Poisoned Pin: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 2) Page 10

  “That’s great advice,” I bellowed into the microphone. Okay, so maybe it sounded a teensy bit more like a screech than a bellow. “Unfortunately, when I told that to my knee, it just wouldn’t listen. It just kind of stopped working when all the ligaments ripped. You know what ligaments are, don’t you? Since you’re such a smarty-pants.”

  Oh, no. I’d said that out loud. The whole thing.

  “I mean, since you’re such a smart kid. And I’ll bet all these other smart kids are ready to see some judo!”

  The kid was on his feet, hollering about me calling him names. Mrs. Jarvis, still holding the microphone for him, stood there like an idiot.

  I ran at Blythe, grabbed her, and threw her over my shoulder and onto the small mat we’d brought before the teachers could grab me and throw me out of the building. Mrs. Jarvis must’ve recovered her wits enough to turn the mic off, because the cries of the the demon child lessened in volume. I needed something constructive to do with my mortification. The kid was pure evil, I’m telling you.

  Take a deep breath, Brenna. He’s only nine or ten years old. Why did I care what a nine-year-old kid thought, anyway? I don’t know, maybe because there were four hundred other kids watching and waiting for my response? Not to mention the teachers. This was a small town. My town now, unless I wanted to give up, pack it up, and head back to Arizona, where I’d left my broken Olympic dreams.

  But I still had my microphone. Maybe I could salvage this. I had to say something quick. Something with kid appeal. “Have a great Fitness Day! Stay fit! Run for fun.”

  The crowd grumbled. I thought I heard a few cries of things like, “What kind of assembly is this?” and “Brenna Battle bites!”

  Bites? That was it! “Eat lots of cookies!” I shouted. “And cupcakes!”

  The kids roared with laughter and applause. “Yes,” Blythe said, grabbing the microphone from me, “there will be cookies and cupcakes at the open house and free judo trial we’re having tomorrow. Check your backpacks for the flyer!” Leave it to Blythe to try to make sense out of my nonsense. Treats at the Open House were definitely not a bad idea. But then, treats were almost never a bad idea if you asked me.

  Mrs. Jarvis was coming at me, flanked by two aging teachers. Little did they know, their advance only served to elevate my cornered-animal instincts and prompt me to grab my microphone back and volley one last, desperate cry to the crowd. “Forget spinach! Popeye wouldn’t stand a chance against Brenna Battle on hot, buttered scones! With jam! Lots of jam!” Blythe’s gentle prodding morphed into an outright shove into the open door of the faculty room. I broke free and I poked my head back out to yell, “Don’t forget the jam!”

  And then I let them all shuttle me away from the eyes and ears of those poor, impressionable children.

  “Are you alright, Ms. Battle?” Mrs. Jarvis asked once we were safely back in the teachers’ lounge. One of the older teachers stood next to her, hanging her head as though in shame for me. The other regarded me sternly.

  “Absolutely. Thanks for inviting me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find some scones.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the other door, the one that led to the office hallway and the back exit.

  “She had a concussion recently,” I heard Blythe offering.

  What was she going to do when she couldn’t use that one anymore? I quickened my pace and continued with my just-baked plan to flee the scene and leave Blythe to “clean up,” so to speak. Speaking of baking, I probably should really get some baked goods. Something really chocolatey to try to make things up to Blythe.

  I sat in the parking lot, waiting in the truck for a couple minutes, until Blythe opened the truck door and scooted in next to me. “Well, that was … ”

  A disaster? An absolute, complete, total catastrophe of epic proportions? Twenty more years of job security for Bonney Bay’s kiddie shrinks?

  “Let’s face it, Bly. No one’s coming to our open house. In fact, all the students we already have—I’m pretty sure they won’t be coming back after this.”

  “Brenna, those kids love you.”

  “Maybe they love judo. I hope they love judo. But once their parents hear about this, once they hear that I’m a crazy, cupcake-touting has-been—”

  “Brenna Battle, you are not a has-been!”

  No, I wasn’t a has-been. I was a failure. A never-been. Argh! But Blythe was blinking back tears.

  I grabbed her hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. How about some brownies? Frosted brownies. With nuts?”

