Sitting on a black wrought iron patio chair in the back yard of Mrs. Eleanor Templeton, a science teacher at Bayport High School, Joe found himself remembering exactly why he hadn't liked her class. She was boring him nearly to death. Joe remembered spending many spring afternoons gazing out the window, daydreaming about what he and Vanessa would be doing after school let out; wondering what Frank was up to in college; or anything else that would tune the drone of her voice out. He'd chalked it up to senioritis at the time; but now he knew the truth. This lady really was that dull.

Smothering a sigh, he turned his attention back to the older woman sitting in the chair across from him. He fiddled with the glass of lemonade that she'd provided for him. Taking a sip, he grimaced, and carefully set the glass on table in front him. Someone really should explain to her what sugar was. Doing his best to pretend to be interested in the conversation, he tuned back into what she was saying.

"Such a terrible business, being a detective." She frowned at Joe. "I can't possibly imagine what motivates a person to want to spend their lives dealing with the criminal element."

Joe met her frown with one of his own. "Well," he began, "for starters, someone has to do it. If we didn't have people whose job is was to bring down the criminal element, the number of crime victims would probably sky rocket. And vigilantism would rise, too. It's human nature to want justice when you feel like you or a loved one has been victimized."

"How true," she said, shaking her head sadly. "I just hate to see you and your brother Frank wasting your lives chasing down murderers. That Frank was such an intelligent science student. I always thought he should have went into medical research. We need more young people like him in that field."

And I wasn't intelligent? Joe thought. Just because I wasn't attentive didn't mean I wasn't intelligent! Interrupting her glowing account of Frank's academic abilities, he said. "You know, you have to be really bright to be a good detective. Extremely intelligent. You wouldn't want a detective who couldn't outsmart the bad guy."

"Yes, young man, you're exactly right. And if the news media knows what they're talking about, the bad guys keep getting smarter. Why just last week..." As she began to launch into another story, Joe groaned inwardly. At this rate, he'd still be here trying to interview her at dinnertime. And as well meaning as she seemed to be, she'd probably invite him to stay for dinner. He'd never get away from her!

"Mrs. Templeton," Joe said, in a last ditch attempt to get the conversation back on track. "During the few years that you’ve worked with Emma, can you possibly think of anyone that she might have angered enough to want her dead?"

Mrs. Templeton shook her head. "Of course not! Emma was such a dear! She was a tough, but fair teacher. The students respected her for that. So did the staff. Why, I can’t imagine anyone wanting that girl dead." She pushed her glasses up slightly on the bridge of her nose. "And she was very happy, too. So I also can’t imagine that she would want to take her own life."

Joe picked up the glass of lemonade again. Tracing it’s rim with his finger, he carefully considered his next question. "Then what do you think happened?" he asked.

"I have absolutely no idea," she said. "That’s why it’s such a mystery, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Joe said. "It is." He thought for a minute. "What about Steven? Do you know if he has any enemies?"
She shrugged. "Not at school. At least, not that I know of. Most of the students like him as well. What he may or may not have in his personal life I couldn’t tell you. I don’t make it my business to nose around in my coworkers’ personal lives."

I’ll bet, Joe thought to himself. He grinned, as memories of several conversations he and his friends had eavesdropped on came forward. It was amazing how well sound from the teacher’s workroom at their high school traveled up the old heating vents into the boys’ bathroom on the second floor. It was poor planning on the part of the school’s builders; but great for any kid wanting the scoop on what went on in the teacher’s lives. He himself had listened at that vent several times. Mrs. Thompson, if he remembered correctly, was one of the more vocal gossips.

"Do you know of any students or parents that might not have liked him?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not sure myself. Maybe someone that failed his class, and was angry over it. Or someone that had a history of poor behavior that Steven had to discipline. Or a parent that didn't get along with him very well. Anything you can think of could be a potential lead for us."

She sat silent, for the first time in the hour and a half that Joe had been there. After several minutes, she said, "Well, there was that incident with Jeff Masters last year."

Joe perked up. "What incident?"

"You know I shouldn't be telling you this," she said. "Student confidentiality and all."

"It will stay a part of this investigation," Joe said. "I won't let it go any further than that."

She nodded. "I'm sure it's made its way all over town by now anyway. You know how kids love to talk. Jeff was in one of Steve's classes last year. He's one of those kids that barely does the required amount of work to just skim by. He could have been a smart kid if he'd wanted to be. But he was more interested in stirring up trouble than he was in creating a future for himself. You know the kind of kid I'm talking about."

Joe nodded.

"Well, he was a senior last year. Thought he was a big man on campus. Kid strutted up and down those halls like he owned the place."

"Tough boy, huh?" Joe asked.

"He thought he was. He attacked a girl, a junior I think, in front of Steven's classroom. Hit her with his fist over something she'd said to him." She took off her glasses, polished them, then put them back on. Staring out at her rose garden, she continued. "I'm sure it wasn't the first girl he’d hit. But I'm betting it was the first one that ever hit him back."

"Really?" Joe said.

"Yes. She flattened his, um, rear end, shall we say. If I wasn't a teacher, I probably would have applauded along with the other students. Jeff was furious. Bullies don't like to lose face, you know. He scrambled back up on his feet, but before he could go after her again, Steven intervened. Tried to break it up, but Jeff was so angry he didn’t care who he was going after. He swung at Steven. Steven ended up wrestling the boy to the ground and holding him in some kind of headlock while another teacher went to get help from the office. It was like watching one of those wrestling matches on cable. Complete with all the yelling and profanity. At least from Jeff‘s side of it." She beamed at Joe, pleased that he was listening so intently to her.

"What was the result of the fight?" Joe wanted to know.

