Page 28 of Scorched

“Ms. Johnson, Elise?” The principal leaned over her. “Why don’t you and I take a break. Coach Ueker will sit with your class.”

Great. Three times in the past two days her abilities as a teacher responsible for a classroom of teenagers had been in question. Was Principal Ford about to fire her? If so, what would she do for a job? How would she pay the mortgage?

“Principal Ford, Ms. Johnson didn’t do anything to make Caesar mad.” Bless Alex. The kid might be half the size of Caesar, but he had a heart.

“It’s okay, Alex. I’ll explain what happened to Principal Ford. Everyone, open your books to page...” She stared at her desk and the book lying open where she’d intended to begin the class lecture. “Page 242. I want you to start reading there and answer the questions in the back of the chapter. I’ll be back shortly.” She hoped.

Elise stood, her legs shaking beneath her, and followed the principal to her office.

CHAPTER 8

Paul accompaniedthe sheriff to the apartment.

The Hilltop Apartments manager, Mrs. Holzhauer, stood at the open door to Mary Alice Fenton’s second-floor apartment, clutching a folded paper in her hand. “I didn’t touch anything, just like you said. Well, except when I went inside to ask why Miss Fenton left her door open. The place was a mess, but Miss Fenton wasn’t home. If the door hadn’t been standing wide open, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.” The older woman sucked in a breath and let it out. “I called her work number, and they said she didn’t report to work this morning. They left a message on her voice mail, but she didn’t call back.”

“You did all the right things, Mrs. Holzhauer.” Sheriff Engel patted the woman’s shoulder.

She wrung her hands, her narrow frame clad in a gray polyester pantsuit looked as gray as the overcastsky. “I saw the local news. I know they found a woman murdered just yesterday, but they haven’t released her name. I just wondered...”

Paul hung back and let the sheriff take the lead.

“It wasn’t Mary Alice, Mrs. Holzhauer.” Sheriff Engel took a notebook out of his pocket. “Do you have Miss Fenton’s cell phone number?”

“It’s not on her application, just her work number.” Mrs. Holzhauer stared at the paper in her hand. “I know she has a cell phone because I saw her talking on one when she drove out of here yesterday morning to go to work.”

The sheriff leaned over Mrs. Holzhauer’s shoulder to look at the paper she held. “What about an emergency contact?”

Mrs. Holzhauer shoved the paper toward him. “I pulled her application from the file. The number listed is her mother’s.” The older woman shook her head. “It’s a horrible thing to report to a mother.”

The sheriff shook his head as he scanned the application. “Now, Mrs. Holzhauer, we don’t know that anything untoward has happened to Mary Alice.”

“I know, I know, but still...” She wrung her hands, her gaze following the sheriff through the door of the empty apartment. “You think the same guy that got the other lady might have Mary Alice?”

Paul stepped forward. “Mrs. Holzhauer, we don’t know, but we’ll do the best we can to find out. For now,we need to look around. Will you be all right by yourself in your office?”

Mrs. Holzhauer nodded, backing away, taking Paul’s hint. “I called my sister-in-law. She said she’d come to keep me company the rest of the day if necessary. If you need anything, just ask.” She hurried down the metal steps, glancing all around before she exited the building to walk across the parking lot.

Paul shook his head. It was a lousy way to live when a woman had to be afraid of walking from one building to another in broad daylight. He followed Sheriff Engel into the apartment, careful not to disturb anything that could be classified as evidence. The police officer who’d been the first on scene waited in the parking lot for the state crime lab team.

Technically, the woman hadn’t been reported missing by her family, and she hadn’t been missing long enough to qualify for a missing persons report. But with the discovery of a murdered woman only a day prior to Mary Alice’s disappearance, the sheriff had to take action.

The small apartment had a collection of mismatched furniture, likely thrift shop specials or hand-me-downs from family members. A pair of jeans hung from the corner of a door, stretched out as if to dry. A plate with a piece of leftover pizza was on the table, the pizza only half eaten as if Mary Alice had planned to finish it.

The sheriff’s gaze panned the room. “No signs offorced entry, no signs of struggle. You see anything different?”

Paul shook his head, staring at the pizza. “She might have been eating the pizza when someone came to the door.”

“With no signs of forced entry, I’d venture to guess she opened the door. The chain is still intact, so she didn’t feel threatened by whoever stood on the other side.”

“Someone she knew, maybe.”

“Or someone she’d trust.”

“What about her purse?” Paul nodded toward the black leather bag on the counter, a set of car keys lying next to it.

The sheriff used his pen to push the purse open and peered inside. “The wallet’s inside.”

“Cell phone?”

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