  Blythe sniffed in her dignified, I’m-Done-Crying-Now way. “Yes, I think some chocolate is definitely in order.”

  19

  I lugged a big sports thermos full of ice and lemonade down the stairs to the dojo, while Blythe opened and shut the doors for me. We’d skulked back to Cherry Wood after the kids were dismissed, to roll up our mat and haul it back it the pickup, and now we were getting ready for our free trial/ demo. We’d brought our kitchen table down from the apartment and Blythe had covered it with a purple table cloth. I’d vetoed pink. She’d covered some small cardboard boxes with pretty wrapping paper and arranged plates full of cupcakes on top of them and all around them, making sure there was a good sense of “depth” and “balance.” Whatever. I’d frosted the cupcakes, very generously. With whipped chocolate frosting. At Blythe’s insistence, we’d included some vanilla frosted cupcakes “in case someone doesn’t like chocolate.” Vanilla cupcakes are yummy too, but if you ask me, anyone who truly doesn’t like chocolate is seriously suspect.

  “Cups!” Blythe cried.

  “Upstairs, on the kitchen counter, I think.” I pulled the thermos to the edge of the table, so the kids could fit their cups under the spout.

  Blythe ran upstairs for the cups. I positioned the cute little pink lemonade sign Blythe had made on card stock next to the thermos, and then I took advantage of the opportunity to pluck a chocolate cupcake from the back, where Blythe was sure not to miss it. I peeled off the fancy paper and took a great big bite.

  The front bell jangled, and Will Riggins entered, wearing his judo pants and a hoodie, his judo bag slung over his shoulder. I turned my back so I could stuff the rest of the cupcake in my mouth, then I grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped the frosting off my fingers. Thanks to Will’s untimely entrance, I couldn’t lick them.

  I raised a hand to greet Will, but I was still chewing.

  Will smirked at me. What? Was there chocolate on my face? I grabbed another napkin and wiped more aggressively around my mouth.

  “I heard you put on quite the show at Cherry Orchard today.”

  I swear, those were the first words out of his mouth. I just about threw the chocolately napkin at him. Must he delight in my utter humiliation? Some women might have pouted or gotten a little weepy. Or perhaps, just turned beet red with embarrassment. Not me. I briefly considered a clever retort, then realized I had the perfect come-back. I shrugged and casually tossed the napkin into the garbage can. “Get your gi on and let’s get a few practice throws in before everyone shows up,” I said curtly.

  “Okay.” Riggins looked a little confused. Like he might even be considering an apology, but was unsure whether his little jab had offended me, or maybe whether he wanted it to offend me.

  No matter. It would all be perfectly clear in a minute. As soon as I got his pretty little posterior on the mat.

  When Riggins was ready, I bowed. I smiled. I did a few uchikomi, or entries to throws, without the finish. And then I completed one throw. The pull was perfect. The timing was impeccable. He flew forward, over my extended leg and onto his back with a beautiful tai-otoshi throw. I have a killer tai-otoshi, and when I nail it, I can just feel the perfection like a glorious sweetness in every cell of my body, something like the “Hallelujah” chorus in Handel’s Messiah.

  The air flew out of Riggins’s lungs with the thunder of the throw. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blythe standing near the table. Her arms flew up in the air, releasi
ng a flurry of multicolored paper cups. A real confetti-like accent to the occasion, if you ask me.

  “Brenna!” she gasped.

  But it was hard to hear her over the Hallelujah! of the moment.

  Riggins moaned a little. He took a few shallow breaths. I watched him and smiled. Man, that felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d thrown someone as hard as I could. I rarely did so with anyone who wasn’t truly high caliber, but Riggins was a pretty big guy with a good seventy-five pounds on me. That should make up for it some. He staggered to his feet and as he straightened, his back popped. He looked down, wincing and rubbing his back.

  “Oops! I guess I put a little too much power into that one. You’re not quite as heavy as you look.” I smiled with mock sweetness.

  Riggins lifted his head. He smiled. That magnificent—or was it maleficent? I couldn’t decide—smile that dimpled his cheeks and lit up his eyes. “Wow. I knew you were good, but … ”

  I eyed him, trying to figure out if he was just trying to burst my bubble by not reacting. But he just looked … impressed. Genuinely impressed. My elation morphed into self-consciousness. And dumb intoxication with the look in his eyes. And the dimples. The dimples!

