by Kate Flora
“Sadly, I think that’s what she was trying to do here.”
There was a bit of flurry and bustle, some sad goodbyes, and then Dom and Rosie departed, followed shortly after by Andre. I was left alone with a full refrigerator, a draft client survey to give advice about, and a visit to the doctor. After that, I’d be checking in with Sarah and adding to my to-do list. I had a call scheduled at 4:00 with LaDonna to fill her in a little more about the situation at Eastern Shore Academy. I also had a long-time client who wanted me at their trustees’ meeting, so I had to consult with Sarah about schedules, along with a report to write, and a conference call tonight about branding.
Ah, the leisurely life. Tell people you’re a consultant and they immediately look bored, what Andre calls the “MEGO” effect, for My Eyes Glaze Over, but my life is far from boring. I’ve been trying to imagine how to make it more boring, so I can be a serene mother to MOC. Andre thinks that’s impossible.
I took a quick shower, pulled on a sleeveless linen tunic and black capris, and headed out to see my doctor. These visits felt pretty pro-forma, but I wasn’t taking any chances with MOC.
After spilling my coffee, MOC had settled down, and we were enjoying some quiet time together as I headed out to my Jeep. I climbed in and started backing down the driveway. Halfway down, my egress was blocked by a black SUV.
I’d been in such a good mood, too. Now, the jerk who was climbing out the driver’s side, the same one who’d annoyed us last night, was going to make me late. I kept backing up until I was just off his bumper. Backing up used to be a challenge for me, but I’ve had lessons from the best. I rolled down my window and waited.
Once again, without the courtesy of a good morning or sharing his name, the rude guy leaned into my space and said, “We need to talk.”
Thin lips, receding fair hair, cold gray eyes. Today he was alone.
“You have some ID?” I said.
He whipped out a leather folder and flashed a badge too fast for me to read it. For all I knew, it had come from Ebay or the five and dime. Heck, I could go around flashing one of Andre’s badges. Maybe I’d get better results from some of my clients.
“Let’s talk,” he said.
“Not right now,” I said. “I am a very pregnant woman on her way to a doctor’s visit, and it’s not okay for you to make me late.”
He just stared at me, expressionless, and said, “This is important.”
“So is making sure that this baby is okay and on schedule.”
I made a show of checking the time. “I expect to be back in an hour and a half, if she’s not running late. Maybe you could come back then?” I wasn’t making a date. I was just in a hurry to get him off my back.
“I’m here now,” he said.
I was using the driveway because I was parked in the driveway, but there was a gravel track that led out past the barn and then curved out to the road. Seeing that I was not going to make any headway with a man who had such poor interpersonal skills, I put my Jeep in gear, went up the driveway, and headed past the barn. It looked like a road to nowhere. I didn’t know if he’d follow me, but I had a head start, and once I was on the main road, I knew the territory, and he didn’t. By the time he figured out that I wasn’t just going back to the house to entertain his questions, I was beyond the barn, around the curve, and turning onto the road. I took the shortcut past the church and the school, and I was on my way, grateful that Andre has given me lessons in driving like a cop.
If the guy wanted to cool his heels in my driveway for a while, that was fine with me. I don’t like people who interfere with my schedule, but sometimes setting them straight takes too long.
I never went to these appointments without my briefcase. I love my OB, but she always runs late. I’ve learned to treat her waiting room as an extension of my office, though I am considerate enough to step out to make my phone calls. The anxious moms-to-be didn’t need to hear about some of the things I deal with, like drug-dealing students, an unexpected birth in a school bathroom, a colleague strangled with her stocking, or a student who mysteriously drowned in a frozen campus pond. Today I confined myself to paperwork, except for a brief call from my partner, Suzanne, with the ominous “We have a problem,” that we agreed could be dealt with later in the day.
