Harold Emanuel

Rita Diaz knew this day would come and she dreaded it. She’s sitting in the Southshore Nursing Home office, completing the paperwork to have her mother moved to the funeral home in preparation for burial. The facility’s staff had done an excellent job decorating for Christmas, but Rita is not in a festive mood. She’s afraid she will now always associate the holiday with her mother’s death. Rita is a striking woman, tall, with short, jet black hair and deep blue eyes who, at age 55, can still turn men’s heads as they pass her on the street.
  
“For most of the three months she lived here she didn’t even know my name, but her death is still hard to accept,” Rita says. “Since my father died, it’s just been mom and me. Now it’s just me.”

Dr. Soloff and Adiva Fayed, a college student volunteer, sit with Rita, guiding her as the grieving daughter completes the required forms. 

“Before she died, she kept asking for Hope,” Adiva says. “That name is not on the list of visitors. Do you know who she is? Should we contact her?”

A tear rolls down Rita’s cheek. “Hope is—was my older sister. She died almost forty years ago. Although mom never said so, I think Hope was her favorite. She was pretty and smart. She even won a scholarship to Florida West Coast University. Forty-five years ago, it wasn’t easy for a girl to get a scholarship, in engineering, no less. After all, it was the man’s job to earn a living and support a family. Girls didn’t need an education, but Hope bucked the trend. Mom was so disappointed when she dropped out during her sophomore year after — Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

Dr. Soloff sees the sadness in Rita’s face. She wants to cheer her up. “Your mother must have been proud of you when you went to college, earned advanced degrees, and now have a career as a professor at Tampa Bay Community College. I think you said your field is botany. Is that right?”

Rita’s face brightens. “She was proud of me, but Hope was special. My sister’s death left a hole in both of our hearts that never healed.” 

Rita completes the paperwork and heads toward her car. As she drives home, she tells herself that her mother is in a better place. She was a proud woman who wouldn’t want to live in a nursing home, not remembering her own daughter. Rita pulls into her driveway, turns off the motor, and begins to sob. She fingers the initial pendant she wears. When she and Hope were growing up her mother made them matching jewelry. As a teenager, her wealthier classmates made fun of her cheap junk, but she didn’t care. Her mother made the necklaces, bracelets, and brooches. Rita knew that her big sister, who she adored, wore the same jewelry. Her mother stopped making it when Hope died. Although the two women never talked about it, they both knew; Hope’s suicide was his fault. 

* * *

It’s a mild late March afternoon, one of the few days in Florida when you can turn off the air conditioner and open a window. Professor Donald Devries and I are sitting in the faculty lounge, enjoying a cup of coffee, when the door opens, and Professor Rita Diaz enters. I see Donald’s eyes follow the attractive Botany professor as she walks toward the Keurig coffee maker. 

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite colleagues, Ichabod and the aging hippie,” she says, smiling.

Some of the Tampa Bay Community College faculty gave me the nickname Ichabod. I’m just over six feet tall and weigh no more than one hundred and fifty-five pounds. They say I look like Ichabod Crane, referring to Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow character. I don’t mind the comparison. My wife tells me she finds my protruding Adam’s apple sexy. That’s enough for me.

Professor Devries is a half a foot shorter than me, stocky, with a receding hairline, and a ponytail that hangs to his shoulders. He once told me he grew the ponytail during his undergraduate days, when it was fashionable, and never cut it off. He admits it may look out of place on a 56-year-old man, but he doesn’t care. He likes the ponytail.

“I was surprised to see you back when the semester began in January, so soon after your mother’s death,” Donald says. 

Rita prepares a cup of decaf. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to take time away from my students. She had to drop out of school after the eighth grade to help support her family but was determined to get her high school diploma, which she did at age forty-nine. Education was very important to her. Thanks for thinking about her. On another topic, do you have your lines down yet?” 

“Just about,” Donald replies, “except for that long speech I have in the second act. Performing in community theater seemed like a good idea when I first auditioned, but who would have guessed I’d land such a big part. You’re lucky. What do you have, maybe ten lines?”

“Eight,” Rita answers, “but they’re difficult lines. Some even have multi-syllabic words. And Lionel, you have the best role of all?”

“You’re right, I don’t have a speaking part. I just come on stage, place the beer on the table, and leave. I also work behind the scenes, helping the stage manager.”

“I wish I had your role,” Donald offers. “I’ve spent at least two hours every night for the past two weeks memorizing my part and I still mess up.”

 Rita pulls a chair up next to Donald. “Tell you what, Don, I’ll read lines with you. That should help you learn them.”

“I’d appreciate the help.”

“There is a price. I’m taking my class on a field trip next Tuesday. It’s difficult for one professor to keep track of twenty-seven students. I could use a second chaperone.”

Donald doesn’t have to be coaxed. “I’ll be there.”

“Great. If you have a few minutes, could you walk with me to the Botany lab? I’ll show you what we will be doing on the field trip. Do you want to join us, Lionel?”

I think about volunteering to help chaperone the field trip but decide against it. I suspect the shy Donald is looking for an opportunity to get to know Rita better. I also notice Rita fingering the initial pendant she wears around her neck. I suspect it might be a nervous habit. Maybe she’s as interested in Donald as he is in her. A third person would just be in the way. “I’ll pass but, don’t forget, I’ll be with you in cyberspace.” 

“Yes, you will,” Rita says, “and we appreciate your efforts.”

I can tell by the puzzled look on Donald’s face that he doesn’t understand my comment about seeing Rita in cyberspace. He will.

After finishing our coffee, the three of us leave the faculty lounge. I head toward my office while Rita and Donald go to the Botany lab. 

* * *

“You know, Don,” Rita says as they walk across campus, “one of our play’s cast members really gets on my nerves, that asshole, Billy Agnew. He’s such an arrogant prick. There’s something about him that just annoys the hell out of me. I don’t know what it is.”

Donald is taken aback that the refined Rita Diaz uses such language, but he understands why. “Agnew lives three houses down from me in Sun Coast Shores. I feel my blood pressure spike every time I see him.”

“What did he do to you?” 

“It wasn’t to me. It’s my daughter. She lives in Atlanta and used to visit at least once a month after my wife died. She knew how lonely I was, but that SOB Agnew wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d comment on her looks when she went for a walk or a swim in the pool. Now, when I want to see her, I have to go to Atlanta.” 

“Did you contact the police or your community security force?”

“I did, but they both said being a disgusting lecher isn’t against the law or the community bylaws. If I had known he’d be in the show, I’d never have auditioned. He’s taken the fun out of it. There are times I wish he was dead.”

“Keep your chin up,” Rita says, gently placing her hand on Donald’s chin. “It’s only two weeks and the show will be behind us.”

“I don’t understand why he ever auditioned for the play,” Donald replies. “He doesn’t strike me as the community theater actor type.”

“I think he’s trying to please his wife.”

“She’s a nutritionist, isn’t she? I think she’ll be speaking at a meeting of my community association next week.”

“She teaches the Nutrition Technician Certificate program at the college. She’ll be helping my students analyze the nutritional value of some of the plants they gather on our field trip.” 

The two professors enter the Botany lab and sit at one of the tables. Donald notices floor to ceiling shelves containing plants of all types. The fragrance of the fauna throughout the room fills his nostrils. It’s a much more pleasing scent than he experiences in his own chemistry lab. Rita shows Donald the plants they expect to see. Her students will be collecting them to take back to the lab for further analysis. They then discuss the logistics of the field trip.

