Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

  Parker tilted her head to the side. “Okay. I don’t know why you couldn’t just have told me this over the phone.”

  Bill coughed out a laugh. “Well, see, that’s not the whole story.” He swallowed. “Gerome and I had a routine when I inspected his car. I knew that station wagon inside and out. I took note of every instrument. I knew his inventory. And every weekend, he pulled into the checkpoint like clockwork. Except for one day—” Bill’s voice drifted off. “I’ll never forget it. Gerome was tenser than usual. So was Imelda. They were polite as ever, but something felt—”

  “Off,” Parker finished his sentence. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  Bill nodded. “When I inspected his car, it was full of instruments like it normally was, all the same ones, but they were packed denser somehow. And that’s when I saw it – two little wiggling tennis shoes just barely poking out of a blanket underneath all the instruments.”

  “They were smuggling a child into the country.”

  Bill nodded again. “And its mother.”

  “What did you do?”

  Bill hung his head. “Nothing.”

  “You let them go?”

  “Yeah,” Bill kicked his toe into the grass again. “I cleared Bernstein. And then I went straight to the front office and resigned. That was the day I decided being a border patrol agent wasn’t for me.”

  Growing up so close to the Mexican border, Parker was always of two minds about those who dared to cross it illegally, and those who assisted them. On one hand, she empathized for families desperately fleeing war and poverty to seek a better life in America. But as a reporter, she was also keenly aware of the abuses many of those same people suffered at the hands of human traffickers and drug smugglers. Children suffered the worst of it, often used as pawns to exploit loopholes in a catch and release legal system, or worse yet, traded as a commodity in human trafficking. Parker had always presumed an unspecified amount of Oak Creek’s non-English population was “undocumented.” But no one ever seemed to talk about immigration – legal, illegal, or otherwise. As long as the peace was kept, no one dared to stir the pot about the status of their neighbor. Parker now had no choice but to stir away. “Why didn’t you turn them in?”

  Bill shrugged. “You think I should have?”

  “I’m not judging. I just want to understand.”

  Bill wrapped his fingers around his belt buckle. “Keep in mind this was twenty years ago. I was young. I was still trying to find my compass.” He stared off into the distance, beyond the yard’s fence. “I figured if a guy like Bernstein was willing to risk it all to sneak a mother and child across our border, they must’ve been decent people. I didn’t want the kid and the mother to be separated. I don’t know. I guess, in the end, I just didn’t have the heart for it.”

  “If you were faced with that same choice today, what would you do?”

  “My job.” Bill said adamantly.

  “You wouldn’t be the first border agent to ever have let someone through,” said Parker. “But if this got out, it would end your career.”

  Bill nodded. “I know.”

  “Does Bernstein know?”

  “A year later, when I was just a deputy, I heard Bernstein started teaching at Oak Creek. His car was stolen, so I volunteered to go and take his report. I’d always been curious if I’d made the right decision. I went to his home and checked him out. I spoke with Imelda. They seemed alright. Then before I left, I told him what I had done.”

  “How did he react?”

  “At first, he was scared, but then I assured him that wasn’t the reason I was there. I just wanted to know who those people were, and what happened to them. He said they had met him through the church he volunteered at in Mexico. They were desperate to reunite with the husband who had already crossed the border but had fallen sick. Bernstein swore that was the only time he’d done anything like that, and if I had to turn him in, he’d come willingly. I said letting the mother and her child through was as much on me as it was him, and that we should both move on. So, that’s what we did. Bernstein was incredibly grateful for that and went on to have a great career teaching music at Oak Creek. I promise you, he’s not the one who killed Heller.”

  Parker folded her arms. “That’s a real sweet story, Bill. But something is really off about Bernstein. Maybe he is a good guy, but maybe he’s mixed up in something he shouldn’t be. He is the common denominator in all of this.”

  Bill bowed his head. “I know. You’re right.”

  Parker’s eyes popped open. “I’m – what?”

