Death Warmed Over

by Kate Flora

  I turned to Mrs. Ainsley. "Charlotte, is there anyone here from Johnny Gordon's family?"

  Talk about theatrical timing. At that moment, Reeve returned, pushing a chair and trailing a majestic African-American woman. She said, "I'm here for Johnny Gordon." She nodded to me and said, "Ms. Kozak."

  It took all my newly acquired command presence to keep from rushing up and hugging her. Johnny Gordon's representative was none other than my friend Jonetta. A woman who had more presence than everyone else in here put together. And one of the few people in my circle who makes me feel petite. I guess she hadn't been able to find someone to represent the boy and decided to come herself.

  "Jonetta Williamson," she said, crossing directly to Charlotte Ainsley and holding out her hand. They would know each other. The independent school world was a small one.

  I did not grin or do a happy dance. I remained standing to ensure that everyone continued to behave themselves until some chairs were shifted and Jonetta was seated. But I was oh-so-happy that Flash Gordon had someone in his camp who could hold her own against Alyce's team.

  When Jonetta was seated and Reeve was back in his chair, I said, "Let me lay out the facts as they are known to us." I listed our findings, based on interviews with Alyce, Johnny, and Nina. Across the table, Joel's hands were knotted together so tightly his knuckles were white, and there were thin tendrils of steam coming out his ears.

  I'd barely begun to describe what Alyce had said about the source of the drugs and her statement that they were not on the federal list when Davenport said, "Objection," like he was in court.

  I'm not just a cop's wife. I'm a lawyer's daughter. I gave him a sweet smile. "Not a court of law, Mr. Davenport. Please let me finish."

  He wasn't going to. He wanted—or needed—to impress his client. So he started to explain his objection. I looked at Mrs. Ainsley. She nodded and said, "Mr. Davenport. This is a boardroom, not a courtroom, and we have asked Ms. Kozak to assist us by laying out the facts as they have been told to us by our students. Please allow her to finish."

  Perfectly polite. For this round. Davenport might have pit bull qualities, but he wasn't a fool. He held his tongue and I finished. Finished with the facts and then laid out the proposal for the on-campus suspension, and what that entailed. I was afraid, from Joel's dismissive attitude, that he was going to intervene here, destroying our unified front, and giving Alyce's parents leverage. But he held his tongue, and once I'd described it in greater detail than Reeve had, and why it was the best remedy under the circumstances, Mrs. Ainsley was firmly in favor, and the board followed her lead.

  Then it was Crimmons's turn. I could see that he wanted to object. To argue for his little girl's innocence. It was obvious that his plan had been to put the blame on Johnny Gordon and claim the boy had led his daughter astray. That wasn't so easy in the face of his daughter's own statements, especially now that Jonetta was here. Instead, he and his lawyer excused themselves and left to room to have a private discussion. I wasn't sure what they would be discussing. The board had already voted.

  There was still plenty to negotiate, of course—what would be said to the press and the rest of the parents, what would be shared with the student body. There was the all-important question of what would go into Alyce's and Johnny's school records, whether this could have an impact on college decisions and how that might be averted. Many colleges had a requirement of good character. One they waived all the time with respect to desired athletes, but sometimes applied to other applicants. I assumed that that was what they were discussing. But who knew?

  Mrs. Crimmons, in a fussy low-cut animal print blouse and a leather pencil skirt, stayed behind. She was as beautiful for her age as money could buy, with no discernible wrinkles and a forehead that didn't move even when she frowned. She seemed unconcerned about her daughter's fate. Oblivious to the room full of people who were having a meeting, she fiddled with her phone, texting like a teen without social skills and occasionally flipping back an errant curl, her stack of bracelets jingling. She had not said a single word to anyone.

  I couldn't resist being a little wicked. "Mrs. Crimmons," I said, "you understand the alternative to our proposal is that Alyce is suspended and sent home, possibly even until the end of the semester. She's admitted to procuring the drugs and bringing them on campus. She'll need structure and supervision from you and Dr. Crimmons, of course."

