by Joan Hess
“The accountant said that the books were basically in order. He said there had been crude attempts to make the account look short, but that the money was all there. He had a few other comments about Miss Parchester’s system, which he found peculiar yet amazingly sound. I suspect she’ll be relieved to find out that the embezzlement charges are going to be dismissed.”
Leaving the minor matter of murder. “Who fiddled the counts to make her look guilty?”
Peter shrugged. “I suppose I could hunt up a handwriting expert, but all he’d have to go on are a few smudgy numbers penciled in over the originals. Do you honestly think this has anything to do with the murders? A few dollars missing from a club account, easily located once the books are examined?”
“No, not really. It’s damned odd, that’s all… and it did result in Weiss’s death. If Miss Parchester hadn’t been accused and exiled, she wouldn’t have left the compote in the lounge, thus providing someone with the vehicle to poison Weiss. I keep thinking it had to be planned; one doesn’t stroll about a high school with a pocketful of peach pits.”
Jorgeson appeared around the corner of the building and yelled at Peter.
“I’m needed,” he said, charmingly reluctant to desert me. “Will you swear you don’t have Miss Parchester tucked away somewhere?”
I dutifully swore (since I didn’t), and went so far as to invite him to come by later in the evening. We parted amiably. I drove to the hospital to visit Tessa Zuckerman, the only Fury I hadn’t questioned. I did not expect to find Miss Parchester hunched under a hospital bed, but I was running out of potential ports.
Miss Zuckerman resembled a limp, faded rag doll in the bed. Her arms were crowded with needles and tubes; her face was almost the color of the pillowcase that engulfed it. She appeared to be asleep, but as I started to tiptoe out of her room, her eyelids fluttered.
“Mrs. Malloy?”
“Hello, Miss Zuckerman. I came by to see how you were. Don’t let me disturb you if you need to rest.”
“No, it was so very kind of you to come, and I’m flattered by your concern. You must tell me the truth, Mrs. Malloy. Mae and Alexandria have taken it upon themselves to protect me from any outside news. Their decision is admirable but frustrating. They will tell me nothing about the dreadful-occurrence in the lounge. How is Mr. Weiss?”
I hedged for a moment, then told her. She closed her eyes for a long time, and I had decided she was asleep when she at last stirred. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I wondered as much; he looked so ill and the bluish cast to his skin made me think of cyanosis. Have the police arrested anyone for the crime?”
“No, but they would like very much to speak to Emily Parchester about the brandied peach compote. They have not been able to find her, however. Has she been to visit you in the last few days?”
She turned her face away from me, and her voice took on a guarded tone. “I get so confused, Mrs. Malloy, that I cannot be sure whether my visitors are real or imagined. Let me think..
No, Emily has not been here that I can recall. I doubt she intends to come.”
It was as convincing as Paula Hart’s explanation of why she was standing in the lounge reciting the alphabet. Jerry might have believed his beloved, but I knew a lie when I heard one. And I’d just been offered a whopper.
“Please tell her I have good news-should she come by,” I said. “I’ll see you when you come back to school.” Her eyes were closed again, but this time her breathing was deep enough to indicate that she had fallen asleep. I stopped at the nurse’s station. “How is Miss Zuckerman doing?” I asked a shiny-faced young thing.
“As well as can be expected, but renal failure is very, very serious. Are you a member of the family?”
“In a way. Does her doctor have any idea how long she’ll be in the hospital?”
The young thing gave me a long, solemn look. “The patient is not expected to recover,” she whispered. “The endometrial cancer is no longer in remission. No other forms of treatment, including the less conventional ones, have had any significant effect, and she has refused further chemotherapy.”
I forgave Tessa Zuckerman for her lie. I made a mental note to send flowers while they could be enjoyed, then thanked the nurse and walked out to my car. A woman nodded as she walked past me, a box of candy in her hand. A worried young man with a child hurried by, followed by an elderly couple and several teenagers. I gaped at their backs. Visitors. Emily Parchester had visited her dying friend, and would do so again.