  “You’re right.” Bill opened his hands to Parker as an offering. “Everything you’re saying makes sense. I don’t know how that truck that nearly ran you off the road fits into all of this, but it has to be more than a coincidence. I’m going to check it out. I’ll grab a few deputies and head back down to Bernstein’s. Press him some more. See what shakes loose.”

  “Press Imelda,” Parker insisted. “Her sister might be involved. And I’ll do some digging of my own.”

  “Dig all you want. But you have to promise me you’ll refrain from any more road trips like today’s. Somebody’s got it in for you.”

  Parker rolled her eyes. “Bill—”

  “I’m serious, Parker. You could’ve been killed.”

  75.

  Parker did her best to focus in her bedroom that night…

  blocking out Bill’s warnings, Maddy’s tirade and trucks trying to run her off the road. The hazy red numbers of her childhood digital alarm radio clock turned to 12 am as she flipped through printouts of the school files she’d captured on her phone earlier that day. Parker had repeatedly poured over them since Valerie and the kids went to bed. But to her chagrin, nothing stood out as overly suspicious.

  Heller’s file was by far the thickest, having been at Oak Creek the longest. Heller always received reasonably high marks in her reviews, though the phrase “has a tendency to be overly strict with regard to disciplinary action” showed up more than a few times. Her salary was embarrassingly low for a Vice Principal, but judging from the other staff salaries, that seemed par for the course.

  Gerome Bernstein’s file presented as exemplary. Of course, it does. He’d received teacher of the year twice in the school, and once in the district. Bernstein’s review scores were nothing less than perfect. The file even included several letters collected over the years written by parents who wanted to express their thanks and appreciation for Bernstein’s work. “My son loves music because of Mr. Bernstein!” one parent wrote. “My daughter practices piano every day, and we owe it all to Bernstein!” another wrote. “Oak Creek’s music program is the best I’ve seen in any school in the district,” yet another proud parent exclaimed. “And that includes the Eagle’s high school program!”

  Really? Parker quietly balked in her mind. Nobody has anything bad to say about this guy?

  Parker checked her phone, wondering if Bill had met with Bernstein yet. He hadn’t texted her if he had, and there were no new emails other than one from a handsome Saudi Prince requesting Parker’s social security number, so he could transfer sixty-nine zillion dollars into her account if she promised to keep it safe. Another new email popped up from PTA President Holly who had forwarded last year’s PTA budget at Parker’s request. Parker wanted to make sure her projections weren’t out of line for those in their Boo Fest fundraiser.

  Parker flipped to GI-Joe Ward’s file. The shortest by far. He’d earned his online degree taking advantage of a Veteran’s program that helped place wounded soldiers into the workforce. Oak Creek even received a tax break for employing him. But there was no mention of a dishonorable discharge from the Army as Bill had suggested a few nights ago, not that it would be in his school file.

  Finally, there was Mendez. Other than the usual contact information, only a single paragraph went on to explain she was a Harvard graduate with a Master’s in Finance. Parker took the liberty of scribbling in a few extra notes to fill in the blank
ness of the page including:

  “overqualified”

  “athletic build”

  “painfully cryptic”

  “hard to read”

  “hot and cold – like the flu!”

  “Looks way better in my navy suit than I do (never wear that around Mendez)”

  “Shit—girl crush?”

  “No--jealous.”

  “Who is Mendez? Really?? Where did she come from?!?!?!”

  Parker’s phone suddenly buzzed alive. She snatched it off her desk.

  There is motion in your backyard.

  Again? Parker spun around to peer out her window. The camera’s security light beamed on and bathed the empty back yard in a bright white light. Nothing. She stood at her window, quietly, watching for any hint of the source that might have triggered the alert. No bird flapped away. No squirrel dashed across any branches. The yard was lifeless.

  That was, until a long, dark shadow emerged from the shadow of the house.

  Parker’s heart jumped as she pressed her hand to the window, only to settle down when she recognized the outline of her mother slowly step out onto the lawn. Valerie was wrapped in her usual satin robe, her arms outstretched to support the shotgun that she aimed expertly at the fence line.