  “Um, thanks. And sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to call you fat.”

  He glanced down at his perfect abs, then grinned at me. “Of course you did.” There was enough of a mock in his voice to make it clear. He knew I didn’t think he was fat.

  He knew he was a pile of rock solid perfection. Stupid puffed-up jock! Maybe I should’ve trusted my first impression of the guy. Okay, so Will Riggins wasn’t stupid, except when it came to Harvey …

  Why did Will Riggins do this to me? Why couldn’t my trusty creep-o-meter have warned me about him from the get-go?

  Before I could think of what to say, how to even feel about Will Riggins, a couple of my judo kids came in the door, accompanied by their parents. They were dressed in their gis and ready to be part of my demonstration. Soon the rest of them would be here too. Unless their parents had all gotten wind of the disaster that will be known hereafter as the Cherry Orchard Demon Child Debacle. Little Ashtyn and Lucy, the two who’d shown up, were only four. They weren’t in school yet, and had been spared the C.O.D.C.D.

  I smiled fondly, a little sadly, at the girls, and put an arm around each of them. “Thanks for coming!” I said. We might have a lot of cupcakes to eat together, these little ones and me.

  20

  Katie ran straight to me and threw her arms around me, casting all fear of humiliation aside. “I’m sorry about what happened at the school today.”

  “Oh, well, I told you I do stupid things, right?”

  “It’ll be okay, Sensei Brenna.”

  Maybe she was right.

  All my kids had come, except for Sammi. Thank God I had them. At least, if no one showed up, they could put on a little show for their parents. As for Sammi, I guess the C.O.D.C.D. had humiliated her beyond belief.

  Sammi and Katie had reached a sort of understanding. Sammi had so far obeyed my mandate to never speak of the Christmas pageant that had ended Katie’s stint in ballet. To my surprise and relief, Sammi was very patient with Katie, who struggled and lagged behind the other girls. I think what Sammi got out of Katie’s catastrophic meeting with the window, was how her mother had never looked back, never noticed. Sammi could relate to that, I think. I hoped she’d be back. The Bonney Bay Battlers just wouldn’t be the same without her.

  The door bell jingled again. It wasn’t Sammi, but the first newcomer had shown up—Jill, Harvey’s neighbor with the perky blond ponytail.

  “My kids said there was a funny judo lady putting on a show. With free cupcakes. I figured that must be you.” Jill’s smile was friendly. I was starting to like this lady.

  “Yes, well, I do much better with smaller groups of kids. And —”

  “And cupcakes!” one of the boys piped up.

  “And cupcakes,” I agreed.

  I was itching to ask Jill about Harvey, but more families were arriving. We ended up with about fifteen interested kids coming with their parents. I’m not sure whether they were really interested in judo, or in the crazy lady, or … cupcakes. Whatever. They were here, and now they were going to see some judo. I was determined to get at least a few of them to try it. Once they tried it, they’d love it.

  My judo kids all looked sharp in their white judo gis. Well, if you didn’t look too close. Only one of them sported a red juice dribble down his front, only two had their pants on backward, and only a couple of them sported grass stains on their knees. I had them all paired up, and they took turns coming to the front and demonstrating a pin or a throw on their partners. The parents clapped, and most of the guests paid attention.

  “Now it’s time for ‘Throw the Cop’” Blythe announced.

  Right on cue, Riggins came out, wearing a pair of classic mirrored sunglasses. He took them off with a flourish, gave the audience a theatrical scowl, and bowed onto the mat. I caught myself smiling and quickly corrected it to a matching scowl. He charged at me, and I threw him over my shoulder. No tai-otoshi this time. A nice ippon seoi nage instead.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Come on! You can throw him harder than that!” some guy yelled.

  Riggins pointed an accusatory finger at him. It was one of the guys I’d met at the Police Athletic Club judo practice. He’d probably come to watch his friend suffer.

  “Harder! Harder!” the kids began to chant.

