by J. D. Robb
“You will watch your tone in my office.”
“No, I won’t. I’m not one of your students or underlings, I’m a New York City police detective, and a New York City cop knows a lying sack when she sees one. So don’t think you’re going to sit there and insult my family, my vocation, or my lieutenant. You aren’t worthy to wipe the boots she’ll kick your ass with.”
When Grange pushed to her feet, so did Eve. And angled between them. “Peabody.”
“I will have your badge!”
“Oh yeah.” Now Peabody sneered. “Try it, sister.”
“Detective Peabody!” Eve added a little elbow poke. “Take a walk. Take a walk, now, Detective.”
With considerable effort, Peabody stepped back. “Yes, sir.”
When Peabody stalked out, Grange turned on Eve. “If you can’t control your subordinates any better than that—”
“Detective Peabody is my partner, and you’re going to be careful, really careful, with what you say about my partner.”
“I want you out of my office and off campus, immediately.”
“No problem. I’ll be sure to address your lack of cooperation in a murder investigation with your board of trustees. I’m sure they’ll be interested,” Eve said as she started for the door. “Like they’re going to be interested in the fact I can and will confirm you were—what was it?—‘engaging in your sexual freedom,’ on school grounds, with subordinates. And quite possibly with parents—like, oh, Brent Whitt over there. Maybe students who struck your fancy when you weren’t ignoring students who didn’t strike your fancy when they were being bullied, threatened, and kicked around.”
“You’re no threat to me.”
“Keep thinking that, because this state-educated cop also went to the NYPSD Academy, and once on the force was trained by the best damn investigator in the department. Here’s a tip, Dr. Grange. You may want to consider retirement. Because I’m coming for you.”
She opened the door, kept it open so her words would carry out. “Oh, one more tip? I wouldn’t open any packages anytime soon. Discarded lovers can turn, and when they do, it gets ugly.”
She stepped out, closed the door.
Mulray sat absolutely still, eyes straight ahead.
“Brent Whitt,” she said, because Grange had gone just as still when Eve mentioned the name. “You think about that. Think about how you work for a liar who doesn’t care about anybody—that would sure as hell include you—as long as she comes out on top.”
Eve moved into the outer office, where both women sat with their mouths open and watched her cross to the door with wide, wide eyes.
As she continued, made the turn out, she watched a man stride briskly toward the headmaster’s office in his dark suit and shiny shoes.
The lawyer, Eve thought as she kept going. Well, Grange would need one, but Eve doubted if she’d end up with one representing the school.
When she stepped out, she saw Peabody pacing the visitor’s lot. Not clumping now, but stomping. And since every few seconds, Peabody waved her arms, shook a fist, Eve imagined her partner replayed the scene in Grange’s office—and added fresh, pithy things she should have said.
Very much still pissed, Eve concluded as she went down the stairs, moved along the walkway.
“So,” Eve began, “I think your intimidated pretense needs some work.”
“I’m sorry, okay?”
She didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
“I couldn’t maintain, not when she’s taking swipes at my family. Bad enough she started on you, but sure, you can handle yourself, but nobody gets away with saying shit like that about my parents, about the job, either. Nobody.”
Eve leaned back against the hood of the car, let Peabody stomp and rant.
“I mean, I don’t give a jumping damn if some asshole on the street calls me whatever, or some fucker in the box goes after me that way. But not my parents, making them sound like they, what, mistreated me or something. Like they’re idiots. And like you’re substandard because you didn’t go to some fancy school like this. Bullshit on that. Just bullshit.”
Eve waited a few seconds. “Are you done yet?”
“I guess.”
“Okay. We’re going to interview Hayward. While I’m driving, you can start the report of this interview for Whitney.”
“Oh God, the commander.” After squeezing her eyes shut, Peabody opened them toward heaven. “He’s going to give me such a slap.”
“Worry about that later. Once we’re finished here, we’ll complete the report on the shuttle home, send it to Whitney. So he can, in turn, notify the board of trustees that Headmaster Grange is a POI in our investigation, was not cooperative, and we have evidence that during her tenure at Gold she engaged in sexual congress, on school grounds, with a subordinate. We have evidence she routinely engaged in sexual activities outside her marriage and so on.”
“We’re going to do that?”
“Oh yeah, we are. We’re going to hit her board with the statements on bullying, cheating, sex, the works.”
“I’m starting to feel better.”
“Good, get in, get started.” Eve slid behind the wheel. “Because I intend to kick her ass with the boots she’s not worthy to wipe.”
Peabody gave a sheepish chuckle. “That was actually a pretty good one.”
“I liked it,” Eve said, and drove out of the lot.
16
Kendel Hayward’s showroom and offices were a pretty, peppy place with a pretty, peppy staff. It was, Eve thought, like being surrounded by a bunch of former cheerleaders.
Fortunately for Eve’s mental health, the head cheerleader currently in charge told her Kendel had appointments at home until three, when she needed to be on-site to supervise a load-in.
Still she had to drag Peabody away from a display of sample napkins of various colors, sizes, patterns.
“It’s a nice place,” Peabody said as they got back into the car. “Cheerful, energetic.”
