Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

  “That’s quite a jump.”

  “Not at all.” Parker pulled up her phone with a picture she took of the bloody hole in Heller’s left eye socket. “Heller was shot in the face at close range.”

  Bill looked around as he pushed Parker’s phone down. “You took pictures?”

  “I’m a reporter!”

  “Were a reporter.”

  “Listen, this means Heller was facing her attacker when she was shot. I found no obvious signs of struggle, if you don’t count being stuffed into a trash bag, but that would have happened after she died. So, whoever she met with wouldn’t have given her any cause for alarm. She knew her killer, or at least recognized her killer.” Parker raised her phone and swiped over to her text messaging app. “Then there is the little matter of all these texts. I never gave Heller my number, but when I joined the PTA, I had to give all my contact information. Anyone with access to that ledger would have been able to find my info.”

  Bill rubbed his chin. “Then all the killer would have to do is unlock Heller’s phone with the fingerprint from her dead hand. But why text you?”

  “Why steal my car? Why tease me all day with texts? Whoever it was knew enough about my relationship with Heller to know how to exploit me as a suspect. And then, of course, the big reveal this afternoon. It was deliberately theatric. The killer wanted to put on a show.”

  “That’s a lot of work,” Bill shook his head. “Why? What’s so special about you?”

  Other than my incredible investigative powers? “I don’t know. But I think whoever killed Heller was in that PTA meeting.”

  Bill grimaced. “Maybe, but you weren’t the only one getting texts from Heller’s phone. So did Mr. Heller. Whoever texted him knew enough about their relationship to fool him into thinking they were his wife.”

  “Then, clearly, it’s someone who knew Karen Heller very well, like –” Parker caught herself.

  “Who?”

  Parker hated confessing the name. “Mr. Bernstein. He had his own troubles with Heller. She fired him, after all.”

  “I looked into Bernstein. His alibi checks. Bernstein was sick with the flu that night. Trust me, I’ve known Bernstein for a long time. That guy is no killer.”

  “I’d like to believe that.” Seeing how he’s my kid’s piano teacher and all.

  “You were on your way to winning his job back. Why would Bernstein risk screwing that up by shooting her? It doesn’t make sense. There’s no motive.”

  Parker felt relieved to hear Bill’s opinion on it. Her gut told her Bernstein wasn’t the shooter, but she wanted to be sure. “That leaves just one other possibility outside of the PTA.” Parker nodded up the street to where Heller’s house would be.

  Bill coughed. “Mr. Heller?”

  Parker shrugged. “Granted, I’ve never met the man, but maybe he has some crazy insurance policy on his wife and wanted to cash out? It’s been done. We can’t rule him out.”

  “I can,” said Bill. “That man can barely get out of bed most days.”

  Parker marveled at Bill’s childlike certainty. Oh Bill, you’ve been so wrong about so many things so far, you can’t take any suspects off the table. “Have you informed Mr. Heller of his wife’s condition?”

  “You mean, her death?” Bill sucked air in through his teeth. “No. We tried calling but he hasn’t picked up. As soon as I’m done here I’m walking up there to see if he’s home. I don’t look forward to giving him the news.”

  “I could go with you.”

  “What? No, Parker, you’re already in the thick of this. You need to lay low and let things cool off.”

  “Yeah, I am in the thick of this, and everyone is going to think I had something to do with Heller’s death!”

  Bill grabbed Parker’s shoulders to look her straight in the eye. “I promise, for real, if anything pops up I will share it with you. But only if you promise to do the same. You get any more weird texts or phone calls you need to tell me – immediately.”

  Parker pouted. “Fine.”

  “In the meantime, try to keep from having any more dead bodies show up in your car, okay?” Bill gently turned Parker back toward the front of the school. “You’ve got more important things to tend to.”

  Parker’s heart sank when Maddy looked in her direction. Only they didn’t connect to her like they usually did. Not even to roll them annoyingly at her mother’s antics. No, Maddy’s eyes were vacant of any energy – a sight her mother had never seen before.

  51.