It’s 5:30 when they finish their planning session. Donald sees his chance. “Getting hungry?”

“I am,” Rita replies, fingering her pendant.

“Ever been to Giovani’s? Best Italian restaurant in the area. We can grab some pasta before the rehearsal. I know Tom Woodson, the manager. It’s just down the road.”

“I’ve never been there. I’d love to go.”

Donald pauses for a moment. “Can I ask you a personal question?” 

“Sure.” 

“I notice that pendant you always wear. It’s attractive and it looks hand-made. My wife used to make jewelry and I can usually tell the difference between hand-made and manufactured, store-bought, jewelry.”

“You’re right,” Rita says. “My mother made it.”

“I notice that the initial is ‘M’ but your name is Rita. Why do you wear an ‘M’ pendant? Was that your mother’s initial?”

“No, it’s because my given name is Margarita. When I was in college the craze was for people with ethnic sounding names to make them more American, so I decided to call myself Rita. Today, many young people want to be known by ethnic names. I have a student in one of my classes, Christopher Sanchez, who has legally changed his name to Carlos. I think this trend’s a good thing.”

“I agree,” Donald replies. As the two leave the Botany lab and walk toward the school parking lot, Donald takes Rita’s hand. The Botany professor doesn’t resist.

* * *

Rita catches the faint aroma of Italian herbs and spices as she and Donald approach the restaurant.

“Welcome back to Giovani’s, Professor Devries.” Tom has managed this exclusive Italian restaurant for over 15 years and has gotten to know his regular customers. He remembers that Donald’s wife died over a year ago. Since then he has been here many times with friends and sometimes by himself. This is the first time he has come with a woman. This is a good sign, he thinks. Maybe the professor’s beginning to spread his wings. 

“Thanks, Tom. I don’t have a reservation. Do you have a table overlooking the bay?”

The restaurant manager opens his iPad to check the reservations for the evening. “Right this way. Mary will be taking care of you.”

Over the years Tom has learned to show a happy face to customers even if he’s feeling stressed. The cause of this stress is sitting in his office.

“For Christ sake, Benito,” Tom says, slamming the door to his office and staring at the man sitting in the chair next to his desk, “we can’t use your suppliers. Our customers are used to the finest ingredients in their food. We’ve sampled the stuff your guys from— Where are they from again, Mexico? It’s inferior.” 

“It’s also cheaper.” Benito Delgado is used to hearing this from restaurant managers. As Regional Coordinator for CGI International he’s the front man when his company purchases a local independent restaurant. His job is to squeeze as much profit as possible, as quickly as possible. His bonuses depend on his getting results and his three ex-wives and five kids depend on these bonuses.

“Come on, Tim.”

“It’s Tom.”

“OK, Tom, your customers won’t know the difference. Anyway, you don’t have a choice. CGI owns, what’s it called, Gene something?”

“Giovani’s.”

“Whatever. You either use our suppliers or we’ll find a restaurant manager who will. Cancel your contracts with your suppliers. You’ll receive the first shipment from the new guys in five days.”

“Five days, that’s impossible! Whenever I use a new supplier from outside the country, I have to file with both the U.S. Food and Drug Administration and the Florida Department of Health. The approval process takes at least a month and then each shipment has to be inspected.”

Benito just stares at the restaurant manager. This guy doesn’t understand how CGI handles those asshole inspectors, he thinks. He’ll learn. “As I said, you’ll receive your first shipment in five days.” 

* * *

The evening’s rehearsal is almost over. Donald and Rita kept their eyes on each other throughout the play. I guess I was right to leave them alone this afternoon. I’m helping the sound engineer ensure that the microphones are working properly. Billy Agnew and Laura Cannon are just finishing the final scene before the curtain falls. Our school’s art department had worked with theater volunteers to create a set representing the front porch of a 1940s mid-western farmhouse. A local lumber yard had donated the wood for a rail fence and an antique store had loaned us a rocking chair and table from that period.

“Dad,” Laura says, attempting to take a bottle from Billy’s hand, “you can’t keep drinking those beers. That’s your third this afternoon. You remember what the doctor said.” 

“Ah, what do them damn doctors know?” Billy responds, pulling his arm toward his body so Laura can’t grab his drink. “My father, your grandfather, gave me my first beer when I was twelve. Some of my best memories with him were when he and me were sittin’ on the porch after dinner, drinkin’.”

“Yeah, and grandpa died of cirrhosis of the liver when he was sixty-one,” Laura says. “You’re almost sixty. We’d like to have you around for a little while longer.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” Billy replies, gently touching Laura’s face, “I’ll be around for a good, long time. I want to see that little fella of yours grow up, get married, and give me some great grandkids.”

Billy takes one last sip of beer, throws his arms up, tosses the bottle across the stage, tips his chair backwards and falls. 

    “No!” Stuart Abbott shouts, storming up the stairs to the stage and confronting Billy. Everyone sees the frustration on the director’s face. Stuart had been a professional actor on Broadway and in traveling companies throughout the world. He’s proud of telling everyone who will listen how he once played opposite Dame Regina Wentworth in performances in London’s Globe theater. Stuart’s retired now and living in Sun Coast Shores. Stuart and Laura, a retired high school English teacher, were instrumental in creating the Sun Coast Shores Community Theater. “Billy, how many times have I told you, after you take that last sip of beer your head falls to your chest and you die, quietly. That’s the way the play ends. You don’t flail around like a fish out of water.”

“Yeah,” Billy replies, “but I figure I should put some action into it.”

The rest of the cast sees the veins in Stuart’s neck bulge. “Who am I?” Stuart asks.

“Stuart.”

“And what’s my role in this production?”


“You’re the director.”

“Exactly. Now, let’s try it again and this time take a sip of the beer and let your head drop to your chest.”

Billy glares at Stuart. I could see that his alpha male personality hates taking direction from anyone, especially an 80-year-old former actor. I understand why. After one rehearsal, I invited Billy to stop for a beer. I knew what Donald and Rita thought about him. I wanted to see for myself. After two beers Billy opened up. “Real men aren’t actors,” he told me. “Real men run construction companies, like I did. I’m only in this play because my dumb-ass wife insisted. I know why I married someone 30 years my junior, with a body like that. I didn’t realize what I would have to do to get what I want from her.” I now know why Donald and Rita feel the way they do about Billy. I agree with them.

Stuart returns to his seat in the theater’s front row. “OK, Billy, repeat your last line again and then die like I told you.”

Billy and Laura take their positions on stage. “Don’t worry, honey,” Billy says, “I’ll be around for a good, long time. I want to see that little fella of yours grow up, get married and give me some great grandkids.”

Everyone’s eyes are on Billy as he takes one last sip of beer and drops his head to his chest.

 “Excellent,” Stuart says. “Now, let’s see if you can remember to play the scene that way for the remainder of the rehearsals and during the performances. Do you think you can do that, Billy?”

Billy does not answer. He just glares at the director. 

Ellen Agnew, Billy’s wife, is sitting in the back of the theater during the rehearsal, waiting for her husband. Ellen has a small part in the play but is not in the scenes being rehearsed that evening. “You were great, honey. How about we go out for pizza? We can even get extra mushrooms. I know you like mushrooms and the restaurant down the roads knows that you like yours piping hot. You won’t have to return the pizza to be re-heated, like you do when you receive it cold.”

