“Already made.”
Jil followed her foster mother into the kitchen where a fresh bouquet of short pink roses sat on the table in a glass bowl, their full blooms lending another heady scent to the kitchen. Absently, she picked up the lighter and touched a flame to the floating candles that surrounded the roses.
“Tea?”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll make it.”
Elise reached for a tin of cookies to put on the table while Jil ran water into the old steel kettle and set it on the stove. She took down mugs and a teapot, then rooted around in the tea cupboard for her old standby: Irish breakfast.
“You have any good tea at home yet, or are you still drinking that American sludge?”
Jil shook her head. “I’m an investigator. Coffee is a job requirement.”
“No kidding. Especially the hours you keep. How’s work at the school?”
“It’s taking a different direction than I thought,” Jil said as the kettle began steaming.
Elise leaned against the head chair, propping her leg up against one knee in a yoga pose. “I’m sorry to laugh, but it seems like that school is part of your destiny.”
“I know,” Jil said ruefully. “If not as a student, then as an investigator pretending to be a teacher.”
Elise didn’t ask what she was investigating. She knew Jil couldn’t say anything until the investigation was over.
The kettle began to scream, so Jil took it off the stove and poured the hot water into the pot of leaves. Elise had laid out chocolate chip cookies on the table next to the mugs, and Jil sank into her old spot at the small round glass-top, staring out the window for a moment. This foster home was different from any other one she’d been in. No bench seating, no melamine plates or plastic tablecloths. No bunk beds or rec rooms.
The house was quiet, neat, and filled with nice things that Elise loved and treasured. Jil had never broken a single knick-knack when she lived there, and, except once, she’d never gone into Elise’s grand study without her permission. Permission she’d never asked for—until today.
“Elise, I’ve been to the library, and they don’t have what I’m looking for.”
Elise looked up. “The library doesn’t have what you’re looking for?” she said incredulously. During her tenure as professor at the University of Rockford, Elise had maintained at least one shift a week at the local library and steadfastly believed in its ability to impart all relevant information.
“It’s on microfilm.”
“Oh, that’s a pain. Digital is much better.”
“They only digitized nineteen eighty-five and beyond for the Rockford Citizen.”
“And you want what? Nineteen eighty-four?”
“Well, yes, actually, and the seventies as well.”
Elise frowned. “I have volumes of papers. Every year, I get them bound.”
Jil smiled. “I know. I’m looking forward to inheriting your hoard.”
“This is not a hoard; it’s a collection. Hoards are messy and disorganized and they smell bad. These papers are leather-bound and gorgeous. They’re arranged according to the Dewey Decimal System and—”
“Color-coded?”
“Of course not! Arranged by size.”
Jil laughed. “Noted.”
“And you will be inheriting them, if only so you can drop them off at the nearest reference library.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Jil said. Elise dying had been far too much on her mind lately.
“Well, that’s too bad, because now you’ve reminded me…”
Elise strode past her down the hall—not quite as quickly as usual—and Jil frowned as she followed.
When the door opened before her, she felt like Aladdin entering the forbidden cave. For a moment, she stood at the entrance, just staring at Elise’s double-story, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “Can I climb the ladder?”
Elise laughed. “Not a chance. Wait til I’m dead. Now, pay attention. This is important.” She walked around the side of the enormous mahogany desk and felt under the wide round edge, then pulled a hidden drawer out from the back corner.
“Seriously? What are you, Nancy Drew?”
“The desk came with this. From my father’s study.”
Mr. Fitzgerald had been a criminal lawyer in the 1920s, and had clearly had an interesting job.
Jil peered into the empty drawer and laughed when Elise popped out a false bottom and set it on the desk. The space below contained a folder.
“My will,” she said. “And some other things. Just so you know where to look when I kick the bucket.”
“We’re not talking about that.”
Elise sighed. “You know eventually we’ll have to. Since you’ll have to take me back to Ireland and all.”
“Seriously?”