We always had a problem, which meant that sooner rather than later, I was going to have to start looking for a nanny who could take care of MOC when I was taking care of other people’s problems. These days, working women would be better off if the stork brought nannies instead of babies. Most of us know where babies come from. Good nannies are more of a mystery.
I did a quick edit on a proposal, making enough changes so that Sarah would have something to complain about. I sent an email with some suggestions for our newest employee, Marlene, about a survey she was designing. I said yes, Andre and I would definitely attend Bobby and Quinn’s anniversary party. Bobby was a fabulous employee and a good friend. His husband Quinn was a chef, which meant the food would be great. The only hitch was that Quinn doesn’t like Bobby working at EDGE. He thinks we work Bobby too hard, and nothing, including Bobby’s protests that he loves the work, seems to change Quinn’s mind. I was glad to celebrate Bobby’s happiness. Less glad about an event where I’d be walking on eggs instead of unconditionally joyous.
Eventually, the nurse came to collect me, and Dr. Robinson surveyed my vitals and began her litany of questions. Things were generally fine, but my blood pressure was elevated. Was I being careful about avoiding stress and conflict? She knows me pretty well. Knows that stress and conflict are part of my job. When you’re Jane Wayne, the girl in the white hat who rides into town when there’s trouble brewing, conflict comes with the territory. I’d been trying to avoid it as much as possible. The guys in the black SUV were not helping.
“I was doing very well until yesterday,” I said.
“And will you do very well today?” she asked.
“That depends,” wasn’t what she wanted to hear. I sighed. “I’ll try.”
“Your baby would like you to try harder,” she said. She imparted a few pieces of advice about resting and letting people help me and trying to scale back on work if I could. We both knew it was hard advice to take.
“I have to say this, Thea,” she said. “My job is to help you have a successful pregnancy and a healthy baby. Not encourage you to get out there and fight bad guys and wrong-doing. None of us can change our natures. I understand that. But just try to take a deep breath and slow down when you can.” She gave a quick grin. “I don’t want to have to call the police on you.”
Dr. Robinson has a crush on Andre. It’s hard not to. He’s a pretty great guy and absolute eye candy. Of course, she’s never seen him when he’s in full tough-guy mode. Then he becomes a fearsome creature.
“Please don’t,” I said. “He has enough to worry about trying to finish the house so MOC will have a safe place to live.”
“You’re still calling this baby Mock?”
I nodded.
“Kid’s gonna be Mock forever, girl or boy.” Of course, she knew the sex of this baby. She was doing an excellent job of not spilling the beans. She stood and held out her hand. “I’ll see you in two weeks. No. Wait. Next week.”
I headed out into the warm summer day with a to-do list hanging like a sword over my head. I decided to stop at the local farm stand for some berries before calling Suzanne about the new problem. Then, worried that I’d find a blood-pressure-raising black SUV in my driveway, I stopped at Reny’s—Maine’s bargain treasure house—to see if there was anything likely to fit the basketball. It was one of the good days. I scored two great summer dresses, one in aubergine and one with small blue flowers, and two flowing tunic tops, one in deep indigo and the other white. Everything had pockets.
One strategy for lowering my blood pressure was to end the daily battle with my closet. Flushed with success, I headed home, instructing Siri to call Suzanne on the way.
“How’s
the mom-to-be?” Suzanne asked.
“I’m supposed to avoid stress and conflict.”
“Then I’d better hang up right now,” she said, “because it’s Denzel again.”
Denzel Ellis-Jackson was the headmaster of the King School, a private school with a mission of giving underprivileged boys a chance for a better future. Devoted to his school’s purpose, and a charismatic fellow who was a brilliant fundraiser, Denzel unfortunately had too much of an eye for the ladies. A few years back, we’d saved his bacon when he was accused of an assault on a woman. Innocent that time, but he walked a fine line.
“Something old or something new?” I asked.
“New. An altercation with a student. Denzel says he was set up. That it was planned. And, of course, captured on a student’s phones.”
“Physical?”