  Parker approached Rebecca Buck, who still hadn’t stopped patting Maddy’s arm.

  She nodded to the counselor as if to say – I’ll take over now. The counselor nodded in return and stepped away to afford Parker space with her kids. “Maddy? You ready to go home?” asked Parker a soft voice.

  Maddy continued to stare straight forward as if hypnotized by the flashing police lights.

  Parker deliberately stepped in front of her daughter’s line of sight. Come on, kid, give me something. “Maddy? Did you hear me?”

  Maddy swallowed. “I heard you.”

  Parker knelt down to meet her eldest at eye level. She brushed a strand of Maddy’s brown hair away from her eyes. “How are you doing?”

  As if a switch had suddenly been flipped, Maddy’s eyes suddenly turned to lock with her mother’s. “I’m fine.”

  I doubt that. “You want to talk about what you saw? Do you have any questions about it? It’s kind of a lot to process—even for me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Parker nodded, not wanting to push the issue. “Okay,” She turned to Drew. “What about you, young man?”

  Drew shrugged. “I’m bored.” He patted his tummy. “And hungry.”

  “That’s a bad combination.” But a good sign. “Let’s go home.” Parker rose to her feet, a simple maneuver that seemed to strain her tired legs. She held out her hand to Drew. “Keys, please?”

  “Are we taking the death car?” asked Drew.

  Parker grimaced. “I think we’re done with that one. Like – forever.”

  “Good.” Drew reached into his pocket and handed Parker the minivan keys. “I don’t want Heller’s ghost following us home.”

  I wouldn’t put it past her.

  Mendez stepped forward just as the kids got to their feet. “Ms. Monroe,” she greeted solemnly. “If either of your kids needs extra time before coming back to school on Monday, just let me know. We will see to it they get their homework.”

  “Thank you,” said Parker. She eyed Mendez carefully as she turned to walk back into the school. What’s your deal, Mendez? You’re hot, you’re cold, I can’t figure you out – yet.

  Parker’s phone buzzed as she led her kids across the parking lot. Without thinking, she habitually answered it. “Hello?”

  “Parker!” Julie shouted through the phone. “Omigod, Parker! Are you okay? Are the kids okay? I just heard!”

  Shit, you heard already? “We’re fine, Julie,” assured Parker, clasping her hand around the edge of her phone so as to mute the noise. She could feel the eyeballs of the crowd burrowing into her. “Now’s not a good time to chat.”

  “Okay, okay, of course, of course! I just gotta know! Just quick tell me!”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Did you plug Heller?”

  “No!”

  Julie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God, because, you know, I wouldn’t blame you if you did, honestly, she treated you like shit, and you can trust me, okay? I would take your secret to the grave, okay?”

  “Julie, I gotta go!” Parker quickly hung up the phone. “Jesus, Julie, what the fuck?”

  Parker herded her kids into the minivan as quickly as she could.

  “Why are they staring?” He pressed his face against the side window, staring back at the crowd of people on the other side of the yellow tape.

  “They’re just nosey,” answered Parker. “Th
ey want to know what happened.” They’re not the only ones.

  Parker pulled out of the parking lot, forcing the crowd to part ways for her. She drove up the street toward Heller’s house, and found Sheriff Bill and Deputy Michaels walking toward it. Parker couldn’t help but wonder how Mr. Heller would react to the news of his wife’s death. That was, if he didn’t already know about it.

  As Parker drove by, she noticed that dark, shadowy figure in Heller’s window again. Mr. Heller appeared to be taking note of her, just as she was him.

  One way or another, Mr. Heller, I’m going to learn your story.

  52.

  “We’re home!”

  Parker announced as she opened the front door.

  Right on cue, Ally came running from the kitchen with her smile as wide as her face. She raced into the arms of her mother, with Valerie hot on her heels.

  “Thank Betty Davis’s bedroom eyes you’re back,” proclaimed Valerie. “I got your message, I just can’t believe it! Heller? Dead? In your car?”

  “I hope you’ve got a good Malbec picked out for tonight.”