“That kind of cheerful energy gives me a headache. Who goes into business to plan other people’s parties anyway? And why can’t you just get pizza and beer?”
“Sometimes you want the fancy.”
“Not if you’re sane. There was a whole deal in there for kids’ parties. Jesus, buy a cake, some kid food, have alcoholic beverages for the adults. Done.”
Since she was still thinking of her family, Peabody couldn’t really disagree. She remembered her own kid parties. They didn’t buy a cake. Somebody made it, and the kid food, and, yeah, even the adult beverages.
Good times.
Still …
“I think if you like parties—which definitely excludes you—planning them would be fun. Hayward’s probably good at it—like I said, cheerful place.”
“For all we know, Hayward lazes around her house, goes out to fancy lunches, gets her nails done or whatever while that bunch of obsessively peppy types do all the work.”
“That could be true. So … I’m coming to the part of the report where I didn’t maintain.”
“We’ll pick it up from there on the shuttle. This is Hayward’s street.”
Big, important houses stood well back from the road at the end of long drives—curved ones, circular ones, paved ones. Big, important trees with their leaves unfurled to a tender spring green spread or speared.
Ornamental shrubs showed hazes or open pops of color while lawns rolled, uniformly trimmed and green.
Eve turned into Hayward’s drive, paved in earthy brown hexagons, circled around an island shrubbery centered by a small tree with fountaining branches already blooming snowy white.
The house itself stood two stories with generous and gleaming windows in quiet brown brick, with stone terraces graced with dark bronze railings. A single story, almost entirely glass, shot off the left side. A garage with reflective doors shot off the other.
Eve parked in front of the deep portico at the entrance.
As she got out, a dog about t
he size of a football covered in puffy white fur raced around the glass-walled side of the house to bark like a maniac.
Since Eve figured she could have drop-kicked the dog a solid twenty yards through the goalposts, she just gave it a cool stare.
Peabody, in contrast, went into gooey mode.
“Oh, aren’t you cute? Aren’t you the cutest little thing? It’s okay, baby. What’s your name, baby?”
“If it tells you, I’ll strip naked and dance the hula right here.”
“Jeez, then I really wish she would.” Peabody crouched and made kissy noises.
The dog continued to bark, from a safe distance, but the ferocity eased. And it cocked its head as if considering its next move.
“You know, even dogs that size have teeth,” Eve pointed out. “Sharp little teeth.”
“She doesn’t bite!” A woman ran around the house, long, lustrous ponytail swinging. “Quiet, Lulu!”
Lulu gave one last piping bark, then subsided. Kendel Hayward, looking like the picture-perfect upper-class suburbanite in black yoga pants, pink tennis shoes, and a thin white cardigan over a pink sports tank, scooped the dog up.
“We were just out back. She must’ve heard your car.” Kendel gave Lulu a quick nuzzle. “She thinks she’s a guard dog,” she added with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, New York City Police and Security Department.” At the words, at the badge Eve held up, the smile on Kendel’s face faded.
“Is something wrong?”
“We’re investigating two homicides in New York connected to Theresa A. Gold Academy. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
“TAG? I don’t understand.”
“We’ll explain. Can we come in?”
“I…” Kendel glanced at the house, clutched the dog a little tighter. “Yes, I guess so. I graduated from there, but that was eight years ago. I’ve lived in East Washington for nearly five years. I don’t really know what I can tell you.”
But she walked toward the house, up the two steps to the portico, used the palm plate to unlock the door.
The atrium entrance soared with a curve of staircase to the right, a small sitting room to the left. A trio of prints—Eve recognized Parisian street scenes—graced the wall over the plush little two-seater sofa.
A central table held a pale green vase of fresh spring flowers.
She led the way back, into a large great room, with conversation areas in shades of blue, green, gray. The wall of glass doors at the back stood open to the spring air.
“Actually, would you mind if we sat out on the patio? Lulu really needs some outdoor time, and even though we have the invisible fence, I like to keep an eye on her.”
“That’s fine.”
“She’s really adorable,” Peabody commented.
“She’s so sweet. My fiancé gave her to me for my birthday last summer.”
When she put Lulu down on the smooth patio stones, the dog raced off for a little red ball. Came back, dropped it at Peabody’s feet.
“Does she want me to throw it?”
“Yeah, but I warn you, she can keep it up for an hour.”
“That’s all right.” Happy to oblige, Peabody tossed the ball.
“I was doing some work out here.” Kendel picked up a tablet, a tall glass, a folder. “I’ll just put this inside. I just made a pitcher of lemonade if you’d like some.”
Give her a minute to settle, Eve thought, and said, “That’d be great.”
The yard, where Peabody threw the ball, the dog chased the ball, held more important trees, more pretty shrubs and flowers, a couple of benches placed in strategic spots.
The patio boasted one of those outdoor kitchens under a vine-smothered pergola, another entertainment area with sofas most people would have been thrilled to place in their living rooms, deep chairs, tables.
Eve settled at the table where Kendel had worked, a kind of coffee in the morning, cocktails in the evening setup.
