Free 2 Death Makes the Cut by Janice Hamrick

the aisle, thinking they were done, but Pat bent suddenly, leaning close to Nancy’s head, and I heard the words, “You better take care of it fast. That much money is going to be noticed.”
    She sidled out of the row, then stalked past me up the aisle, giving me a sharp glance from her silvery blue eyes. Nancy sat very still for a long moment, then began shuffling through a sheaf of papers, pulling her reading glasses from her head where they’d been perched like a headband. I wondered how she could see anything at all in the dim light.
    I slipped into the seat beside her.
    “Hi, Nancy,” I said.
    She must have seen me, but she gave a theatrical little jump anyway and said, “Ah. Jocelyn.” She glanced from me, up to the stage, and back down to her papers as though trying to decide where to focus her attention. Somehow, I didn’t think I was her first choice.
    I decided to get right to the point. “I need to talk to you about McKenzie Mills.”
    Nancy gave me the unblinking stare of a python confronted by a medium-sized monkey and wondering if it could be consumed.
    “McKenzie Mills,” I repeated. “She’s in your musical, but she’s also on the tennis team. Did Coach Fred have a chance to talk to you about her?”
    Her eyes slid away from me again. I waited. I passed the time by wondering why she insisted on dyeing her hair black. It could not have looked more unnatural if she had chosen bright blue. And the way the short wisps stuck out on the top reminded me more than a little of Ursula the Sea Witch. Come to think of it, the puffy bosom and flowing caftan also added to the impression.
    Eventually, she said, “Coach Fred? No, I haven’t spoken with him at all this year. What’s this about?”
    “McKenzie Mills,” I said for the third time, starting to feel frustrated. “She’s in your play,” I reminded her. At that moment McKenzie crossed the stage to join the other girls around Roland, her blond hair almost as bright as his under the lights. “Look. Right up there. In the pink shirt.”
    The basilisk stare flicked that way. “Oh. Yes, of course. What about her?”
    “She’s on the tennis team. She said that you told her she had to quit the team if she wanted to be in the musical.”
    Nancy’s attention finally focused. She sat up a little straighter and the bulldog expression returned to her eyes and jaw. “Yes, that’s right. I can’t have my actors running late and being distracted by other obligations.”
    “I’m coach of the tennis team now. I’m here to work out a compromise so that McKenzie doesn’t have to give up her eighth-period class to be able to participate in the drama club. I’ve already told her that she can skip the additional after-school practice and the tournaments for the duration of the play. There shouldn’t be any reason that she can’t continue with both.” I smiled as pleasantly as I could, bracing for the push-back.
    “The girl has a very large part. She’s one of the Sateens.” Nancy said it as though it would mean something to me. My expression must have convinced her otherwise, because she went on. “She’s playing Sateen in two of the performances. The lead role.”
    I still had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn’t matter. “Yes. Well, that’s terrific. That’s still no reason she has to give up tennis. She will be at rehearsal, ready to go at 4:40, just like everyone else.”
    “Drama kids are required to be present in the theater room at four thirty,” she snapped.
    I had her on this. “Official time for after-school practice is four forty. That gives the students time to put their books away or to shower after phys ed.”
    “Which is why McKenzie can’t be in tennis. She has to be in the theater room at four thirty.”
    I drew a slow breath, willing myself not to reach out and strangle this woman. “Nancy, I’m here to ask you to make an exception for my player.” She opened her mouth to refuse, but I held up a hand.