  “Oh hell, Mom,” said Parker to herself. “Go easy on the squirrels.”

  Parker watched Valerie scan the yard down the barrel of her gun for the next few minutes. In an odd way, Parker found it relaxing that her mother was so on the ball. When Valerie appeared satisfied that no intruders were present, she slowly lowered her shotgun and disappeared back into the house.

  Parker yawned, and then rubbed her eyes. Feeling the night would yield no secrets to her, she took a final glance at her phone to skim Holly’s email. Going over the ledgers was a sobering reminder of how much the school depended on the PTA raising money for their programs.

  I really need to make sure I put more time and effort into this.

  Parker couldn’t believe all the items listed that the PTA paid for: playground equipment, computers, music instruments, office supplies, after-school programs, before-school programs, they supplemented lunches, breakfasts for kids in need and even—Parker tilted her head. She reread the last item numerous times to be sure of it.

  “Now—what the fuck is that?”

  76.

  The next evening, Parker opened the front door to greet Mr. Heller’s twinkling eyes and disarming smile.

  He wore dark slacks with a tweed jacket and had neatly combed what remained of this thin white hair. Heller clutched a brown leather document holder under his arm. “Am I too early?” he asked.

  Parker smiled, impressed that the man had put some effort into dressing up for his visit to the Monroe estate. “You’re right on time.” She pointed to the document holder. “Is that for me?”

  Mr. Heller’s eyes brightened. “Of course! Yes!” He presented Parker the holder. “Though I’m not sure why you asked for them. It took a little doing, but you said they were important.”

  Parker took hold of the leather bag. “Oh, they are important.” She resisted opening the bag right away, despite her desire to rip through every last page inside. There would time for that later. Instead she studied Heller’s reaction to her receiving it. He looks more confused than concerned. Either he’s a wonderful actor, or he can’t possibly suspect what these papers might detail. “Thank you. Please, come in. Mom’s prepared something special tonight.”

  Mr. Heller filled his nostrils with the scented wafts emanating from the kitchen. “Smells delightful. Chicken?”

  “Duck.”

  “All for me?”

  “It’s the least we could do for having you come all this way.” And it might help soften the blow later. “I know it’s not easy for you to get out and about.”

  “It’s already worth it.” Mr. Heller happily followed his nose and stepped inside.

  For the next hour, Mr. Heller sat with the Monroe family at their dining room table, enjoying the succulent pan roasted duck, paired with a bottle of Domain de la Vougeraie Clos de Vouget Grand Cru 2014. The French pinot noir was one of Valerie’s most recent acquisitions, and at two hundred dollars a pop, well worth the price. Of course, to keep Maddy, Drew and Ally from grumbling about the entire dinner, an alternate meal of Kraft mac and cheese with extra, extra cheese was served with milk. In the end, Parker’s gamble over dining with the kids had paid off. Heller delighted in their company, and even Maddy refrained from having any outbursts, something Parker wondered if Valerie might have warned her ahead of time against doing.

  After dinner, everyone gathered in the front living room to listen to Maddy play the baby grand piano. While Maddy deftly worked her way through Chopin, Mozart and Rachmaninoff, Parker took the opportunity to scan through some of the documents in Heller’s bag. She occasionally glanced at Mr. Heller, who didn’t seem at all bothered at her studying the papers. Instead, he nodded in gentle approval to what he heard from Maddy, sometimes even softly tapping his foot.

  Maddy finished with Moonlight Sonata, a surprise that instantly grabbed Parker’s attention. Parker listened carefully to her daughter’s playing. It was technical, almost robotic, but without flaw as she finished. But she finished, Parker thought to herself. That’s the first time she’s finished the piece in one sitting since Kurt died.

  “Wonderful!” Mr. Heller applauded. “Thank you, young lady. I very much appreciated your playing for me tonight.”

  Maddy quietly closed her music book and nodded without so much of a glance at her guest.