“Nah,” Billy says, “I’m meeting with some of the boys for a beer. When I’m with these guys I don’t have to listen to that stupid girl talk I get from you. I’m sure someone can give you a lift.” Billy leaves the theater without waiting to see who will take Ellen home. 

Rita Diaz puts her arm around Ellen’s shoulder and sees the anguished expression on the younger woman’s face and the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll take you home,” she says. 

“Billy’s usually real nice to me,” Ellen replies, “but sometimes he’s not.”

* * *

The two women drive the four miles to the Agnew home. Ellen sits quietly in the passenger seat, her arms folded over her chest and her legs curled under her. Rita recognizes the posture of a woman who has been beaten down, if not physically, then emotionally. It confirms her opinion of Billy Agnew. He’s a jerk.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” Ellen asks, as they pull into her driveway. Rita is tired from a busy day at school and the rehearsal, but she senses that Rita wants to talk. 

“I’d love to.”

As Ellen prepares the coffee, Rita sits on the overstuffed family room couch. Looking around, she sees that the Agnew home is just one large man-cave, filled with heavy furniture, pictures of wild animals, and scantily clothed women and what appears to be football trophies. There is little of the female touch in the home’s decor.

Ellen places the tray with the coffee pot, cups, cream and sweetener, on the table in front of the couch. “When I was younger, I had this fantasy of being an actress,” Ellen says. “I performed when I was in college. I guess that’s why I asked Billy to be in this play. It’s something we could do together, but I don’t think he’s enjoying it. He’s really a nice guy, you know, and generous. He gave me this necklace and pendant when we got engaged.” Ellen fingers the pendant. “See, it’s my initial on a chain. He said he had it made just for me. I knew then that he really loved me. He didn’t just buy any pendant. He had one made.”


“That’s an interesting piece of jewelry.” Rita lets her gaze rest on the initial on the chain around Ellen’s neck. She decides to change the subject. “How did you meet Billy?”
 
“We met in my senior year in college. He ran this construction company that was doing work on campus. I was having lunch in the school cafeteria. He and two of his crew sat near me and one of them made some crude remarks. I was only twenty-one and didn’t know how to handle older men. Billy stepped in and told the man to apologize. He was my knight in shining armor or, in this case, a tee shirt and work boots. He was so big and strong. He had played football at some college, you know. It was a local school, somewhere near Tampa. The next day Billy saw me, asked how I was and said he wanted to take me to dinner. He proposed six months later.” 

The two women finish their coffee and Rita gets up to leave. “I appreciate your bringing me home and coming in,” Ellen says as she picks up her phone. “Would you mind if I took a selfie of the two of us? I like to have pictures of my friends.”

“Of course.”

The two women stand with their heads close together and Ellen snaps a picture. 

“I’ll send you a copy,” Ellen says.

“Thanks, and I also want to thank you for volunteering your class to help my students evaluate the nutritional value of the edible plants they collect on our field trip.” Rita responds. 

“I’m glad I can help.” 

As Rita walks toward the door she turns and glances back at Ellen. Now she knows why she feels as she does about Billy Agnew.

* * *
 
Ellen Agnew glances at her notes as she stands behind the podium at the Sun Coast Shores Community meeting. “So, let’s summarize. As we age, our metabolism slows down so we have to be extra careful about what we eat so we can stay healthy.”

Billy Agnew, sitting in a folding chair in the third row, smiles and looks around at his neighbors. He suspects why most of the men in the audience came to this meeting. They have no interest in his wife’s nutrition presentation. They came to see her. At five feet, ten inches tall, with her long auburn hair, coal black eyes and those legs that won’t quit, he imagines he’s the envy of every man in the room. “She’s obviously eating healthy. She still has the same hot body she had when I married her,” he says, in a whisper loud enough for those around him to hear. He loves seeing his neighbors’ reactions when he says something they think to be inappropriate. Donald Devries is sitting three chairs over from Billy. “Hey, Don,” Billy continues, in that same loud whisper, “when is that daughter of yours coming back to visit? I’d love to see her at the pool in that bikini again.”

Donald is about to jump out of his chair and take a swing at Billy but thinks better of it. Billy outweighs Donald by a good fifty pounds, all of it muscle. He’ll have to find another way to get back at that son-of-a-bitch.

Ellen stiffens as she stands at the podium. She’s heard Billy’s comments. His rudeness, especially in public, is becoming more than she can take.

Morris Greenberg, President of the Sun Coast Shores Community Association, steps to the podium. “Does anyone have any questions for Mrs. Agnew?” he asks. After about 10 seconds of silence he assumes there are no questions. “Thank you, Mrs. Agnew, for that excellent presentation.”

As Ellen leaves the podium Billy grabs her arm. “Come on, babe, let’s go. I don’t want to stick around just to have coffee and cake with these people.”

Ellen pulls her arm free from her husband’s grip. “I want to stick around. You go ahead. Mary can take me home.” Ellen knows that even the mention of her sister Mary’s name raises the hair on the back of Billy’s neck. The two of them never got along. For a moment, Ellen thinks Billy will grab her again and force her to leave with him.

“Whatever,” Billy says. Ellen sees Billy’s anger as he storms out of the Social Hall. 

Ellen talks with a few community residents and then moves toward her sister, who has been sitting quietly in a chair along the wall. “You ready to go?” 

“I’ve been ready for half an hour,” Mary replies, “just been waiting for you. Do you want to stop for ice cream, or do we have to go to one of those health food snack restaurants you’re always taking me to?”

“Ice cream’s fine. You can order one of those triple scoop sundaes you like. I’ll get a frozen yogurt.”

“You may live longer than me,” Mary says, “but I’ll enjoy life more.” Both women laugh.

* * *

The sisters sit at a table in Mimi’s Ice Cream Shoppe. “Have you been able to talk with him yet about the money?” Mary asks.

“I’ve tried,” Ellen responds, “but he always cuts me off. You know how he feels. For the past 20 years, you’ve made no secret of what you think of him. You believe he just sees me as a trophy wife.”

“And do you see why?” Mary asks. “All he talks about are your good looks, usually in the crudest fashion. I heard what he said at the meeting. There are better ways to say that a woman is attractive then to call her hot in front of a room full of people.”

“You’re right, Sis, but that attitude isn’t helping me get you the money you need.”

“I guess I should try to be nicer to him. You know my problem.  Warren died and left me with almost nothing. He depleted our savings and cashed out his life insurance to invest in that land deal that went bust. I don’t know why I let him do it. I’m left with his debts and a house with a mortgage. $100,000 will allow me to get a fresh start. I know that Billy can afford it. My income from my waitressing job barely keeps me afloat. Can’t you convince him to give me the money? Without it, I could lose everything.”

Ellen places her hand over Mary’s. “I’ll try, Sweetie. I’ll do my best, but he controls the money.”
* * *
 
“All aboard,” Professor Rita Diaz says, motioning for her Tuesday morning Botany class to board the bus for the field trip to the Perico Forest Preserve. Once the students are seated, she continues. “When we get to the preserve, you’re to collect plant samples to take to the lab and analyze. You have already selected your teams. Each team has been assigned a plant classification. You’ll collect plants, write a group report, and make a presentation to the class.”