  “I think you’re going to need something stronger than wine.” Valerie quickly grabbed Drew by the shoulders to inspect him, then did the same to Maddy. “You poor dears, it must have been awful to see all of that. Are you alright?”

  “I didn’t get to see anything,” said Drew, with a hint of morbid disappointment. “Maddy is the one who found her.”

  “Maddy?” Valerie gasped. “My, oh my, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” answered Maddy quietly.

  Valerie glanced at Parker, who subtly shook her head as a warning not to press her daughter too hard.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Maddy faked a yawn. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  “You don’t want dinner?” asked Valerie. “I’m making enchiladas.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Maddy insisted. “I’m just really -- tired.” Maddy slowly sauntered up the stairs.

  “Oh, okay,” Valerie clenched her fists closely to her breast. “I’ll save some in case you change your mind, alright?”

  “Good night.” Maddy disappeared around the bend at the top of the stairs.

  Valerie once again checked with Parker, who held her hands up as if to say, “let’s give her some space.” Valerie frowned. Space never fit her M.O. as a grandparent.

  Drew waved his hands in front of Valerie. “Well, I’m hungry!” It was rare to hear such a grumpy demand from the first grader.

  Parker and Valerie tried to keep the rest of the evening light for Ally and Drew, as if respecting some unspoken rule not to discuss murder in front of children. It was only after Parker had put them to bed that she even would even dare to broach the subject. She checked on Maddy, who was sound asleep on top of her covers and still wearing her day clothes. Convinced there was nothing more she could do for her that night, Parker tip-toed back downstairs to join Valerie in the front room.

  Valerie had just opened a bottle of Glenfiddich 21 and poured generous helpings into two shot glasses.

  “You’re not screwing around,” noted Parker, taking a seat next to her mother on the couch.

  “It felt like a whiskey night,” said Val. “Down the hatch.”

  The two women clinked their glasses together and downed the liquid gold.

  “Oh hell,” said Parker, feeling the burn. She pounded her chest. “That’s rich.”

  “At two hundred bucks a bottle, it better be.” Valerie poured another round. “You’re allowed to sip it this time. Now, tell me what happened.”

  Parker shook the remaining burn off before detailing the events of the past twenty-four hours, weighing her theory of the killer likely being a PTA member against the Sheriff’s theory of gang related violence.

  “Interesting,” said Valerie. “Your theory can rationally explain everything that happened.”

  Parker raised her glass. “Thank you.”

  “Except that’s not what happened.”

  Parker nearly choked on her whiskey. “Excuse me?”

  “Really, Parker, I’m surprised at you,” chided Valerie. “Granted, I’m not some awarding winning investigator, but you seem to have forgotten some very important facts.”

  “Enlighten me.” Parker tossed back her head as she downed another shot.

  “Your car was stolen. And I told you to sip.”

  Parker clenched her teeth, enjoying the new burn in her chest. “I haven’t forgotten either of those things.”

  “Your car was stolen right out from under our noses. No alarm was set off. You said the Sheriff estimated it to be the job of a professional.”

  “And?”

  “How many PTA mothers are professional car thieves?”

  “Fair point,” Parker put down her shot glass onto the coffee table with a solid knock. “How many PTA mothers are award winning journalists? Yet, here I am.”

  “Whoever stole your car has a very specific set of skills.”

  Parker took a moment to reflect on the idea. The only set of skills she could clearly identify was that of GI Joe, the former professional soldier. His skills were lethal, but car thieving was far from the required curriculum of basic training or Ranger school. “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Parker as she noticed a shock of blue color on the side of the couch. She leaned over to find a pile of blue plastic shopping bags. The kind one might find in an electronics retailer. “What’s all this?”

  “Security.”

  Parker pulled out a cubed box with the picture of a wireless security camera on it. She turned the box over to examine it. “Seems pretty high tech for you.”

  “The young man at the store said it uses my Wi-Fi. Movement triggers an alarm that rings your phone and takes a video.”