Suzanne sighed. “I’m afraid so. Denzel says he was attacked and had to push back, but that won’t carry much weight. He’s the grownup.”
A big, strong, athletic grownup. But then, plenty of his students were big, strong males as well. “Has he been arrested?”
“Not yet. Police are still investigating, whatever that means. But the parents have a lawyer and are threatening to sue.”
“And what does the King School’s lawyer say?”
The King School had Emmet Hampton, one of the best lawyers in Boston, on the board.
“He says for Denzel to keep quiet and let him handle it.”
“Which, as we both know, is not Denzel’s style. How’s it working so far?”
“So far, so good, but Yanita Emery says he’s like a caged beast, and it’s only a matter of time before he does something to damage his case.”
“I don’t suppose they could just lock him up somewhere?”
“I think Denzel locked up is what they’re trying to avoid.”
“Hold on,” I said, steering around a tractor hauling a giant load of hay. “Do we have the name of the boy, or boys, involved?”
“We do.”
“Let’s get Bobby to do a search on Facebook, Instagram, and What’s App. Maybe TikTok. Any place he thinks the kids may be talking or posting videos. YouTube, maybe? Too often, bad for them, good for us, these kids have no idea that people other than their friends can see their social media posts.”
“I’ll get right on it,” she agreed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because we’re dinosaurs?” I said. “Because we were taught by our mothers to live cautiously, and it’s hard to believe we live in a world where selfies, sexting, and explicit pictures are part of the normal social landscape.”
“Right.”
“Bobby is good at this, and if he doesn’t know where or how to look, he has a friend who is a genius at this.”
“I’m feeling better,” she said. “So you’re off to Baltimore tomorrow?”
“That’s what the calendar says.”
“You don’t sound psyched.”
“Would you? It’s summer in Maine, and I am very happy puttering around the house.”
“Uh oh!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That my workaholic partner is beginning to nest. Which is not a bad thing, for you and Andre and MOC, but may be less good news for EDGE.”
“EDGE is worried that I’ll lose my edge?”
She laughed. “Something like that.”
“You’ve had two babies and haven’t lost your edge,” I reminded her. And had a thought.
“You might ask Lindsay if she has some ideas,” I said, flipping back to our Denzel problem. “She’s closer to her prep school days than we are.”
“Hold on,” Suzanne said. “I live at a prep school. I observe prep school life every darned day.”
“As an authority figure. Lindsay has lived it as a student.”
Lindsay Livermore was our newest hire. Actually, only a summer intern, since she was still in college, going into her senior year, but she was a go-getter, and we were eager to hire her when she graduated. It was great to have someone so young and energetic on staff. Not that we were old, but Lindsay was plugged into youth culture in a way that was very helpful to some of our challenging problems. This conversation reminded me that I ought to pick her brain about our cheating issue before I headed off to Maryland. She might have some valuable insights.
What I already knew was that this was a little different from most of the hacks schools dealt with. They tended to be of two sorts—computer-savvy students who hacked the school’s computers and poked around just to show they could do it, and students who hacked in to change their grades. Eastern Shore’s hacker, or hackers, had cheated not only on their own behalf, but had helped other students cheat as well. It undermined the whole purpose of the program, which was to give promising students who’d had less than optimal educations a head-start on the challenges they’d face. Students who were fed the test questions weren’t getting the educational benefits they were in the summer program to get.
But Suzanne was saying something. I brought my attention back to our conversation. “If we’re lucky, she’ll join us when she graduates.”
“I hope we do get lucky,” I said. “How’s everyone else doing?”
“You should know. We only sent you home a few days ago.”
“Sent me home makes me feel like I’m still in grade school, Suzanne.”
“Nope. Just pregnant. You can come back any time. Just don’t be so fretful. I think Bobby was expecting he’d have to deliver your baby right there in the office.”