"Jeff had already had all of the suspensions he was allowed. They kicked him out over that one. Expelled from school. I heard he didn't bother to finish senior year. He could have enrolled somewhere else, I suppose. But he didn't. The last I heard, he's working at that pizza place downtown." She shook her head. "Such a waste, isn't it?"

"It is," Joe agreed. "Tell me, Mrs. Templeton, do you think that if Jeff was angry enough, that he'd be capable of murder?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe. You don't think he killed Emma do you? She wasn't the teacher that wrote the final discipline report that led to his expulsion, Joe. Steven was."

"I understand that. But could he have been angry enough to have hurt her to get back at Steven?"

"I never thought about it. He is after all, just a kid."

"A kid with a history of violence," Joe pointed out. "And kids have killed in anger before."

She frowned. "Well, I hope he didn't. He wasn't a good student. That I know for a fact. He was a bully and a troublemaker. But I can't see him as a murderer. I can't see any of my kids as murderers." She shook her head.

Joe stood up and extended his hand to her. "I'm sure you're right," he said. "But if you think of anything else that might help us on this, I want you to give us a call. Even if it happens to be concerning a student that might have had a reason to hurt Emma or Steven. And if you can't call us, then at least call Chief Collig."

"I will, Joseph." She smiled and shook his hand. "You tell that brother of yours how proud I am of him, even if he did decide to just be a detective."

Joe forced a smile. "I will," he said, gritting his teeth. "I'm going to go now. I have several other people I need to see today."

"I understand," she said, getting to her feet. "You come back again and visit me sometime, Joseph." Joe plastered a smile on his face again.

"I'll do my best," he told her.

She watched Joe follow the path around the house to the front where his car was parked. "Such a good boy," she murmured to herself. "Who knew he'd turn out so well?"

After finding no one home at their apartment, Joe decided to swing by Nancy's in search of his brother. Spotting Frank's car parked in the driveway, Joe grinned. Somehow he figured he'd find him here. Pulling in behind Frank, he turned off the ignition and headed for the door.

"Hey, anybody home?" he called out as he entered the front room of the house. The television was on, but no one was watching it. The living room was deserted. He glanced around, noticing that Nancy had managed somehow to get most of her unpacking done. There were a few figurines and vases scattered about on a set of shelves. Photos of family and friends now graced the walls and the top of the entertainment center. Picking up a familiar photo, Joe smiled.

"Hey, Joe," a female voice said. "Where did you come from?"

He turned, picture frame still in hand. Nancy stood in the doorway, smiling. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with several stray strands tucked behind her ear. She had a streak of flour along one cheek and her red t-shirt and shorts was also spotted with it. More flour covered the blue dish towel that she had in her right hand.

"Hey," he drawled out, setting down the photo. "Looking pretty good there, Nan. White's your color."

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Blame your brother for that."

"Okay," Joe said. He looked back at the pictures. Picking up the frame again, one that held a photo identical to one that Frank kept in their living room, he held it out toward Nancy. "Does it feel pretty good to be able to have these out?" he asked.

Taking the picture from Joe, she smiled. "Yes, it does," she said. She looked at Joe. "It feels great to be me again." She handed the frame back to Joe and watched as he put it in its place. "Have I thanked you for that?"

He looked puzzled. "For what?"

"For this," she said gesturing around her. "For giving me the push I needed to find my way back."

Joe's face turned pink. "Yeah, Nancy. Several times. And I wouldn't have been much of a friend if I hadn't done something," he said. Suddenly feeling slightly awkward, he cleared his throat. "Hey, you said something about blaming Frank for the flour. I suppose that means I'll find him in the kitchen?"

Nancy nodded. "Yeah, he picked Laurie and me up on our way home from the park and decided to stay for dinner. Want to join us?"

Joe eyed her and grinned. "I don't know. Maybe I should ask which one of you are doing the cooking first?"

He ducked as she snapped the flour covered towel at him.

"Not funny," she said as they headed toward the kitchen.

"Sure it was," Joe said. "Don't forget, Nan. I've seen what you do to food."

"Fine," she said as she moved toward the stove. Frank looked up and waved at Joe in greeting. He was busy at the sink, washing and dicing vegetables. "In that case, Joe, I'll assume you don't want any fried chicken. Which I'm making." She winked at Frank, who, while smiling, was wisely staying out of the conversation. "From one of Hannah's recipes."

"Hannah Gruen's fried chicken?" Joe asked. "Hey, Nan, you know I never said I didn't want to join you guys for dinner. In fact, I'm thinking that having dinner with you guys is a great idea. Right, Laurie?" he looked over at his niece, who was sitting at the table, flipping through a picture book.

"Right, Uncle Joe," she said. "You can stay and read to me." She held up the book. "Do you know Green Eggs and Ham?"

"I just read that to you an hour ago," Frank said.

Joe chuckled. "Do I know it?" he asked. "It happens to be one of my favorites." Taking the book from Laurie, he motioned for her to follow him back to the living room. "We'll go read in there. Judging from the amount of flour your mom and dad are wearing, I'm betting it's a lot safer in the living room."

Laurie giggled. "Daddy dropped the flour on the floor and slipped in it," she told Joe. "He looked so funny that Mommy and I laughed."

"Ah," Joe said. "That explains it."

"Yeah," Nancy said. "Frank decided to share with me." She wiped at her t-shirt again.

"He threw it on her," Laurie said. "Then they were both throwing flour." She looked at Joe. "They made a mess."

"Yes, they did," he agreed, laughing. "C'mon. Let's go read your book while they clean up their mess." He glanced at Nancy and Frank. "Then, after dinner, we can compare notes on how our interviews went today."