The next set of visiting hours were from seven to nine P.M. I needed a couple of bodies for the stakeout, since I would have to entertain Peter. I drove to Rhonda Maguire’s garage and steeled myself for both the incipient outrage and the sight of “l3roast the Bantams.” Neither would present a pretty picture. I was right on both counts.
After a hefty dose of cajolement coupled with money for hamburgers and milkshakes, Caron and Inez abandoned their classmates and left for the hospital. If Miss Parchester appeared, she would be tailed by two excited detectives with crepe paper in their hair.
When Peter came by, he was too tired to discuss the case. We drank wine and watched television like old married folks, and he was actually nodding when the telephone rang.
I grabbed it before the second ring. “Yes?” I hissed.
“Mrs. Malloy? This is Inez. Caron told me to call you and report what happened.”
Peter’s head was still lowered. I turned my back to him and hunched my shoulders around the receiver. “What happened, Inez? Why did Caron tell you to call? Why can’t she come to the telephone herself?’
“She is in the emergency room. Even if she could call, I don’t think she’s in the mood to talk about it.”
“What is she doing in the emergency room? What happened?”
“It’s a long story, Mrs. Malloy, but Miss Parchester finally showed up at Miss Zuckerman’s room. We were waiting in an empty room across the hall, ready to tail her to her hideout.” She gulped several times. “Then, just as Miss Parchester started to go in Miss Zuckerman’s room, a nurse spotted us and yelled at us to come out and explain what we thought we were doing.”
“There must be more, Inez. Please get to the reason that my daughter is now in the emergency room and unable to speak to me.
“Miss Parchester jumped about ten feet when she saw us. Caron grabbed her to try to tell her that we wanted to help, but I think it must have scared her. Anyway, she sort of bopped Caron on the head with her umbrella and ran away down the hail.”
“And Caron has a concussion from being assaulted by an old lady with an umbrella?”
“Not exactly,” Inez said, sighing faintly. “Caron and I both started after Miss Parchester, but the nurse got in the way and we all ended up on the floor. Caron sprained her ankle. The hospital security people put her in a wheelchair and brought her down here to get it taped. I don’t think they’re going to let us go, Mrs. Malloy. My mother is going to kill me.”
“No, she’s not,” I said. I could envision the fiasco from start to finish, from the lurkers in the dark room to the current extension of my daughter’s lower lip.
“I have to go,” Inert said in a very small voice. “They won’t let me talk anymore. Will you bring bail, Mrs. Malloy? Caron and I have less than a dollar, and I think we’re in worse trouble than that.”
I assured her that I would be there within ten minutes and replaced the receiver. Peter was still asleep. There was no way to explain where I was going and why. There was also no reason to try, so I opted to let sleeping dogs lie. Better than I.
I left a note on his wineglass and tiptoed out the door.
NINE
I managed to extricate Caron and Inez from the clutches of hospital security, but it took an insurance card, a parental consent form to X-ray and subsequently wrap a twisted-but-not-sprained ankle, and an endless stream of avowals that neither girl would set foot in the hospital again unless they were pre-anesthetized in the parking lot
. During all this fun, Caron limped out of a cubicle and shot me an icy look.
“This has been So Entertaining,” she said. “It was all your idea, Mother. I told them that much, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Anyway, I don’t see how you can trespass in a public building. They Do Say this is a public building, don’t they? That means the public can come in, doesn’t it? I am public, aren’t I?”
Nostrils aquiver, she beckoned for Inez to support her. The two hobbled out the door, leaving me to fill out insurance forms under the reproachful scrutiny of a nurse, who seemed to think I was some sort of modern day Fagin. Which I suppose I was.
There was a good deal of sniffing and puffing in the car, but no further rhetorical rampages or comments on culpability. Inert muttered a thanks for the ride and scurried into her house like a leaf caught in the wind. The inarticulate outrage continued all the way to Caron’s bedroom door, where I was informed she could manage quite well without me. No thanks for the ride, either.
