“That’s right. Sonia could be . . . Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Sonia could be rather elitist in that way.”
“How did the headmaster treat Joe?” Roland asks.
“You know, that’s a very good question. I wish I could answer it. But the truth is, I rarely spoke with the headmaster. As you may have heard, most communication went through Ms. Marsha.” Teddy pauses and looks down at his hands. “I really didn’t speak to the headmaster very often.”
“But he was in the lunchroom every day,” Pruitt says.
“Oh, yes, of course he was. But that was his time to speak with the students, not the faculty.”
She writes that down.
“And after Sonia was found by Frank Maxwell,” Roland says, “what do you remember?”
“It was just . . . shocking. At first, everyone was just worried about her. I’m not sure anyone started thinking about a connection between Sonia and Ingrid until after everything calmed down a little.”
“Let’s move on to what happened a few weeks ago,” Roland says. “I know we went through this at the hospital, but let’s go through it again. Sometimes people remember things later.”
“Of course.” Teddy recounts what he ate, where he ate it, and how he felt just before he collapsed. Not word for word the same story, but in general.
“Is there anything else you remember from that day? Anything different or strange?” Roland says.
“Actually, there is.” Teddy leans forward a bit. It’s the first time he has moved since sitting down. “It happened the week before, but it was definitely strange. My Teacher of the Year plaque hangs on the wall in my classroom. And one morning, it was gone.”
“Gone?” Pruitt says.
“Yes, gone. It just vanished overnight. Just like that.” Teddy snaps his fingers. “I asked Joe about it, because he cleans the rooms every night, but he said he didn’t notice one way or another. I also tried to speak to the headmaster, because technically it was a theft and should have been treated as such, but Ms. Marsha said he was all tied up with . . . well, with Sonia’s death and the new security system.”
“Is it still missing?” Roland asks.
“Yes. A replacement showed up on Friday. The last Friday we were in school, before the security cameras were due to be turned on. And right before . . . that Monday.”
Agent Pruitt writes that down. “Did you ever find out who did it?”
“No, although I have some theories,” Teddy says. “At first, I thought it could be a student playing a prank. And it might have been.” He takes a deep breath. “But it also could’ve been someone who wanted to win that award. Or someone who didn’t think I deserved it. Though I have no idea who that would be,” he says. “What I do know is that it had to be stolen outside of normal school hours. And other than the headmaster, only two people have basically unlimited access to the school. The first is Joe, who is always here late, and it wouldn’t be unusual for him to be in the building.”
“And the other?”
Teddy had thought about how to answer this question before he even sat down. Accusing someone outright was out of the question. But letting the FBI know who had the easiest, and most plausible, access to the building seemed reasonable.
“Ms. Marsha,” he says. “She distributes all of the security cards, and she maintains the log of card swipes.” Teddy pauses for a second, as if he’s thinking. “Actually, she could enter the school undetected if she wanted to.”
The FBI should know this already. But Teddy never assumes anyone does their job correctly.
He also doesn’t assume they’ve already looked through Ms. Marsha’s desk.
They will now.
73
WHEN ZACH ISN’T with Courtney or Titus, or trying to catch Fallon following him, he goes to Starbucks with his new tablet. He still does all of his research there. Being arrested has made him a little paranoid about his online activity.
This evening, he heads out early, before his parents are home, and drives downtown the way he normally does. He’s sitting at a stoplight when he sees Crutcher’s car.
The old Saab is hard to miss. First, because Zach had seen it in the school parking lot so many times. Second, because of the Belmont sticker on the front windshield. The strangest part is where it’s parked.
In front of a liquor store.
He never suspected Crutcher was a drinker. Zach has seen a lot of drinkers in his life—so many of his friends’ parents are—but Crutcher has never shown any of the signs. No broken capillaries on his face, no bloat, no puffy or red eyes.
Maybe it’s something he’s picked up recently. Maybe it’s something worth knowing.
Zach pulls over onto a side road, watching the car through his rearview mirror. Minutes later, Crutcher walks out of Fourth Avenue Liquors with a brown bag.
Interesting.
Zach waits until he drives away before going into the store. The bell rings when he walks inside, and he’s immediately surrounded by rows of alcohol. Beer in the back, in the coolers, and hard liquor lining the walls.
At the register, a middle-aged man is watching TV and, no doubt, the security camera. Zach smiles at him and heads toward a cooler, grabbing a bottle of water. He scans the food and picks up a bag of chips.
At the register, he smiles again. “How’s it going?” he says.
The man smiles back. A real smile. “Oh, you know, living the dream.”
“Nice,” Zach says. “Hey, maybe you can help me out with something.”
“What’s that?”
“I go to Belmont. When I was coming in, I swear I saw one of my teachers walking out. Well, someone who used to be my teacher, because . . . well, you know. It’s closed now.”
The man nods, his expression grave. Everyone knows about Belmont.