Kendel came back with a tray—glass pitcher with slices of actual lemon swimming in lemonade, a trio of tall glasses filled with ice. And a glass plate of what Eve thought of as girl cookies.
Small, thin, golden, and glossy.
After setting down the tray, Kendel smiled as the dog chased the ball. “Well, I did warn her. I’m nervous.” She sat. “I think anyone would be when police come to the door, especially about murder.”
“You graduated from Gold, but you haven’t heard about the murders?”
“I’ve been buried in work the last couple weeks. And to tell you the truth—might as well start out that way—I’ve worked really hard to put my years at TAG behind me.”
“Bad experience?”
“You could say that.” Kendel poured out the drinks. Ice crackled in the glasses. “I brought most of it on myself. Can you tell me who was killed? I don’t think I’d know any of the students—I didn’t have much to do with the younger ones. But I might remember some of the teachers.”
“Do you remember Dr. Rufty?”
Kendel let out a gasp, pressed a fist to her chest. “Oh no. No. He’s dead?”
“Not him. His husband.”
“Oh. I don’t think I knew his husband. I might’ve, but … I’m so sorry. Dr. Rufty gave me a second chance. I didn’t want it, didn’t appreciate it—not then anyway—but he gave it.”
“A chance for what?”
“Not to screw up my entire life,” she said as Peabody came back. “I was doing a good job of it up until then.”
Peabody picked up the dog, sat, ruffled white fur.
“She likes you.”
“It’s mutual.”
“How were you screwing up your life?” Eve asked.
“Bad choices, bad behavior, illegals, drinking, doing whatever I could to make those less popular suffer. I just reveled in being mean, spiteful, disruptive, destructive. I had rich parents, friends who had rich parents, and we got away with—I was going to say murder. We didn’t actually kill anyone, but we hurt plenty. When Dr. Rufty took over, it was come to Jesus.”
“You resented it?”
“At the time? You bet I did. And my parents. I’d been able to get away with that metaphorical murder because they didn’t know. My grades stayed reasonable—better than, as I pressured smarter kids to do the work. They thought my boyfriend at the time was great. Because he knew how to play the game. We all did.”
“Headmaster Grange knew about your behavior?”
“Sure she did. And why should I have changed it when there were no consequences? Then she left, Dr. Rufty came in. And boy, there were consequences.”
“Such as?”
“Detention, suspension—no more grading on a curve that had anything to do with how much my parents donated. In any case, once he had a conference with my parents, the hammer came down. I could straighten up, stay out of trouble, or I could be shipped off to a private girls’ school in England. I hurt them, my parents, when they were going through a hard time of their own. Maybe because they were. Anyway, the mask got ripped off, and they saw I’d been a liar and a cheat, a bully and a brat. I was basically under house arrest for the rest of the year.”
She stared into her glass. “God, I haven’t thought of all that for so long. It’s like another lifetime. I just don’t know how that lifetime has anything to do with Dr. Rufty’s husband.”
“Do you remember Jay Duran?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He taught language arts,” Peabody put in. “You had him in your junior and senior years.”
“Oh, Mr. Duran—I don’t think I ever knew his first name. Yes, I remember him, mostly because his were the only classes I actually liked.” She added a quick, self-deprecating smile. “Of course, I couldn’t let on I enjoyed them, got anything out of them, or I’d lose face. What happened?”
“His wife was murdered.”
Her eyes, direct on Eve’s, radiated distress, and bafflement. “I don’t understand
. I just don’t understand. It’s awful, it’s terrible, but I don’t understand.”
“We’re pursuing a line of inquiry. Who do you know from the transition period—Grange to Rufty—who would have carried a grudge for those consequences you spoke of?”
“God, probably half the school. No, not that much,” she corrected. “But plenty. Not just students, but some of the teachers, too, and plenty of the parents, I think. He changed the status quo—do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“We were used to having our way, and that stopped. A lot of the upperclassmen planned to go on to Ivy Leagues, and Rufty’s Rules—that’s what we called them—could have screwed with that. They probably did for some, I don’t know. Most of my group shattered—parents took their kids out, or did like mine and put the chains on.”
“Do you, or did you, keep in touch with that group?”
“From school?” Kendel let out a short laugh. “No. At first because I couldn’t. My parents took my ’link—can you imagine the horror of being a teenage girl without access to a ’link? It was hell. And they blocked communication from all my devices. Schoolwork only—which they checked. Constantly. I hated it, hated them. But I toed the line because they weren’t bluffing about that boarding school. I’ve never seen my father so angry, or my mother so horrified. Not before, not since.”
“After you got communication access again?”
“By then, I was done with it. I didn’t like school—I was never a great student—but I liked the peace. I liked not having to constantly think of something outrageous to do. I liked getting a decent grade on a project I’d actually done myself.”
Pausing, she studied her lemonade. “I owe my parents for that, and Dr. Rufty, and teachers like Mr. Duran. Second chances,” she said, looking back at Eve before she looked around her pretty yard.
“I’m here because of them. Do you know what I mean when a situation or a time can feel like the end of your world, then somehow becomes the making of it, and you?”
“Yeah.” Eve nodded. “I do. What did you do after you graduated?”