Peter was gone, saving me from the necessity of producing explanations (lame/mendacious) for the errand and for the noises that still drifted through the bedroom door. I made a cup of tea and retired to my bedroom to think about Miss Parchester. My theory that she would visit Miss Zuckerman had been right, but she had slipped away without divulging the location of her hideout. And she wouldn’t return to the hospital. The debacle in the hallway would fuel her paranoia. I seemed to have perfected the ability to both find her and lose her. I considered what Peter would do if he ever found out about the scene in the hospital, when the fugitive had fled into the great unknown-again. In all probability, he would not be amused.
I went on to Pitts’s murder, and wasted a good fifteen minutes wondering why he’d been poisoned. Sherwood suspected the custodian had carried tales to the principal, who then used the knowledge to apply pressure to various members of the faculty. Could Pitts have indulged in a spot of blackmail on his own? I glanced at the Falcon Crier, trying to imagine Pitts as the author of the nasty letters. Not Pitts, I concluded, although it would have been charmingly tidy; he hadn’t been capable of penning insinuations and innuendos of such delicacy. Pitts had been, I thought glumly, more of a crayonist.
But his murder had to be linked to Herbert Weiss’s death, which lacked any motive I could determine. Weiss hadn’t been with the teachers I’d met, and probably wasn’t any more popular with the other faculty members, but someone had taken an extreme view of things. Who? Pitts hadn’t won any popularity contests, either. The rumors might be true, or they might well be the ravings of post-pubescent imaginations. The same minds that evolved the concept of “Broast the Bantams” could surely assign nefarious motives to what might be innocent situations. I caught myself in a shudder.
The Homecoming festivities could no longer be ignored. After a gulp of tea to give me courage, I tapped on Caron’s door. “May I come in, dear? I need to ask you something.”
“Does it involve leaping off a cliff to help you with your investigation? Organ donation? Defenestration?”
Alert to the very real possibility of missiles being flung with lethal intent, I eased open the door. “Your ankle must be hurting. Can I bring you another pillow and some aspirins, or loosen the bandage? How about a nice cup of tea and some cookies?”
The patient was sprawled on her bed, the offending foot elevated on a pillow. Her glower had all the subtlety of a roman candle. “No thank you, Mother-you’ve done Quite Enough. I had to tell Rhonda I can’t work on the float tomorrow afternoon, since I can barely walk. She demanded to know what happened. I had no idea what to say without thoroughly humiliating myself, so I made up some stupid story. I could tell she didn’t believe me, and she’ll tell everyone at school what a total klutz I am.”
Better than the truth, which was likely to get back to certain cops a-lurk in the building. “Let’s talk about the Homecoming schedule,” I suggested, perching on the corner of her bed nearest the door. One never knows. “The parade is Friday afternoon?”
“Right after school at three-thirty, up Thurber Street and around the square. I was going to walk beside the float and do our class yell, but I doubt anyone will offer to push me in a wheelchair and I couldn’t possibly keep up on crutches. The band would march right over me.”
“You can see so much better from the sidewalk. Are you going to the game and dance? I need some advice about what to expect, and some support while I chaperone.”
“Inez and I have to sell programs at the game to earn pep points. Maybe I’ll sell more doing my Tiny Tim Cratchett imitation. She sucked in her cheeks and held out a cupped hand. “Please, sir, a penny for the crippled children’s fund.”
I almost laughed, but the sparks in her eyes kept me sober. “It will probably work, especially if you wear burlap. What about the dance? Are you and Inez going together-or do you have dates?”
The cupped hand went over her face, muffling the next words. “No, I don’t have a date, Mother. Some geek from my homeroom asked me, but the thought was nauseating. I told him I wasn’t allowed to date until I was thirty. He’s geeky enough to believe it. Inez and I haven’t decided whether to go or not, but after Rhonda finishes telling everyone about klutzy Caron Malloy, I may not show my face in public again-ever.”
“If you handle this carefully, you can win a lot of sympathy. You’ll have all the boys waiting on you, bringing you punch and that sort of thing. It’ll be fun.”