Rita turns to Donald Devries. “Many of you know Professor Devries from our Chemistry Department. A team from one of his classes has been assigned to work with you on the chemical makeup of your plants. Professor Trevor’s students will help you with the computer applications you need to complete your analysis and prepare your presentations. A group from Mrs. Agnew’s Dietetic Technician Certificate Program will be available to the team assigned to edible plants.” Rita notices two of the boys from the edible plant team sit up and high five each other. She knows why these students are happy to hear that they will be working with Mrs. Agnew. “OK, boys, settle down. We’ll be at the preserve in about 40 minutes.” 

When the bus reaches its destination, the door opens and the students and two professors stream out. 

“You have two hours,” Rita says, “and, remember, I’ll be watching you.” 

“We know, Professor, from the sky,” one of her students replies, glancing upward. 

“Be very careful not to handle poisonous plants,” Rita warns everyone as her students join their teams and move from the parking lot to the wooded area.

“Do you think we should go with them?” Donald asks as the students begin their search. “I remember, once, when I was on a college field trip, a group of us got lost. It took us three hours to find our way back, and one of my team, I won’t say who, contracted a bad case of poison ivy.”

“Field trips are different now, Don. Look up.” Donald sees three small objects hovering over the section of the preserve where her students will be working. “You remember the other day, in the Faculty Lounge, Lionel said ‘I’ll be with you in cyberspace’. This is what he meant. Lionel arranged for Sherriff’s Department drones to hover over our class and video them. One of Lionel’s students, Adiva Fayed, is at the Sheriff’s Department’s Technology Center right now.” Rita pulls her phone out of her hip pocket and pushes a few buttons. “You there, Adiva?”

“I’m here, professor. I’m sending the images to your phone.” 

“I see them.”

Rita turns her attention back to Donald. “That’s what I meant when I told the class I’d be watching them. If any of these students get lost, or in trouble, I’ll know immediately. We’ve also implemented an additional precaution to ensure that no one touches poisonous plants. The Sheriff’s Department has an application which identifies designated species. They use it to find illegal growth, such as marijuana. Lionel’s students programmed it to send a signal to me and my class if one of them gets within ten feet of a poisonous plant. It also identifies the plant.” 

Rita and Donald return to the bus. Rita’s phone buzzes three times, identifying poisonous plants, as they wait for the students to return. After slightly over two hours the students board the bus, their bags bulging, for the ride back to campus.

“I’ll see you at the theater on Saturday,” Donald says as he and Rita walk to their cars. “A matinee and evening performance and I’m still having problems with that long speech I have in the second act.”

“You have four days and I’ll work with you on it, Don. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” 

* * *

 
Park Ranger Jesse Valdez watches as visitors move toward the forest preserve’s two exits. There haven’t been many visitors today, he thinks. There usually aren’t on Fridays. School field trips come earlier in the week. Families arrive on weekends. He will be making his final rounds in fifteen minutes. The ranger is responsible for ensuring that nobody remains after the preserve’s closing, at 7:00. The preserve can be dangerous after dark. His job is to ensure everyone is safely on their way home.

Glancing in his rear-view mirror, he sees a car coming into the park rather than leaving. This is strange, he thinks. Nobody enters the park this time of day. I’d better keep an eye on the car to make sure the visitor leaves before dark.

Through his binoculars, Jesse sees the car’s driver, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, emerge, take a trowel, lift something out of the ground, stuff it in a paper bag, and place the bag into the car’s trunk. The driver re-enters the car, makes a U-turn, and heads for the exit. It’s probably nothing, Jesse thinks, but my orders are to note anything out of the ordinary. He grabs the tablet from his car, taps a few keys, and enters the information about the last-minute visitor into the Park Service’s database.

* * *

“And— curtain down,” Stuart Abbott says as Billy’s head drops to his chest. I pull the rope and the curtain falls on the Sun Coast Shores Community Theater’s Saturday matinee. The actors hear the applause. “Curtain up,” Stuart says. I pull the rope again. The cast bows. I pull the rope a third time to lower it. 

“You guys did great!” Stuart high fives everyone in the cast.

“Lionel, you’re the best curtain puller I’ve ever worked with,” Rita says, tweaking my cheek as she passes.

“I guess I’ve found my calling.”

The cast and crew gather backstage, preparing to pass the time before the evening performance. “Dinner’s here,” Ellen says as she opens the stage door for Mary, allowing her sister to bring the pizza boxes into the theater’s lounge area, the aroma of cheese and mushrooms wafting through the room. 

“There better be one with mushroom,” Billy shouts. “Ellen, you know that I like lots of mushrooms on my pizza.”

“I know, dear,” Ellen replies, “we ordered one with mushrooms and one plain,” then, turning toward her sister, “Tom having you do deliveries, now?” 

“We’re all doing double duty since CGI bought us, demanding lower costs and more profit, but I’m not complaining. It gets me out of the restaurant.” 

Rita picks up both boxes. “I’ll put these in the microwave to re-heat them. That’ll ensure they’re piping hot.”

“You’re right,” Ellen says. “Let me take one to the microwave in the men’s dressing room. Rita, why don’t you take the other to the microwave in the women’s dressing room.” Rita peaks into the top box and gives it to Ellen.

 Stuart stands in front of the group, juts his chin upward, and grabs his jacket lapels. “When I toured with the American Shakespeare Company, Dame Regina Wentworth taught me the cardinal rule of the theater. 80% of acting is remembering your lines and not bumping into the furniture. You guys aced it on both counts.”

The cast turns toward Stuart. They know what’s coming. Rita and Ellen put their boxes down. Reheating will have to wait. For over ten minutes the director talks about his touring days. They’ve heard these stories before but, out of respect for their director, they always listen. 

“Now let’s relax and enjoy the pizza,” Stuart says, after completing his dissertation.

Rita grabs the large tote bag she always carries, pulls out a pen and draws a diagonal line through the four vertical lines already on the paper. The cast has a pool, each cast member guessing how many times Stuart will mention his touring days. His comments a few minutes earlier were number fifteen. My guess is twenty-two, so I’m still in the running. I had googled Dame Regina Wentworth and discovered she was, in fact, a famous Shakespearian actress forty years ago and that Stuart had toured with her once, for about two months. The way their director tells the story, he and Dame Regina were bosom buddies who performed together for many years.

Rita and Ellen re-heat their pizzas, bring them out to the backstage area, and hand slices to the cast and crew.

“Did you ever notice,” Rita turns to Ellen, as the two women sit with pizza on their laps, “it’s always the women who serve the food as the men sit around waiting to be served.”

“That’s the way it is in our house,” Ellen says. “If anything happened to me, I think Billy would just sit at the table waiting for dinner until he shriveled up and died.” Both women laugh.

Billy pulls out a deck of cards. “Anyone for a friendly game of gin?” Stuart and two other cast members quickly accept. The four men sit at one of the bridge tables. Billy shuffles the cards and deals the first hand. 

Billy puts the pizza slice in his mouth and is about to take a bite, then slams it back down on the plate. “It’s cold,” Billy shouts, pointing at Ellen. “Babe, take the damn thing and put it back in the microwave. You know I don’t like it cold.” Ellen grabs the paper plate from Billy’s hand, storms into the women’s dressing room, and returns two minutes later, shoving the plate in front of Billy, who attacks his slice, much like you might expect Henry VIII to attack a chicken leg. 