“Was that Teddy Crutcher who was just in here?” Zach says. “Our new headmaster?”
“Sure was,” the man says. He offers nothing further.
“Weird. I never pegged him as a drinker.” Zach leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. “You probably know we’ve got some teachers who like to drink.”
The man laughs. “I’m not about to rat out my customers, but Teddy wasn’t here to buy liquor. He drinks milk.”
“Milk?” Zach says. “He comes in here to buy milk?”
“Sure does. I’m the only one who carries his brand.”
Zach blinks. “He has a special brand of milk?”
“In the back,” the man says. “I stock it for him, because he only drinks milk out of glass bottles. Says those cartons and plastic ruin the taste.” He rolls his eyes, like he knows how ridiculous that sounds. Because it does.
It’s also weird, and not just in the “weird habit” kind of way. It’s weird because Belmont doesn’t have milk in glass bottles. Only in the little cartons. Including the ones that were poisoned.
* * *
THE CHEAPEST PLACE in town to drink, get free Wi-Fi, and not be bothered is called The Hole. And it’s there that Fallon sips her gin and tonic, which is awful, and ponders her lack of progress. She’s disappointed in herself. Not a new feeling.
She has to rally, has to figure out how to get under, over, or through the cracks in the doors that won’t open.
Teddy used to say that in class, back when she called him Mr. Crutcher. When they were reading something particularly difficult, like Russian literature, he would say, “Analyze each word, each sentence, and figure out what it means. Don’t just stare at the words. Do something.”
First, another gin and tonic. One had made her sleepy; the second gives her a little more energy. Plus, it tastes better now that she’s less sober.
Do something.
So far, Fallon hasn’t done anything except try to catch Teddy or Zach slipping. She finishes off her second drink, opens her laptop, and starts
typing.
Three emails, all sent to different people. She only signs her real name to one of them.
This isn’t her first rodeo. Sometimes, you have to give a little nudge. Just a tiny one. Otherwise, someone might commit suicide.
But that wasn’t Fallon’s fault. The headmaster hanged himself in his office all on his own.
He was a tiny, meek little man. Not the kind anyone would suspect of having a gambling problem, but he did. Fallon was a sophomore when she came across that information.
She had been called to his office to discuss being a student liaison to the board of directors. They wanted one from each grade, and she was under consideration for hers. During their conversation, he was called away by Ms. Marsha, leaving her alone in the office for a moment. Just enough time for her to sneak a glance at his computer screen.
One of the many open tabs on his browser was an online poker site. Fallon snapped a picture with her phone, knowing that gambling had to be against the Belmont rules. It was only later, when she looked it up, that she realized online gambling was illegal.
Illegally gambling on school premises had to be grounds for dismissal.
Which meant she had some valuable information. And what good was information if you couldn’t use it?
When she approached him about it, he didn’t even argue. He knew what she could do to him. That was all Fallon needed.
Student representative to the board? Done. An extension on an assignment? Done. A higher spot on the nomination list for the summer seminar? Done.
It was so perfect. Or it was until the headmaster killed himself.
And until Teddy accused her of cheating.
It wasn’t cheating—not really. All she’d done was gather information and use it to her advantage.
She had done it with the headmaster just as she had done it to Teddy when she ruined his marriage.
It was her thing.
74
ZACH’S PARENTS HAVE called a family dinner. As soon as he walked out of the liquor store, he’d received an appointment reminder from his dad. Between Courtney, Fallon, Crutcher’s milk, and his parents being . . . well, parents . . . Zach is getting tired. Not easy to manage all the people in his life.
“We want to talk about your current situation,” Dad says.
They’re in the dining room, all gathered at one end of the table, because it’s big enough for twelve. Dinner is salmon again, because Mom is convinced it’s a superfood. No milk, though. Never milk.
Zach swallows a bite and clears his throat. “My situation?”
“Titus tells us you’re doing quite well with your schooling,” Mom says.
“That’s good,” Zach says.
Dad takes a sip of sparkling water. “We certainly don’t want that to change,” he says. “However, we are concerned about your lack of extracurricular activities.”
“You had so many at Belmont,” Mom says.
“And now you have none,” Dad says.
If only they knew how he spent his days. He can barely keep up with his “extracurriculars.”
“Right. I understand,” Zach says.
Dad nods. “I knew you would.”
Zach says nothing. They already have something in mind. His job is to wait for them to tell him what to do.
“We were thinking of volunteer work,” Mom says.
“It’s important to contribute. We’ve always said community work is important,” Dad says.
“My firm contributes to a number of organizations. I’ve prepared a list for you to take a look at and see what interests you,” Mom says. “I’ll email it to you.”
Zach nods and smiles and plays along, acting like this is a great idea and he’s super happy they thought of it.
When he’s finally free to return to his life, he goes up to his room and opens his laptop. The first thing he sees is an email from an address he doesn’t recognize. The subject line is MAD SCIENTIST.