  The mascaraed eyes rose from her phone and stared at me in alarm. She still didn't say anything. She just pushed back her chair and teetered out of the room on her shiny red platform stilettos.

  Seriously, now. Who wears red patent stilettos and a plunging blouse to a solemn occasion concerning her daughter's future? A daughter who is a senior in high school with her college admission at stake? A daughter on the verge of being suspended, if not expelled, from school for selling drugs?

  Jonetta, who was sitting beside Joel and getting scalded by the steam coming from his ears, smiled across the table at me. Then she took in the whole table with her smile. "Why do I get the impression that Mr. Crimmons and Mr. Davenport think this decision—any of these decisions—belong only to them?" she said. "I don't believe I've heard Jonathan Gordon's name mentioned at all, except in Ms. Kozak's summary."

  Another smile. A dazzling smile. "You all do understand that Johnny Gordon's future is at stake as well. Short term and long term? And that the Johnny Gordons of the world have far fewer options than Alyce Crimmons?"

  She gestured toward the door. "I'm wondering whether I should be huddled outside with them. Or whether I should hold off raising Johnny's interests until they've returned?"

  Mrs. Ainsley's smile was smaller, but no less genuine. "We haven't forgotten about Flash, Jonetta."

  I was surprised, and pleased, to hear her use his nickname.

  One of the men said, "Flash?"

  "Johnny Gordon's nickname."

  The clock was running, and we had other things to deal with. What we would tell the parents. The press. The students. A meeting with the police chief later. "While we're waiting, could we use the time to discuss some of our damage control strategies?" I said.

  There was a chorus of affirmation. They were busy people, too, with jobs to get back to.

  "With respect to the students, Reeve and I have discussed a strategy for..."

  "Hold on a minute," Joel interrupted. "I'm the head of school, not Reeve, and I haven't been consulted about any strategies."

  I avoided doing a rude eye roll only by bending down and digging in my bag for a tissue. Let Mrs. Ainsley handle this one. I was tired and hungry. I'd left without breakfast. The drive had been long and grueling, and since I'd arrived, no one had offered so much as a cup of coffee. Usually I asked for things like that to be provided when we had a long meeting like this, but I'd been too busy putting Reeve back together. I was grateful when Mrs. Ainsley and a severe looking man who seemed to be her second in command reminded Joel that it was his own fault he'd been out of the loop, and she indicated that Reeve should explain.

  He did a decent job of describing why he'd hired Glen Stryker and why he thought the press ought to be invited to that presentation, and the board approved. We moved on to handling the parents and the press and got through most of that as well with no sign of the Crimmonses or their lawyer returning. Once or twice there had been raised voices, mostly hers, but that was all.

  Finally, Jonetta said, "I'm sorry, but I have a school to run. So let me speak for Johnny, if I may. First, let me say that he is deeply sorry for the trouble he's caused and for breaking school rules. I hope that you will agree with me, given his record as a good citizen in this community, that this behavior is very much out of character. Second, he is willing to accept any punishment the school deems appropriate, but his preference is for that on-campus suspension the board has chosen, so he can finish his work for the year without losing a semester."

  Her eyes circled the table. "I think you all know that Johnny is here on a scholarship.
He needs that in order to remain at the school. He has asked me to say that he hopes you will not regard this breach as a reason to take that away from him."

  She hesitated. "I believe the words he used, when we spoke, were 'throwing himself on your mercy.' And he needs your mercy. Attending Stafford is a great opportunity for him and he wants you to know he appreciates it. We all know that children—and teenagers are still children—make mistakes. The important thing is that they learn from those mistakes, and that we handle punishments in a way that is rigorous without being unnecessarily cruel. I believe Johnny has learned his lesson. He's contrite and willing to take whatever punishment you choose."

  I could see she wanted to say more. Wanted to tell them about Johnny. His background. How he would be the first person in his family to go to college, if this didn't trip him up. How he was trying to be a role model for his younger brothers and sisters, and the impact an expulsion or a loss of his scholarship would have on the entire family. But she held her tongue. She didn't want to guilt the board into making the right decision on preserving Johnny's scholarship. She wanted them to find their own way there.