The men have been playing cards for about fifteen minutes when Billy sits up, ramrod straight, an anguished look on his face.

“You feeling OK, Billy?” Stuart asks. 

“I’m fine,” Billy says, but the look on his face tells a different story. About three minutes later Billy stands in the middle of a hand and walks quickly toward the rest room. Stuart follows him. When the two men return, it’s obvious Billy is not feeling well. 

Ellen rushes over. “You OK, honey?”

“Yeah,” Billy pushes his wife away.

“Billy, why don’t you go lay down on the couch in my office?” Stuart says, pointing to a room just off the backstage area.

Billy walks slowly toward the room.

It’s 6:15 and the cast is preparing for the evening performance. Billy emerges from Stuart’s office. His face is ghost white. 
 
“Are you going to be able to do the show?” Stuart asks. “You only have a few lines in the last act. I can go on for you.”

“I’ll be fine.” The tone in Billy’s voice is that of a man who has lived his life never ever admitting he’s sick. 

“That’s the way Billy is,” Ellen says to Rita. “He can never admit that he can’t do something, even if it’s a small part in a show I know he doesn’t want to do.” 

The lights in the theater dim and the audience prepares for the evening performance. Billy sits backstage waiting for the final act. As the evening progresses Billy’s skin becomes ashen. Stuart prepares to perform in his place but, when he hears his cue, Billy enters, haltingly, stage left. 

“Dad,” Laura places her arm on Billy’s shoulder. “You can’t keep drinking those beers. That’s your third one this afternoon. You remember what the doctor said.” 

“Ah, what do them damn doctors know,” Billy replies. “My father gave me my first beer when— when—,”

Watching from backstage, I see that Billy is not well. Laura will have to cover for him if he can’t get through his lines.

“I know. Some of your best memories with grandpa were when you sat on the porch after dinner, drinking. But grandpa died of cirrhosis of the liver when he was only sixty-one. You’re almost sixty. We’d like to have you around for a little longer.”

“Don’t worry, honey.” Billy’s voice is low and weak. “I’ll be around for, for— a good, long—,”

I see the blank look in Billy’s eyes. I’m sure Laura sees it, also. “And I know you want to see my son grow up, get married, and give you some great grandkids.” Billy’s head falls and he slumps in his chair as I lower the curtain.

The cast begins to assemble for their bows. I grab the rope which controls the curtain and am about to raise it. 

“Stop!” Ellen shouts, as she rushes toward her husband, “Billy isn’t moving.” 

Almost in unison, the cast turns toward the front of the stage where Billy sits motionless, his head lying on the table. Stuart places his index and middle fingers on Billy’s throat, over the carotid artery. He grabs his phone and dials 911. “We need an ambulance at the Sun Coast Shores Community Theater, immediately.” Stuart tries to keep his voice calm, but I can see his hands shake and sweat form on his brow. I instantly sense that Billy’s condition is grave. Rita drapes her arm gently over Ellen’s shoulder. 

The paramedics arrive in less than fifteen minutes and immediately go to work on Billy. “I’m sorry ma’am,” one of the paramedics says, kneeling on one knee in front of the sobbing Ellen. “There was nothing we could do. He died before we arrived.” 

One of the paramedics calls the Sheriff’s Office. Twenty minutes later my friend, Sheriff Tony Maggio, and two deputies arrive.

“Has anyone left the theater?” Tony asks.

“Only the audience,” Stuart replies. “Do you need to talk to them?”

“It would be helpful,” Tony says.

“Most of them paid by credit card so we can find them if we need them,” Stuart responds.

Tony and his deputy speak to each member of the cast to learn what happened and take their statements. 

“I took some photos and videos back stage after the show,” Laura says, handing Tony her phone. “Will this help?”

“Yes,” Tony responds,” taking her phone. “Lionel, can you help me send these pictures to our department web site. I’m still learning how to do this stuff.”

“Sure.”

Four other cast members and the stage manager also used their phone’s camera to record backstage activities. I help Tony upload this material to the Sheriff’s Department’s server.

“How did he die?” Stuart asks.

“We’ll know better after the Medical Examiner completes her work up,” Tony answers.

It’s just after 11:00 PM when Tony and his deputies complete their initial investigation and tell everyone to go home. Rita ensures that Ellen will stay with her sister for a while. 

Tony and I walk to our cars together. “We still on for dinner on Saturday, Lionel?” Tony asks.

“We are. Maybe you’ll have some information from your Medical Examiner by then.”
* * *
 “When the moon hits your eye—,” Tony sings as he and I sit in his family room, waiting for dinner. The thick, shag carpet and leather sofa and love seat give a warm, homey feeling to the room. The beautiful art work, much of it painted by his wife, Marie, add a touch of elegance. 

“—like a big pizza pie,” I chime in. “You still got it, my friend, just like when we sang in the University chorus.”

My wife, Deb, who has been helping Marie in the kitchen, pokes her head out. “I seem to remember that the chorus director placed both of you Carusos in the back row and told you to sing low. I believe his exact words were ‘you both have pleasant voices— but don’t give up your day jobs.”
 
Tony and I look at each other and smile. As usual, Deb is right. 

 “You look the same as you did thirty years ago when you were teaching criminology at Franklin University and I was a member of the University Police force,” Tony says. 

“Well, my hair’s a little grayer, actually, a lot grayer,” I say.

“But other than that, you look the same. I, on the other hand, never went gray,” Tony rubs his bald head, “and I’ve gained a few pounds, thanks to Marie’s pasta.” 

“I’m glad we stayed in touch, Tony. I’ve used many of the stories you told me about your work here with the Sheriff’s Department in my classes, and, when you were elected Sheriff, Deb and I figured this must be a safe place to retire.”

“And I’m glad you chose to join us on Florida’s west coast, but doesn’t retirement mean you don’t work? You spent your career as a college professor, and now you’re teaching at Tampa Bay Community College. How did that happen?”

“I missed teaching, so I went to talk to the folks at the college. They were looking for someone to create and teach a Forensic Technology Workshop and the rest, as they say, is history. Most of the kids in the workshop come from lower income families and must work to pay for school and help support their families. They know that college is their ticket to a good life, and they’re determined to succeed.” 

As usual, the dinner Deb and Marie prepares is delicious. Tony and I are in the kitchen, cleaning up, when Tony’s phone buzzes, signaling a text message from his office. He pulls the phone from his pocket, taps a few keys, and scrolls.
 
“I believe we have a Tech Squad workshop this week,” he says.

“We do.”

“Then we have a case for your students.”

“We’re ready.”
 
* * *

As Tony and I enter the Sheriff’s Department’s Technology Center one of my students, Diego Rivera, is holding court, as he often does before the workshop begins. I’ve developed personal nicknames for many of my students. Diego’s nickname is leader of the pack. Whatever the situation, Diego takes command. 

“Ven y lomalo,” Diego says, waving his hand over the folding table sitting against the Technology Center’s back wall. Diego stands silent for a few seconds, enjoying the puzzled look on the other’s faces. “That’s ‘come and get it’ in Spanish for all of you illiterates who only speak one language.”

“I speak four languages.” Adiva Fayad gently pokes Diego’s ribs. “I guess that makes you the ba swad. That’s illiterate in Farsi.”

“We’ve got pulparino tamarind candies, chiki chocolate cookies, Mexican snack chips, and my grandma’s homemade salsa.” 