  Parker sighed. “You’re worried about our security?”

  “You’re not?”

  “Yeah, but I figured you’d just buy another gun.”

  “I did that too.” Valerie smiled at the idea of blasting an intruder, even though she’d never had the opportunity. “She’s a beaut. You wanna see her?”

  Parker shook her head. “No! And whatever it is, keep it locked up and away from my kids.” Parker presented the box to her mother. “I’m not installing these on my own, you know. You’re going to help.”

  “No need, I’ve got a man coming over tomorrow.” Valerie noted Parker’s sore posture. “You don’t approve?”

  “It’s just—” Parker blew out her lips. “—I don’t want the kids freaking out. You know, like they see these cameras everywhere and wondering if we’re in danger all the time.”

  Valerie tilted her head. “We are in danger.”

  Parker couldn’t offer a rebuttal. She simply watched her mother out of the periphery of her eye.

  “Parker, I know a part of you tries to look at this as a detached journalist, so you can ‘get the scoop’ or whatever you call it, but the fact is, it was your car that was stolen. From my house. The killer, whoever it is, targeted our family. Who is to say he or she is finished with us?”

  Parker poured another shot. She hated when her mother made so much sense. “Why us?”

  Valerie accepted a pour from her daughter. “I hate to say it, but maybe you were right from the beginning.” She swallowed. “Maybe this has less to do with Heller, and more to do with you.”

  53.

  The next morning, the Parker household woke up to a prompt 7 am doorbell chime.

  “That’ll be him!” Valerie hollered over the hairdryer whirring in her bedroom. “Can you get it?”

  Still groggy from her late-night whiskey shots, Parker lumbered down the stairs in her oversized Have a Nice Day Bon-Jovi t-shirt she slept in as the doorbell continued to chime and chime again. “I’m coming!” she growled to the door. “No need to wear the button out!” Parker threw open the door only to find— “Glory?”

  Glory Wonder’s moustache framed a smile gleamed so brightly it nearly gave Parker a headache. “Yup, yup, good
morning, Ms. Monroe!” Glory pulled down his sunglasses a smidge to look Parker up and down. “You look positively glowing! You know, for um, finding – a dead body in your car yesterday.”

  Parker pulled down on her oversized shirt, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing pants. Good thing, I shaved my legs yesterday. “So, you heard about that too?”

  “Oh yeah, yeah, it’s all over town.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “You’ve even got your own catchphrases. Like, uhh,” Glory snapped his fingers. “Mrs. Murder! Killer Mom. Don’t ever park with Parker. Double barrel boob shooter. Of course, I set ‘em all straight. I tell ‘em you’re a Man Killer. But, you know, in the good way. You want to see the MEME’s that are going around?”

  Parker exhaled loudly. “What—are you doing here, exactly?”

  “I’m installing security cameras,” Glory pouted. “I think. I’m pretty sure that’s what your mom said when she called me yesterday.”

  Parker leaned to the left to see Glory’s plumbing / Knight Rider inspired Trans-Am. “So, you’re a plumber, an 80’s ride share driver, and a handyman?”

  “I like to think myself as an entrepreneur.” Glory lifted his toolbox. “Can I come in?”

  Parker weighed her options. “That depends. How do I know you’re not the one who murdered Karen Heller and are setting these cameras up to secretly monitor and sabotage me?”

  Glory gulped. “Wow, um, I wasn’t expecting that. Okay,” he took a deep breath. “Um, your mom called me. So, there’s that. And I’ve never killed anyone. That I remember. So, there’s thaaaaat—”

  Parker found Glory’s confusion all too sincere. “Alright, shut up. Come in.”

  “Wait!” Glory raised his index finger. He stammered. “How do I know, that you didn’t kill Heller, and are inviting me over to kill me and stuff me in the back of your van to dispose of the evidence?”

  Because none of that makes any sense and it would make me the dumbest murderer to have ever murdered anyone. But instead of chastising Glory, Parker decided to flash an evil grin. “You don’t.” Parker left the door open as she turned away and walked further into her house.