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She held up her hand. “Peruvian?” She scoffed disdainfully. “You must have an affinity for dirt and tasteless swill. If it’s real flavor you’re looking for, there’s nothing like the recipes my mother taught me. Real, authentic, Ecuadorian recipes.”
She went on to describe some of the more savory aspects of Ecuadorian cuisine over Peruvian while he followed her into the Crimson Press room. Allie was fiddling with the video camera, and when she looked up to see him, her face froze in dismay. He pretended not to notice.
Over the next few minutes, as his conversation with Señora Sanchez continued, Allie’s countenance went from dismayed to decidedly annoyed. She kept clucking and sighing and clearing her throat. He was delaying her interview—or whatever this was—and she was not pleased.
He smiled and nodded at the señora to continue the recipe she was describing. “Tomato paste with the chipotle peppers. That’s the secret if you want to give your sauce some kick,” she said.
Allie cleared her throat. Again. And interrupted. “If you’re ready, Señora Sanchez, we could get started. I’m sure you have a busy schedule.”
“I’ll definitely give it a try. Thanks for the tips.” Sam stood, sticking his hands in his pockets.
But he wasn’t about to leave the room until he knew for sure what Allie was up to. With her gaze following him, he crossed the floor and headed to the computer behind her. He booted it up and glanced up to see her gritting her teeth. Her eyes shot daggers at him before she turned back to Señora Sanchez. Tsk tsk. He was a school newspaper advisor, too. No way to toss him out.
He smiled to himself.
Allie cleared her throat, a little more self-consciously this time. “Thanks again for taking the time to meet with me on such short notice.”
The señora inclined her head, like a queen to a royal subject. “My pleasure.”
Allie began the interview. “When did you come on board at St. Andrew’s?”
“Oh, dear,” Señora Sanchez glanced over at Sam. “Pretend you’re not listening, Sam. I’m afraid I’m going to age myself. I joined the faculty almost…thirty years ago.”
“And you worked with Mr. Williams? Isn’t that correct?”
“Mr. Williams started a few years after I did. Teaching the same subjects as you two. English.” Señora Sanchez grimaced over the last word.
“What can you tell me about Jackson Williams? What was he like to work with?” Allie asked.
“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Ms. McBride.” She looked indulgently over at Allie. Her tone held a hint of condescension. “I was never particularly close to Mr. Williams. I passed him in the faculty lounge—much as you and I do every day—but other than that, I never really interacted with him. I saw no reason to, quite frankly. We were so different, had different interests.”
“Help me out here, Señora,” Allie said in an imploring tone. “You can’t think of one thing, one observation from his time at St. Andrew’s?”
Señora Sanchez looked at Sam, a strange glint entering her golden brown eyes. She turned back to Allie. “I don’t like speaking ill of anyone, least of all the dead. But Mr. Williams was not the most discreet or honorable of men as you seem to think, Ms. McBride. I know for a
fact Jackson Williams had been carrying on with one of the parents here at St. Andrew’s. Despite the fact she was married.”
“Mr. Williams? Had an affair?” Allie looked more than skeptical. “With whom?”
“I’ve already said too much.” Señora Sanchez pressed her lips firmly closed. She delivered another indulgent smile to Allie and a wider smile to Sam, holding his gaze a few more seconds.
Was she trying to tell him something? For a reason he couldn’t quite name, he felt uneasy.
With a flourish of her hand, Señora finished, “I will try and remember what I can, and if I do, I will tell you. But that is all I recall.” She came to her feet, and Allie offered a half-hearted thanks.
After the clicking of heels told him Señora Sanchez had left, Sam glanced at Allie, who turned the camera off, sat down at the computer opposite him, and stuck a thumb drive into it.
“That was a bust,” Sam drawled, watching her carefully. “If you hoped to get footage for your video, that is.”
She shrugged, keeping her attention on the computer screen. “It served its purpose.”
“What did you think about her claim that Mr. Williams was having an affair with one of the parents?” Had Allie noticed the way the woman was almost implying something…something to him? Though, what it could be, he couldn’t fathom.
This time, she sighed dramatically and met his gaze. “Mr. Williams wasn’t some sneaky womanizer, no matter how Señora Sanchez was trying to paint him.”
So Allie hadn’t picked up on anything. Maybe it was just his imagination. Still…
“Who’ve you got so far?” Sam asked, trying to get his mind off his niggling unease.