I’m enjoying the banter among the students who make up The Tech Squad. When I organized the workshop, the students began bringing snacks. The group’s diversity means that the food each student has eaten from birth is often unknown to the others. The small talk around the snack table creates a bond among these young people, which helps them work together as a team. 

“Are your snacks going to burn my mouth?” Judy Levinson asks.

“Of course not,” Diego replies. “My grandma would never want to hurt any of my friends.” He then turns toward the others with a broad grin on his face. “Of course, Aunt Isabella helps grandma with the salsa, and she doesn’t always approve of my friends.”

Alex Perez turns toward me. “Do we have a case today, Doc?” 

“We do.”

James rubs is hands. “I hope it’s a murder.” 

“It is.” 
 
Each student sits at a computer terminal linked to projection equipment which displays images on one or more of the eight screens positioned on the Technology Center’s four walls. Tony got the Tech Squad authorization to view evidence he and his deputies see. 

“Sheriff, what do you have for us?” I ask.

“I’m sure you’ve all read in the local newspaper about the murder at the Sun Coast Shores Community Theater,” Tony answers. 

A big smile crosses Diego’s face. “Newspaper, what’s a newspaper?”

Judy plays along with Diego’s joke. “Come on, D, you were in history class when we talked about it. It’s the way people used to find out what’s happening in the world, before the Internet. My grandpa sits in a chair every day and folds and refolds this newspaper thing. I showed him how he could get the same information from my phone.” 

“Did he get a phone?” Diego asks.

“No, he still reads that newspaper.”

“Anyway,” Tony continues, “after Billy Agnew died, my deputies and I secured the crime scene and interviewed the play’s cast and crew. We confiscated the food in the backstage area since it’s possible he died from something he ate. We also downloaded pictures and videos the cast and crew took back stage. Our Medical Examiner has since determined that Billy died from poison mushrooms which, we suspect, he ingested when eating pizza after a performance at the theater.” 

“Did anyone else eat the pizza?” James asks.

“Everyone had at least one slice.”

“So, why didn’t anyone else get sick or die?” Alex inquires.

“We don’t know.”

“What have you discovered so far?” Diego questions.

“We know that the pizza came from Giovani’s. A restaurant employee, Mary, delivered it. Two of the cast members, Rita Diaz and Ellen Agnew, Billy’s wife, placed slices on paper plates and served it to everyone.” 

“Is that Professor Diaz, the Botany Professor?” Adiva asks. “I helped her with a field trip.”

“It is,” Tony responds.

“Is she a suspect?”

“I guess she is. Anyway, we assume that, either poison mushrooms were on the pizza before it arrived, or someone put them on one of Billy’s slices at the theater. Once we learned that Billy was murdered, we got subpoenas for the financial records of the cast and crew and Giovanni employees who handled the pizzas. Billy’s net worth is slightly over $1.5 million, so money could be the motive. We also got warrants for their, what’s it called, professor?”

“I think the term you’re looking for is social media presence.”

 “Yeah,” Tony says, glancing toward his deputies and pointing at me, “what he said. That’s where the investigation stands.” 

“OK, Tech Squad,” I say, “this is where you come in. How can we help solve this murder?”

“On the cop shows I watch, the spouse is always the first suspect,” Judy says, picking her head up from focusing on her phone. My nickname for Judy is The Fiddler, because her head is always pointed down during these workshops so she could fiddle with her phone and, yet, she’s an excellent student. I’m amazed how students like Judy can simultaneously focus on their phones and pay attention to what’s being said. “Let’s see what we can learn about Mrs. Agnew from her online presence.” Judy plugs her phone into her computer and presses a few keys. Ellen’s social media accounts, such as Facebook and Twitter, display for all to see. 

 “Wow!” I can see James’ eyes widen as he leans toward the computer screen.

“Wow is right,” Diego and Alex chime in, almost in unison. “She’s hot.”

Judy places her hands on her hips. “Would you guys get your minds out of the gutter and see what you can find that might help the case?”

“She’s much younger than him,” James says. “You might call her a trophy wife. Her emails and text messages to her sister indicate he usually ignores her except when he wants—,”

“We get the point!” Judy snaps.

“I might be able to shed some light on their relationship,” I say. I log onto the Sun Coast Shores Community Facebook page and find the video of the recent meeting when Ellen spoke.

“He really insulted her,” Judy observes, “and there’s something else pointing to the wife. She’s a nutritionist. She would know about poison mushrooms.” 

“There’s more,” Tony continues. “Mrs. Agnew will inherit his entire estate and collect on his $250,000 life insurance policy and, once we determined he was poisoned, she sued Giovani’s. She’s asking for $5 million.”

“Maybe pictures from the confiscated phones will tell us something,” Alex says. “I bet even old people, eh—,” Alex looks at Tony, his deputies, and me, “—adults use their phones to take pictures. Can anyone see where Mrs. Agnew had the opportunity to put mushrooms on Mr. Agnew’s pizza?”

“I think I can help with that,” Tony offers. “One of the new gizmos we have allows us to load multiple photos and videos and synchronize them. We can view a scene from multiple angles and perspectives.”

“Great,” I say. “Let’s boot it up and see the pictures and videos from everyone’s camera.”

“Unfortunately,” Tony replies, “nobody here has figured out how to use it.”

James raises his hand as he sits up straight in this chair. “I can help.”

I’m not surprised that James is familiar with this new type of photographic technology. My nickname for James is first adapter. If new technology comes on the market, James jumps on it. It takes him about fifteen minutes to load pictures and videos that had been downloaded from the cast and crew’s phones into the application, called Photomesh, which produces a 3D video which displays on the Technology Center’s eight screens. 

“That’s cool,” Diego says. “This application, what’s it called, James?”

“Photomesh.”

“This Photomesh puts us right in the middle of the crime scene,” Diego continues, as he swings his chair around to view all eight screens. Although some pictures display that aren’t related to the murder scene, most show the backstage area just prior to Billy’s death.  

 “The video shows an eleven-minute period from the time the pizza was delivered until everyone was ready to eat,” James says. “They appear to be listening to some old guy talking about touring with someone named Dame Regina, whoever that is. Mrs. Agnew and Professor Diaz then took the pizzas to microwave ovens to warm them up. Mrs. Agnew could have put the mushrooms on Billy’s slice when she took it out of the oven.”

“Can we see who gave Mr. Agnew his pizza?” Alex asks.

“Professor Diaz handed Billy his plate,” James notes, “but he gave it to his wife to re-heat. You can see from the video she was pissed at the way he was treating her.”

“Let’s try this,” I say. “How about if each of you see what’s out there in cyberspace on the other cast members and crew. Is there anyone else with a motive?”

“You were in the cast and were part of the crew, professor,” Diego observes. “Should we be looking at you?”

“You should.”

The students turn their attention to their computers, their fingers moving quickly over their keyboards. 

“I’ve got something,” Alex says. “Mary, the Giovanni’s employee who delivered the pizza, is Mrs. Hot—,” Alex glances at me, “—Mrs. Agnew’s sister. Her financial records show she is deeply in debt. She’s maxed out her credit cards and she’s two months behind with her mortgage payments. Emails and texts between her and her sister show she has asked Mrs. Agnew for help. Mrs. Agnew wants to help, but Billy refuses. Billy’s death appears to solve her problem.”


