Class Reunion of Murder by Vanessa Gray Bartal

You’ll never get anywhere without discipline. Look at you—lacking in discipline in every way. He had been unmoved by her tears, though they had been genuine. Then, as now, he terrified her. “I’m friends with one of your former players,” she blurted.
    “Who’s that?” he asked.
     
    “Jason Cantor.” In addition to being the gym teacher, he had coached football for all of the years Jason played. He gave her a genuine smile, the first one she had ever received from him.
    “Jason, now there’s a bleeping good boy. What’s he up to now?”
    “He’s a police officer. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
    His smile changed to a scowl. “He didn’t say a word about playing in the blast boogedy alumni game.”
    “Somehow it escaped his attention, but between you and me, I think he would love to play,” Lacy said, and now she gave him what was probably the first sincere smile he had ever received from her. Jason had loved playing football. He would be amused to know he and the game were the only things that had ever inspired any camaraderie between her and Coach Wilson.
    “Well, I’m going to have to keep my moondogging eyes out for the boy. He’d better play, or I’ll give him a piece of my flapjacking mind.”
    Lacy wasn’t sure there was a piece he could afford to lose. Worse, she felt herself being drawn into his pattern of speech. She had to get away before she began mimicking his made up words. “If I see him, I’ll let him know.”
    “You flapdoodle do that,” he replied. She was just about to make her escape when a chubby middle-aged woman waddled up to them.
     
    “Henry, did I hear you curse?” she asked.
    Lacy scanned the area before realizing she was talking to Mr. Wilson. She had no idea his name was Henry. In her imagination, it was something like “Bulldog” or “Killer.”
    “No, Martha,” he replied with something that sounded a whole lot like fear and submission. “You know I dilly dally gave it up along with everything else.”
    “Hmm,” Martha replied. She and her husband shared a smile before turning as one to Lacy.
    “This is my wife, Martha,” Coach Wilson supplied. “Martha, this is one of my former students, the one that got her head stuck behind the chin-up bar and we feared might have gotten brain damage.”
    “Oh.” Martha’s look turned sympathetic as if she feared Lacy actually had sustained some sort of brain damage.
     
    “It turns out I can go much longer without oxygen than most people,” Lacy assured her.
    “Oh, well, congratulations,” Martha said. “Henry, I asked the hotel manager to find some milk for you. You’d better come take your pills before your ulcer kicks up. It was nice to meet you dear,” she said with a dismissive smile as she tucked her arm through her husband’s and led him away.
     
    “You, too,” Lacy called, but they were already gone. This was the night for surprises. She never would have guessed that her former gym teacher was human, let alone that his name was Henry and he let his wife order him around like a goat on a tether. Maybe all of her conceptions of high school were wrong.
    Kimber ambled over and handed Lacy some punch. “Did I just see you talking to Coach Wilson?” There was some awe in her voice; Kimber hadn’t been athletic, either. Her experience with Mr. Wilson had run parallel to Lacy’s.
     
    “Turns out his name is Henry and he’s henpecked,” Lacy said.
    Kimber sprayed a little of her punch and coughed. “You made that up to make me feel better.”
    “I ding dong diddly flapjacking promise,” Lacy said.
    “What?” Kimber said.
     
    “I’ll explain later,” Lacy said because now someone else was approaching. Was Summer returning for round two? She certainly looked prepared for battle, except that she was alone. In Lacy’s experience, Summer never went anywhere without reinforcements.
    “Did I hear you say you’re friends with Jason Cantor?” she hissed.
     
    “Yes,” Lacy said, beyond wary