“The geek will sit beside me all night, and I won’t be able to get away from him,” she sniffled. “I’ll end up with pimples and herpes.” She was already dialing for sympathy as I left her room.
The time had come for drastic measures if I was to avoid the Homecoming dance, save Miss Parchester’s reputation, defend freedom of the press, discover the author of the Miss Demeanor blackmail letters, solve two murders-and keep Peter Rosen from locking me away for the rest of my life. I had forty-eight hours, tops. Or forty-eight years, if one used the actuarial tables.
I therefore yelled at Caron to get off the telephone, took several deep breaths, and called Sherwood Timmons.
After a round of diplomatic maneuvers, I asked him if he was willing to let me in the high school that night.
“So you are still on the case of the fiddled books,” he said, sounding delighted. “Occasbo fact furem; the occasion makes the thief. Are we to wear rubber-soled shoes and use penlights to wend our way through the ledgers? Black turtlenecks and smudges on our faces? Incognito et incognita?”
“If you wish,” I said meekly. Personally, I had on a wool jacket and my face was immaculate, but I decided to permit him his fantasies. The case of the fiddled books was no longer my primary motivation to search the office, since Peter had told me the money was still in the account. However, it seemed prudent to allow Sherwood to remain both incognizant and incognito, if he wished. I agreed to meet him in the darkest corner of the faculty parking lot. I then told Caron I had an errand and left her to continue her conversation with Inez about Rhonda-or Rhonda about the float-or the geek about hygienic distances-or something along those lines. She didn’t even wave good-bye.
Sherwood loomed beside me as I climbed out of my car in the parking lot. “I must tell you how charmed I am by our little tryst, Claire. I do hope this will not be the only opportunity we have to get to know each other intimately. In fact, I’ve tucked a bottle of wine in my refrigerator in case we feel the urge for a spot of vino veritas once we complete our breaking-and-entering diversion.”
I removed my elbow from his hand and gave him by best enigmatic smile. “We’re merely entering, Sherwood, in that you possess a key. I realize it’s unimaginative, but it’s also less likely to get us arrested.”
“Indeed. And we won’t have to worry about the despicable Pitts appearing to fumigate, since someone has already exterminated him. De nortuis nil nisis bonum-but it is difficult not to interpret his demise as a gift from the gods.”
“Then you believed all the rumors concerning drugs, al
cohol, and back-alley abortionists? I was thinking about it earlier, but I wasn’t around the school long enough to arrive at any valid conclusions about him.”
“Only those on Olympus know for sure.” He unlocked the door and held it open. “Jacta alea est, as Caesar was reputed to mutter; the die is cast.”
The hall stretched like the interior of a monster, the lockers on either side glinting like rippled ribs. I hadn’t cared for Sherwood’s oblique reminder that we were alone, but I couldn’t see him in the role of crazed poisoner. Praying my vision was accurate, I switched on my flashlight and led the way to the office, and the file room beyond.
“Is this the most likely place to find ledgers?” Sherwood breathed on the back of my neck.
“Perhaps you should stay by the door in case someone’s in the building,” I said through the wintergreen haze. “Keep a lookout, listen for footsteps, that sort of thing.”
I waited until he left, then found Jerry’s folder and put it on top of the cabinet. After a quick glance through the doorway, I flipped it open and scanned it for dark, damning hints of an evil past or present. All I found was personal information of the innocuous sort, transcripts from Farber College and a mid-western university, and glowing recommendations from college coaches and professors. Jerry had maintained a high grade point average through graduate school, and had done nothing to disgrace himself that I could discover. Phi Beta Kappa and all that. No accusations of molestation or mismanagement of the team.
After a second glance through the doorway to confirm my sentry’s position, I took out his file and looked at the contents. Nothing beyond the same sort of thing as in the coach’s file. I closed the drawer and went into the main room. “I’m going to look through Weiss’s desk,” I whispered.
He nodded tersely. “I thought I saw movement at the end of the hall. Can’t be sure. How much longer will you be?”