 Diego is the next student with an observation. “I got some information about Giovanni’s. The restaurant’s supplier has six claims against it for delivering food that did not meet Health Department standards in the last three months. They appear to have lax quality control, so it’s possible the restaurant received poison mushrooms.”

“We thought about that,” Tony says, “but, then, why would only Mr. Agnew’s slice be contaminated. If the restaurant or its supplier were responsible, more than one person would have become ill and, possibly, died.” 

“I may have something,” James offers. “Professor Devries, who teaches Chemistry at our school, was in the cast. I googled his name and found a police report accusing Mr. Agnew of harassing his daughter.”

“I remember that,” Tony replies. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t do anything. The professor was mad as hell at Billy but what Billy did wasn’t against the law.” 

“And Professor Trevor’s video of the Community Meeting shows that Mr. Agnew made crude remarks about his daughter,” Judy adds.

“That does give Professor Devries a motive,” Tony says. “Let’s keep him on the suspect list.”

“As you can see,” Tony continues, “Mrs. Agnew, Professor Devries, and Mary all had motives. Since only Mrs. Agnew and Professor Diaz could have put the mushroom on Billy’s pizza, we’re back to Mrs. Agnew as the prime suspect.” 
 
Adiva Fayad had not spoken during this discussion. She listened and took in everything the other students said. She suddenly bolts up in her chair and stares at one of the screens containing Photomesh images. I’d seen this before. My nickname for Adiva is The Quiet One. She often sits silently during our workshops and absorbs what Tony, his deputies, and her fellow students say. She then suggests something that shows a completely new way of attacking a problem.

“So far,” Adiva says, “we’ve been focusing on motive. Let’s look at this from another angle, the murder weapon. Specifically, where did the murderer get the mushrooms? I think I may know. Sheriff, can you get warrants for the GPS tracking systems on each of our suspect’s cars?”

“I can,” Tony answers.

* * *

It’s 5:00 on a Tuesday afternoon. Professor Diaz is cleaning the botany lab after her last class and anxious to go home. She will be preparing dinner for Donald Devries. She hopes that the shy Chemistry professor will take the hint and spend the night.

“Professor Rita Diaz?”

Rita looks up from her plants. She recognizes the two men entering her classroom as Sheriff Maggio and one of his deputies.

“Yes.”

“You’re under arrest.”

The professor feels the blood pounding through her body. “For what?”

“Murder,” the sheriff replies.

* * *
The Tech Squad, along with Tony and his deputies, are assembled for our weekly workshop. 

“OK, students, let’s get to work,” I say. “Last week Adiva asked the sheriff to get warrants for our suspect’s GPS systems. Four days ago, the sheriff arrested Professor Diaz for the murder. Adiva, please explain to the rest of the workshop why you asked the sheriff to get the warrants and how you broke the case open.”

 “We focused on Mrs. Agnew,” Adiva says, “because she’s the only suspect with motive who could have placed the mushrooms on Billy’s pizza. But how did she get them? I decided to try to find out where they came from.” 

“I remembered that the drone videos I took during Professor Diaz’s class field trip showed poison mushrooms at Perico Forrest Preserve. I assumed that it was possible that this was the source. I asked the sheriff to allow me to re-photograph the area of the preserve where they grew.” Adiva displays the videos showing the section of the preserve containing the poison mushrooms during the field trip and the same section last week. “As you can see, they were there during the field trip. The second video shows dirt where they used to be.” 

Adiva then displays a GPS application. “I knew that Professor Devries helped Professor Diaz during her class’s field trip. Therefore, both Professor Diaz and Professor Devries knew their location. I looked at the GPS system records from both of their cars. Since Mrs. Agnew was also a suspect, I looked at her GPS data, as well. Professor Diaz returned to the preserve at 6:30 on the Friday after her field trip, arriving just before closing.” 

“When Adiva told me what she found,” Tony says, “I asked the Park Ranger Service if they had any information about someone entering the preserve late that day. It appears that the Park Ranger on duty had posted an entry on their web site saying someone had entered the park at the time that Professor Diaz’s GPS says she was there.”

Adiva continues. “Professor Devries didn’t return to the preserve and Mrs. Agnew was never there.” 

“Can we prove that she took the mushrooms from the preserve?” Judy asks.

“When we arrested Professor Diaz,” Tony says, “we got a warrant to search her car. There were trace amounts of the mushrooms in the trunk.” 

“And how did she get them into the theater?” Diego asks.

Adiva displays the video the Photomesh software had created. “Look at the tote bag Professor Diaz uses. She brought them into the theater in that bag. The sheriff’s warrants allowed him to search Professor Diaz’s tote bag. The evidence was right there.” 

Adiva continues her explanation. “As soon as Mary delivered the pizza, the professor immediately took both boxes and suggested they be put in the microwave oven.” Adiva pauses the Photomesh video. “Here, we see her lifting the top of the box. She wants to be sure she will re-heat the mushroom pizza. She gave the other box to Mrs. Agnew. Her plan was to add the mushrooms to a slice she would give to Billy.” Adiva continues running the video. “We see her giving Billy his plate. Although there is no video of Professor Diaz reheating the pizza, we can assume she added them to the slice she would give to Billy.” 

“Wouldn’t that cast suspicion on her?” James asks.

“I think I can answer that,” I reply. “My pizza was hot. When Adiva told me what she had found, I checked with the other members of the cast and crew. Only Billy’s was cold. We suspect she removed one slice before putting it into the microwave, knowing that Billy would want it re-heated. She also assumed that he would tell Ellen to re-heat it. She was right on both counts.” 

“How did Professor Diaz know that Billy would want mushrooms on his pizza and that he would return it if it isn’t hot?” Judy asks. “It wouldn’t do her any good to bring the mushrooms if Billy didn’t like them, or if he didn’t demand that it be re-heated.”

I continue. “Ellen suggested that she and Billy go out for pizza after one of our rehearsals. She made a point that Billy likes mushrooms and that he demands it be hot. She commented that Billy returns it if it isn’t. I’m sure the professor heard her say that.”

“But what about motive?” Alex asks. “We still don’t have a motive.”

* * *
November 1982 Florida West Coast University
 
He bends his knees and balances on his toes, the knuckles of his clenched fist extending outward from his torso, just like coach had taught him. He could see the glare in the eyes and smell the sweat of the cornerback standing approximately three feet in front of him. Four seconds to go, down by four, and no timeouts left. Coach had ordered the torpedo forty-nine left play where the quarterback fakes a handoff and then fires a pass to the wide receiver. He’s ready. Either he would score and make them champs, or their season would end just like last year, second in the conference. 

“Huh!” he hears the quarterback shout. As the ball is snapped, he takes a step forward, then veers left. The defender hesitates for a split second, just enough time for him to barrel forward and race down field. This is it, he thinks. He hugs the sideline and counts, one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, and turns, just like coach had taught him. His heart sinks. The ball is about ten feet in front of him, but almost a foot over his head. He bends his leg, raises his left arm, and jumps, just like coach had taught him. He curls his fingers. The ball touches his fingertips. He thinks he failed, the ball would roll off his fingers and fall to the turf, an incomplete pass, game over, but, miraculously, the ball doesn’t fall. He holds the ball and cradles it to his body. It’s almost impossible to catch a football with one hand, but he just did. Wow! He turns toward the goal post. He sees a linebacker, a mountain of a man, about ten feet up field and headed right for him. He has no place to go, no way to avoid being pushed out-of-bounds. It would be game over. He hopes he’ll come out of it with all his body parts intact. He sees his opponent square his shoulders and prepare to lunge forward. He braces for the impact, but the impact never comes. He watches, in what seems like slow motion, and sees the linebacker’s left foot get caught in front of his right. The big man goes down. He leaps over the fallen hulk. Coach had never taught him this move, it’s all his. There’s nothing between him and victory but grass. As he crosses the goal line, he can hear his teammates, and over five-thousand fans, scream. They’re champs. And now there would be a victory party. He’ll take full advantage of his new-found role as hero. 