  Parker grinned. Maddy had completely disarmed Ken Heller, which would help make her job easier of asking some tough questions.

  But Maddy’s silence seemed to intrigue Heller, who shifted forward in his seat. “I do wonder,” he said, drifting his voice.

  Maddy paused and turned her head. “Wonder what?”

  Heller kneaded his hands together with an impish grin. “Moonlight is such a brooding and somber piece. You played it perfectly. But—”

  Maddy arched her left brow, a signal that reminded Parker of Valerie, who watched in earnest from across the room with Ally sitting in her lap. “But--?”

  Heller looked to Parker as to whether he should proceed.

  Parker’s stomach tightened. Maddy, please behave yourself. She gave the nod.

  Heller proceeded. “It also felt rather—hollow.”

  Oh hell, did I just consent to that?

  Maddy’s right brow raised up to join her left. “You’re saying,” Maddy swallowed. “It wasn’t good?”

  Heller attempted to disarm Maddy with a chuckle. “No, I said it was technically perfect. But music is more than just playing the right notes at the right time. It’s about how the musician injects emotion and feeling into the song. Your emotion takes us on a journey. We feel what the musician feels. That is the difference between playing music—”

  “—and making music.” Said Maddy. She drew in a deep breath.

  Heller’s grin widened. “You’ve heard that phrase before.”

  Maddy’s eyes welled up. “My Dad used to tell me that.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything,” assured Heller. “The music will do it for you. If you let it.” Sensing that Maddy was on the edge of breaking down, Mr. Heller placed his hands together as if in prayer, and bowed solemnly. “Thank you for your bravery tonight, young lady. I truly enjoyed your playing.”

  Maddy nodded and stood up from the bench. She paused a moment, then turned back to Heller. “If it’s okay—I could play for you again. Sometime. If you want.”

  Parker’s eyes widened.

  “I would like that,” answered Heller.

  Fanning herself with her hand, Valerie cut through the warmth of the room. “Alright,” she said, lifting Ally to her hip. “That’s as good a segue as any. It’s starting to get late, and I imagine you two have a lot to talk about.”

 
“We do,” said Parker. She broached Maddy and put her arms on her shoulders. “That was wonderful, Maddy. Thank you.”

  “Sure,” said Maddy in her usual monotone voice.

  Well, it wasn’t an emotional gut punch, so I’ll take it. Parker turned to her mother. “Thanks, Mom. The duck was fucking delicious.”

  “Oh my,” said Heller, shocked at the language. He smiled at Valerie. “But I agree. What she said.”

  Valerie disappeared upstairs with the children, leaving Mr. Heller and Parker alone in the living room. Heller tried to hide his yawn. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to being up past seven. But a deal is a deal.”

  Parker sighed. “I’ll try to keep this short.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He pointed to the bank statements in Parker’s hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Parker frowned. “I think so.”

  “You don’t see happy about it.”

  “I hope I’m wrong. How involved were you with your wife’s finances?”

  “Not very. Karen had been running everything for years. She took them over when I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My time in the hospital made keeping up with the bills very difficult.”

  “What stage of cancer are you in now?”

  “Oh, Ms. Monroe,” Heller chuckled with a dry cough. “I’m afraid, I’m on the encore.” Heller shrugged. “I try not to dwell on it. Now is all about managing the pain.”

  “I imagine the medical bills have piled up.”

  “Insurance only covers so much.”

  Parker looked Heller dead to rights in his sad eyes. “Is that why your wife was stealing money from the PTA?”

  77.

  The light in Ken’s eyes faded.

  His charming smile all but disappeared.

  “Oh, my,” he muttered to himself. He pointed to the bank statements in Parker’s hands. “Is that what these say?”

  Parker took a deep breath and sidled over to Ken to show him the statements. “These only go back a year’s worth, but there are deposits of $2500 into your joint account during the Fall, Winter and Spring of last year. These correspond with checks I found cut from the PTA made out to Karen Heller the same day, for the same amount, with a note on them regarding ADMIN-MISC.”