  Oh. Jonetta. She's given her life to educating children with limited opportunities. She could have told them a hundred stories about how education and compassion had made a difference. How forgiveness and firm guidance could change lives. I wondered if Johnny had given her particular instructions. If he hadn't wanted to appear as a charity case in front of Alyce's parents. Compassion, and Jonetta, carried the day for Johnny. The board made some quick decisions about how we would proceed, and delegated the remaining questions—the ones the Crimmonses and their attorney were presumably discussing—to Mrs. Ainsley and Joel to decide.

  Then, without ever seeing Dr. and Mrs. Crimmons or Henry Davenport III again, the Board adjourned and went to lunch.

  Chapter 14

  I was so hungry I was actually feeling lightheaded, something Jonetta didn't miss. She's used to my bad habit of forgetting to eat. While Charlotte Ainsley and her board headed off for a congenial lunch, and Joel dragged Reeve away, pointedly ignoring me, Jonetta grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into a corner.

  "Lunch," she said. It was not a question.

  I tried to argue that I had too much on my plate. But none of it was food. And truth be told, no one functions well without the occasional meal. I'd been working since before five a.m. It was now after noon. Besides, only a fool would pass up a chance to have lunch with Jonetta.

  On the other hand, the police chief was coming in half an hour, and while I hadn't been formally invited to the meeting, I was going to be there. I expected that would involve some jockeying with Joel. There was no place I knew of where we could get, and eat, lunch in half an hour. Sadly, I told her that.

  "Not a problem," she said, patting her capacious bag. "I know you, remember? And by now, you should know me. They give you an office to work in?"

  They hadn't. But we now had the conference room to ourselves, so we settled back into the comfortable chairs, I got us some coffee from the elegant silver urns, and Jonetta produced two huge sandwiches—veggies and cheese—and a stack of napkins from her bag. I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I have are the best.

  Jonetta has a singer's timing. She knows just when to start and what note to start on. She waited quietly while we ate, like she had all the time in the world, and then she surprised me. "Something's happened to you," she said. "Something bad."

  Jonetta knows me too well. She's been around for some pretty bad stuff. She knows I'm tough as nails. I can stare down lawyers and bullies and bad guys. But now I threw myself into her arms. "My realtor. Someone killed her. I found the body. Only she was still alive and I tried to save her and I couldn't and it was awful. More awful than anything. It just happened yesterday. It turns out no one knows who she really is and they have no suspects and the cops keep asking me questions I can't answer. And even when they're not, I just can't get it... get her out of my head."

  Jonetta's strong arms closed around me and she rocked me like a baby. I felt like a baby. Like there was something wrong with me that I couldn't handle this by myself. And like a baby in that it is amazing how comforting a reassuring hug from strong arms can be.

  "Of course you can't get it out of your head," she said. "What kind of person would you be if you could? If you could just brush it off like it didn't matter? Like the victim didn't matter. Were you close?"

  "Not really. I liked her. It's... what I'm upset about... it's not about losing a friend, I didn't know her that well, though I liked her. It's about knowing that someone could do something so awful to another person. It's about the horror of it."

  I was babbling and couldn't stop. "And the bad guy. He knows my name. He knows where I work. He called me on her phone. He has my number... and even if I could forget or move on, the cops won't let me. They want me to help them. They keep asking me questions like I knew her really well. Because she was so secretive no one knew her really well."

  The rocking went on, slow and soothing. "About the bad guys. You've got Andre," she said. "He's not going to let anything happen to you."

  "But he's always working, Jonetta."

  "And you're not? I thought you two were going to do something about that?"

  "We were. Are. It's just..."

  "It's just nothing. You want it, you do it. How you ever gonna have yourselves a baby when you never slow down? Babies are smart, Thea. They know there isn't any sense in coming to you. You haven't got time for them."