* * *
AFTER HIS FBI interview, Teddy spends his evening reading. No TV, no internet, just some quiet time with Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer and a cold glass of milk. It’s been a while since he’s done this. He used to do it all the time when Allison was around.
She creeps into his thoughts like those worms creep into his stomach.
He can still see her curled up in her favorite chair, reading whatever she was into at the moment. Sometimes a romance, other times a thriller—she read a little bit of everything. They used to do it together, in silence, and it was the most comfortable thing.
They had such a good marriage. Everyone says that, but in his case it was true. They had a great life together until she insisted they have kids.
Now he’s stuck reading by himself. It isn’t the same.
After getting through just twenty pages, he gives up. The internet beckons, with the news from the day and the message boards filled with theories about the Mad Scientist. He’s not sure how he feels about that nickname, but it’s the one that stuck. In part, because it’s gender-neutral.
As the media keeps reminding everyone, the majority of murders by poison are committed by women.
Teddy already knew that.
He goes into his office, knowing he should check his emails. Ever since he became headmaster, his inbox has exploded. Many messages have been well-wishes and congratulatory, but even more have been suggestions. Parents, faculty members, and even students seem to believe they can tell him what to do.
It’s exhausting.
Today he has over a hundred new emails. Some are spam, but others require an answer. He can’t ignore the people who pay the bills, especially since so many students have withdrawn. Now, he has to be nice to them.
As he scans down the list, one catches his eye. The subject line is MAD SCIENTIST.
He opens it.
I know it’s you.
Teddy stares at the words, his heart thumping. No. Pounding. It’s pounding so hard, he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.
Impossible. It must be a joke. Spam. A sick message that has been sent to everyone, not just him.
He’s not bcc’d on the email; it was sent only to him. And the address comes from a generic account, the same kind he uses to set up his fake social media accounts. If the email weren’t so disturbing, that might be funny.
The email address, though. The first part catches his eye.
LittleBirdie
What are the chances a man would choose that name?
Fallon. Of course she’s the first one he thinks of. She already has a bad habit of emailing him, though it’s always been from her real address.
But why hide now?
Furthermore, how would she know? Impossible. She wasn’t even in town when Ingrid Ross died.
As he starts to think of other possible senders, a knock at the door interrupts him.
Teddy freezes, sitting up straight in his chair. Maybe it wasn’t the door at all. Maybe it was the pounding of his heart.
The doorbell rings. Not his heart.
He walks out of the office, toward the door, bracing himself for whoever it might be. The police. The FBI. Both.
Deep breath. He can handle it.
Teddy doesn’t even glance through the window. He wants his reaction to appear normal. Natural. As if he didn’t expect this at all. He opens the door without hesitation. The surprise is immediate, and very much real.
Not the police. Not the FBI.
It’s Frank.
75
“FRANK,” TEDDY SAYS, his heart slowing a bit. “What a surprise.”
Frank smiles a little, looking embarrassed. “I know this is probably a bit strange, showing up like this. I should’ve called.”
“No, no, this is a wonderful surprise.” Teddy opens the door wider, motioning for Frank to come inside. He hasn’t
seen Frank since he went on medical leave from Belmont, which feels like it was a hundred years ago. So much has happened since then. “Come in and sit down,” Teddy says.
He leads Frank into the formal living room, which is the cleanest area of the house. Frank sits on the edge of the couch. Teddy sits in a chair next to him, getting a good look at his colleague.
Frank looks thinner, yes. But healthy. The dark circles under his eyes are gone, and there’s a glow about him. He also appears calm. Before, Frank was always so hyper. Now he sits so still, he looks like a statue.
Then Teddy sees what he’s wearing. Under his jacket, Frank has on a black shirt with a white collar.
A clerical collar.
Frank sees him notice and smiles.
“You’ve . . . joined the clergy?” Teddy says.
“I have,” Frank says. He pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it to Teddy. “I’m an ordained minister.”
Teddy pulls out a certificate stating just that, signed by Touchpoint Ministry. It looks like it’s been printed off the internet. “Congratulations. I’m . . . well, I’m very impressed. It must have been a difficult choice.”
“Actually, it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made,” Frank says. He still has that smile on his face. “And congratulations to you, on being headmaster.”
“Thank you. Unfortunately, it happened under such tragic circumstances.” Teddy’s mind goes back to that email. Frank may have changed his life, but he still has bad timing. Some things never change.
“Yes,” Frank says. “The events at Belmont have been . . . Well, they’ve been evil. And I don’t use that word lightly. No one in the clergy does.”
Teddy nods, bristling at the word. “So I expect this new life of yours means you’ll be resigning from your teaching position?”
“It does, yes. And of course I wanted to tell you in person.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I also wanted to speak with you about something else,” Frank says.
For Your Own Good Page 25
