty, give or take.

  “Howdy,” I said.

  “Morning,” he said. “I’m Mr. Charlie.”