  I could have argued with her. All kinds of people had babies. People who had too many already. People who were too young. Too old. Too sick. People who didn't want them. But somehow, her words felt right. For me. For us. Andre and I weren't making space for the baby we wanted so much. Wasn't it just possible that that was why it hadn't happened?

  I never wanted Jonetta to leave. She had command presence, for sure. She also had the most compassionate presence I've ever known. Why would I want to leave here, where I felt safe and comforted, and go tangle with Joel's stupid arrogance? Buck Reeve up again. Handle another ugly crisis. I didn't wanna. Nor did I want to attend to my dancing phone.

  "Go away someplace. You and Andre," she said. "Take some time for yourselves and just relax."

  Another vote for that elusive vacation. Just as soon as we got some things under control. But that was the trouble. There would always be something else.

  As if she was reading my mind, she said, "There's always more work, Thea. You've got to make time to play. And recover. Acknowledge how much experiences like yesterday take out of you and give yourself a chance to heal."

  Reluctantly, her arms unwrapped. "I hate to leave you. I don't trust that you're not going to get yourself in even deeper. Because..."

  "...that's what I do," I said, finishing her sentence.

  She nodded. "Because that's what you do. Solve problems. Right wrongs. Take care of the little people who need someone to stand up for them. What you forget, despite personal evidence to the contrary, is that these situations can be dangerous."

  That was me. The big sister. The caretaker. Thea the human tow truck. Always stopping to help those who had broken down on the highway of life.

  She might as well have been talking about herself.

  We threw our wrappings away and left the quiet of the conference room. Time to move on. Before we parted, she said, "You'll keep an eye on things, right? Make sure they don't backtrack on the on-campus suspension for Johnny once I'm out the door?"

  I didn't think they would. The board had decided, but stranger things had happened. "I will."

  She hugged me again and swept away. Regal. Powerful. Amazing.

  * * *

  I took another quick break in the ladies' room, trying not to stare at the girl who looked like Ginger and failing miserably. I wanted to talk to her. Ask her who she was. I wanted to never see or think about Ginger again. I was uncharacteristically a mass of emotions. I needed a better
lockbox for my mind.

  I splashed cold water on my face. There was no improvement. I looked like a tired, overworked woman who wanted to be somewhere else. Someday I'm going to learn to wear makeup. Those who do swear they can change their appearance. I wanted the magic formula in a bottle that made me look rested, eager, authoritative, and youthful. Only a fool believes such a thing exists. What makes someone look rested, eager, and youthful is being rested. Feeling eager instead of always gearing up for battle. And being young. Maybe attitude readjustment would help, though.

  I returned seven phone calls, including one from my secretary, Brianna, my third secretary in six months, running down my mail in case there was anything I wanted her to handle. She concluded with, "I put the LL Bean package on your desk." I had an idea what that was. In one of the calls from my mother that I hadn't yet returned, she'd said she was sending me something.

  Then it was on to Bobby. I calmed him down about the data that had never arrived. I called the client school, actually found the person who was supposed to have sent the data, and asked him where it was. Got the hesitant, bullcrap response that he was having computer issues. I said I was sending a letter for his signature, extending the deadline on the report. I said it wasn't negotiable. I reminded him they needed the report for their annual meeting and that the delay was on their end. We needed the data to write it. They would have the report two days after that data arrived. He was so surprised by my forcefulness he agreed. I called Bobby back with the good news.

  I checked in with Suzanne to see how she was doing. Not well. Neither of us understands the concept of rest. I called the office and sent Magda over to help.

  It was four p.m. before I next picked my head up. We'd gotten a lot done. The police chief had been a model of reason and cooperation. I'd only clashed with Joel half a dozen times and only restrained myself from physical violence once.

  I'd done what I came to do. Much as I would have liked to stay over and see Glen Stryker in action—I could have watched him count pennies and been entirely happy—I didn't need to. Things were under control. I stuffed my work into my briefcase, said goodbye to Joel, grinning at his barely masked hope that he'd never see me again—and Reeve courteously walked me out.