The party is in full swing when he enters the fraternity house. He isn’t two feet inside when one of the cheerleaders approaches, rubbing against him as she hands him a beer. This is going to be a hell of a victory party, he thinks. 

“All hail the conquering hero,” one of his teammates shouts, raising a beer mug. He doesn’t know the kid’s name, one of the bench warmers, not a real gladiator, like him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. He holds his third, or is it his fourth, beer in one hand, the hand that had pulled down the pass, and a joint in another, his second. Two cheerleaders are hanging all over him. It’s time. He leads one of them upstairs. She doesn’t resist. He pushes her to the bed, jumps on top of her and grabs to yank her panties down, only to discover she isn’t wearing any. He pulls his own pants down. Pinning her shoulders to the mattress, he’s ready. Then nothing. He tries everything. He can’t perform. After what seems like an eternity, he stops, disgusted with himself. She pushes him off and storms out of the room.  

The bitch better not say anything, he thought.

He stays at the party for another hour, everyone talking about the game, but he hardly hears a word. He even refuses more beer and joints. There’s one big perk to scoring a final touchdown and he blew it.

He leaves the party alone. As he walks back to the dorm, he feels life returning to his groin, with a vengeance. Shit, he thinks, it’s too late, but maybe not. As he passes the library, he sees her. It’s dark and she’s alone. There’s no one else around. He grabs her from behind and pushes her down. They’re between the library wall and three large bushes. He grabs her shoulders. A necklace she’d wearing breaks and falls to the ground. It’s over in less than two minutes. He gets up and walks away, taking the necklace as a souvenir. Tonight wasn’t a total loss, after all, he thinks.

* * *

The ringing of the phone wakes the little girl. She looks to the empty bed next to her, her sister’s bed. She can’t wait until she’s big like her sister and can stay out late. She wants to be just like her when she grows up. She’s still groggy when mama opens the door to her room. 

“Get dressed pollita,” momma says. “We’re going for a car ride.”

She knows something’s wrong. Even an eight-year-old can sense the stress in mama’s voice. Mama and papa place her in the car’s back seat. No one speaks as they drive. Mama always talks when they’re in the car, but not tonight. Papa parks the car and they enter a big building. She’s frightened. What is this? What’s wrong?

“Stay here, pollita,” mama sits her down in a big chair. She sees mama and papa go into a room. She can see through the room’s windows that they were talking with a man and a woman in white coats and a man in a uniform holding a pad and a pencil. Her big sister is sitting on the bed? Why is her sister in this bed? Why isn’t she home in her own bed. She jumps off the chair and runs into the room, grabbing mama as tight as she can. She looks at her sister. What’s wrong? The little girl grabs the pendant around her neck. Mama calls it a nervous habit.

At almost the same time, her sister grabs at her throat. “It’s gone,” the older girl screams. “He took it!”

* * *

Current Day

“Finding the motive,” Tony replies, in response to Alex’s question, “is where good old-fashioned police work comes in. After Adiva pointed out that Professor Diaz is the only suspect who appears to have access to poison mushrooms and could have put them on Mr. Agnew’s pizza, we looked into the professor’s background. Adiva, I’ll tell the story, but I need you to help me at the computer. I’m still all thumbs when dealing with the keyboard and, what do you call that other thing.”

“A mouse, sir.”

“Yeah, a mouse. Anyway, at first, the professor’s background showed no connection between her and Mr. Agnew, other than the play. We then dug deeper and found our motive. Adiva, please display the police report.” Adiva displays an electronic copy of a faded document. “The professor’s name is associated with an old case, a rape case over forty years ago, of one Hope Diaz, at Florida West Coast University. Adiva, please scroll to the next page. This shows the notes the detective took on the case. The professor was a child at the time, and she accompanied her mother and father to the hospital after her sister was raped. Hope told the detective that the rapist had taken her necklace.”  

“Was the case ever solved?” Judy asks.

“No, it wasn’t,” Tony replies. “That’s why we have it on the computer. When we, what do you call it, professor?”

“Digitized,” I say.

“Yeah, digitized. When we digitized the department files, we copied all cold cases into the computer.”

Adiva continues. “I helped Professor Diaz when her mother died. Her mother had been asking for Hope. The professor said that Hope was her sister, who had died.” 

“So, what does that have to do with Mr. Agnew?” Judy asks. “I’m still not seeing a motive.”

“School records show that Hope Diaz and Mr. Agnew attended Florida West Coast University at the same time. Those old police records also show that Hope Diaz committed suicide five years after the rape. Her father hounded the sheriff’s office for almost twenty years, asking about the rape case. Notes in the detective’s file show that the family believed that Hope’s rape caused her to commit suicide. ‘If the bastard is ever caught,’ her father had said, ‘we want him charged with murder.”

“But why did Professor Diaz believe that Mr. Agnew raped her sister?” James asks.

Adiva displays an enlarged selfie that Ellen had taken of herself and Professor Diaz.

“When we were watching the video from the Photomesh software,” Adiva continues, “I saw a photo that Mrs. Agnew took with Professor Diaz. Mrs. Agnew sent the professor a copy of that picture. I noticed the initials on their necklace pendants. They look alike, except for the letters. Professor Diaz is wearing an M, Mrs. Agnew is wearing an E. I showed this picture to the sheriff.”

Tony picks up the story. “I took the picture to a jeweler who said that these two pieces appeared to be handmade, probably by the same person. When I questioned Professor Devries, he said that Professor Diaz told him that her mother made jewelry, which she and her sister wore. When Professor Diaz saw the pendant Mrs. Agnew was wearing, she knew that it was her sister’s and that Mr. Agnew must have taken it when he raped her. There’s the motive.”

“I’m confused,” Judy says. “The professor’s sister’s name was Hope. Mrs. Agnew’s name is Ellen and she wore an E pendant.”

“D,” Adiva gestures toward Diego, “Can you answer Judy’s question about the initials?”

“I can,” Diego replies. “You can see from the photo that professor Diaz is wearing an M pendant even though her name is Rita.” Diego presses a few keys on his keyboard. A school faculty list displays. “Professor Diaz is listed as Margarita ‘Rita’ Diaz. Rita is an anglicized version of Margarita. When Professor Diaz saw Mrs. Agnew’s pendant, she knew that it had belonged to her sister.”

“How?” Judy asks.

“The professor’s mother made the jewelry using the letters of their given names, not their anglicized names,” Diego answers. “Hope was wearing the E pendant when she was raped because Hope is the English translation of her given name, Esperanza.”

I stand in the center of the Technology lab. “You guys should be proud of yourselves. You just used your knowledge of technology to help the Sheriff’s Department solve a murder. How ‘bout we celebrate. I’ll order out for pizza.”

“Hold the mushrooms,” Diego says, to the delight of everyone in the room.