  Riggins and I locked eyes for a second. Yes, I could throw him a lot harder than that, and we both knew it. Oh, the glorious bit of fear I’d put in those deep, brown eyes! It made my heart sing. Yes, I am an awful, awful person.

  I shook my head. “I’ll leave that to you guys,” I said to the kids. “You kids, too!” I gestured at all the kids who were seated off the mat, watching. “Just take your shoes off by the side of the mat, and line up to throw Officer Riggins.”

  No, I wasn’t getting soft. Now that I’d gotten my glorious taste of pay-back, I was determined to be nice to Riggins tonight. Not just to show my gratitude for him coming here. Certainly not because it pained my heart to think he might be mad at me. Nope. I needed to milk some more information out of him about the murder case. Also, I really didn’t want to kill the guy. How could I help Harvey if I was in jail for murder myself?

  I waited a second. No one moved. Not one kid. Even my Bonney Bay Battlers. They looked at Riggins, then looked around at the kids next to them. Some of them pretended to be fascinated with their feet. Okay, some of them truly were fascinated with their feet, but typically in class, that was just Charles, a freckled seven-year-old who had trouble focusing on anything else.

  It seemed everyone was eager to let someone else throw the cop, but no one wanted to get in on the action. I still wasn’t allowed to take falls, with my recent concussion and my over-protective sister hovering over my every move, but my kids had thrown Blythe at practice many times. Yet, for some reason, they seemed to think they couldn’t throw Will. I don’t know, maybe it was because he was six-one and about one-ninety instead of five-five and a buck twenty-five. The kids were still so new to judo, they didn’t really get that Will could take a fall for them just as well as Blythe could. Maybe they were also afraid they’d mess up and end up getting crushed.

  “Well!” Blythe said, “I’m sure you all noticed those yummy cupcakes.” She pointed at the table.

  Little heads turned in sync, drawn by the lure of sugar. Their noses sniffed the chocolately air. The delicate aromas of vanilla and the mild fruitiness of pink lemonade layered beneath the more powerful, crown jewel of cocoa. I almost moved to start the stampede for the table, but then I experienced one of those sort of lightning-strike moments of sheer genius.

  “Not yet,” I whispered to Blythe. “I have a plan. Hold those out so the kids can see them, but don’t let them have any. Grab a plate and bring it right to the edge of the mat.”

  Blythe
scrunched her nose at me, but then she did as instructed.

  “We have a cupcake for each kid who throws Officer Riggins!” I said. “And an extra cupcake for whoever throws him the hardest!”

  There was a murmur of excitement, but no one seemed to be making a move—except for a small ripple in the crowd.

  “Excuse me,” a young voice said. “Coming through.”

  Sammi emerged, all gi-ed up. She made a hasty bow onto the mat, and walked right up to Will, eyes shining with the hope of revenge. She was no fan of Will Riggins or the Bonney Bay PD in general. Uh-Oh. I hoped Will had recovered from my throw, because this kid was about to put everything she had into pounding him through the mat.

  She grabbed his sleeve, hooked her arm around his waist, and threw him over her hip to the mat. There was a collective “Ooh!” from the kids and a gasp from the adults. The impact reverberated through the wood floor beneath the mat. Will got right back up and gave Sammi a bow. I’m pretty sure Sammi’s shadow of a smile was due to the satisfaction that she’d caused Will some serious discomfort, and not because of the hearty round of applause from the crowd. She took a cupcake from Blythe and bit into it triumphantly.

  Soon I had a line of cupcake-and-glory-craving kids waiting to toss Officer Riggins. I coached my younger Battlers, and several kids who’d never been on the mat before, through how to take Riggins down. I must say, his rear end bounced rather nicely on the mat each time he fell.

  At the end of the night, we ended up with a blanket of sprinkles and crumbs all over the dojo floor and the mat, and a dozen more kids signed up for judo. Not bad. I endured many jabs about the C.W.D.C.D., but most of them seemed good-natured. I guess if I’d managed to discourage all the Bonney Bay-ans without a sense of humor from showing up, that wasn’t a totally bad thing. I managed to fake laughing at myself. Maybe I was going to have to get used to being the lovable new clown in town. Or else, you know, stop doing idiotic things in public.