She flipped seamlessly back to staff issues and our two recent hires. “So, Jason Barbour looks like he’ll be a keeper. He’s already taking a lot off Bobby’s shoulders, which means we’re seeing a lot more of Bobby’s smiles. And Marlene seems like she’ll enjoy being a backroom person, working on our surveys and compiling data for our reports, which you and I both hate. I’m a little concerned that she’s not a self-starter, but it’s early days yet.”
“Can we really support all these people?”
She sighed. “I hope so.”
I swore at a bad driver and Suzanne said, “Are you still in the car?”
“Taking my time going home. This morning there was a self-important jerk in a big black SUV parked in my driveway who thought my day’s work was to talk to him. I got away, but I’m afraid I may still find him there when I get back.”
“You’re like a magnet,” she said.
“A magnet? You think I attract these jerks? He wanted to ask questions about a neighbor I’ve only just met. I’ve already told him I don’t know anything. He refuses to believe it.”
“Never happens to me,” she said.
“That’s why I have the hat and the gun and the horse and get to ride into town and sort out the bad guys,” I said.
“Don’t even joke about it. You have sorted out enough bad guys for ten Jane Waynes. So we’re okay? I’ll talk to Bobby about social media and Denzel’s problem and you’ll talk to Lindsay about hacking?”
I thought Suzanne was going to talk to Lindsay, but I could kill two birds with one stone, so I said, “Sure. I’ll put Lindsay on my list. About hacking and our Denzel problem. You can give her the boys names.”
I looked at the dashboard clock. “I’d better sign off and speed up. I’ve got that conference call at four.”
“And I have two small children and a nanny who has to leave early.”
I disconnected and put my foot down. I wanted some quiet time at home to prep for the call. Of course, when I turned into my yard, the infuriating black SUV was still there, or there again, and I could tell by the way he slammed his door and stomped toward me that the nameless rude guy from last night was not in a pleasant mood. I decided to leave my purchases and the berries in the car. None of his business that I’d run errands on my way back.
“You said an hour and a half,” he said accusingly.
I shrugged. I did not owe this man anything. “I hoped it would be.”
�
��Well, you’re here now. Let’s talk.”
“I’ve already told you. I don’t know this person you’re looking for. Who are you, anyway?”
He’d followed me up onto the porch, hovering so close he barely gave me room to put my key in the lock. “I’d like you to leave,” I said. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was willing to talk. I’m not.” I opened the door.
Instead of leaving, he pushed his way inside and shut the door behind us. As he turned to close the door, I spotted a white paper on the floor that hadn’t been there before. Instinctively, I used my foot to slip it under the console, hoping he hadn’t seen it.
As I stood there alone in my house with an aggressive stranger, I realized that I had failed to follow Andre’s advice. The guy was inside my house, and I still had no idea who he was or whether I was safe.
Six
I headed for the kitchen. He could follow or not. I really didn’t care. In my guise as the girl in the white hat who rides into town and takes on bad guys, I had had enough of rude and angry men who thought they were entitled to push me around. He might think he was special, or had a special mission, or was ordained by God or the government to carry out his task, but frankly, Scarlett, I didn’t give a damn.
I kicked off my sandals and got a glass of water. I would have offered him one, but then he might think he was invited to stay. He shook his head with a frown and said, “Quit stalling.”
I said, “Excuse me? I am in my own house. In my kitchen. You are an intrusive stranger who has, thus far, refused to identify himself or otherwise behave in a civilized manner. You do not get to tell me what to do.”
Then I added, “Do you have any credentials to justify this intrusion, or are you just some rude guy who has bullied his way into my kitchen? Do I need to call the police?” I hadn’t had a good look at the badge he flashed this morning, so I added, “Let me see that badge again.”
He made no move to comply.
Some guys. They get so used to intimidating people into cooperating they forget that they can’t just walk all over us. I might be barefoot and pregnant and living in an unfinished old house in a small Maine town, but I hadn’t just tumbled off the cabbage truck. I’d dealt with some serious bad guys.