Elise laughed. “Of course not! I want to be in an urn on your fireplace in that beautiful loft of yours.”
Jil shot her a withering look. “Standard burial plot it is then.”
Elise nodded. “Thank you.”
“Seriously, Elise, how bad is it?”
Her foster mother lifted her chin and gave her a small smile. “We’ve still got time, darling. Now, I’ll leave you in here to find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
When Elise left, Jil took a moment just to look around. Even though she was now an adult, Elise’s study still felt magical and mysterious. Elise’s love for research had been a compelling part of Jil’s becoming a PI.
After an hour, she had a stack of materials piled on the chaise by the door and had filled out a card to let Elise know what she’d taken. Nothing about that boy in the woods, though. Jess had been right about that.
“Supper!” came the familiar call.
“Coming!”
Before ducking out of the study, she punched in Morgan’s number. Maybe he could find the police report…
*
Monday morning, Buck appeared, as expected, in Jil’s second period class. She was waiting for him. She’d had enough of these games and was about to put a stop to them once and for all, but in order for that to work, she’d have to play one more round.
“Oh, Buck, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, speaking faintly on purpose. “I was wondering if you’d mind taking my class this morning? I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Sure, Julia,” Buck said, nodding his great grizzly head. “I don’t mind helping you out.”
As long as you get publicly recognized and praised. She could just hear him in the staff room afterward, telling everyone who would listen (confidentially, of course) how he’d stepped in at the last minute to help out a senior class with a new teacher who was really feeling the pressure. Oh, it was nothing. He’d just have to stay late tonight to finish his own work, but it was no problem.
Outwardly, she just smiled—weakly. “Thanks a lot, Buck. There’s a video if you don’t feel like lecturing.”
Fat chance. He’d get going on a moral lesson, punctuated with thrilling stories from his childhood, and there would be no stopping him. She shot Bex an apologetic glance as she ducked out of the room, and Bex shrugged in response—albeit, with a flick of her chin that told Jil on no uncertain terms that she wasn’t pleased. Mr. Weekly was annoying, but spending a class hearing stories wasn’t the worst way to spend her time.
Jil hurried down the stairs and headed straight for Buck’s office. It turned out that it was easy to get keys to alternate rooms in the school. All you had to do was ask for a legitimate key from the secretary, whose ample midsection made her mobility a problem. She waved in the general direction of the key box, and instructed you to help yourself.
Jil had asked for a key to the staff washroom that very morning, and had helped herself to the spare labeled R200. Buck’s office. While she was in there, she’d lifted the spare for her own office.
That way, the temptation for someone else to break into her space was thwarted a little. Though who knew how many spare keys were floating ar
ound the school? A master key seemed to be common amongst department heads, gym teachers, and everyone else who felt they had the right to access every room in the building.
Now that Buck was safely occupied, Jil strode purposefully into his room. Hiding in plain sight was one of her specialties. If you acted like you had business somewhere, people believed you did. She opened the door quickly. Buck never turned out the lights. He was not environmentally conscious by nature, so it would not seem strange to anyone in the hallway that his lights were on and nobody was home.
She began with the slush pile at his desk, knowing even as she searched that her notebook was unlikely to be there. Still, why not begin with the obvious? Nothing on the desk but piles of tests and informative brochures. Nothing in the desk—the top drawer of which had been carefully locked, the key sitting in the organizer on top.
She searched his bookshelf, his bag, and his coat pocket before a knock on the door interrupted her. She ignored it, hoping the person would go away. Another, more insistent rap sounded. She grabbed the first pile she saw and went to the door.
Brian the custodian stood there. “Oh, hey, Julia.”
“Hey, Brian,” Jil replied, relaxing.
“Buck asked for another dolly. D’you know where he is?”
“Yeah, actually, he’s up teaching my class.”
“Why? Don’t you want to teach it?”
“Not feeling well,” Jil lied. “I just stopped in to get some materials to take home with me, then I’m leaving.”
“Hey, if you’re not feeling good, there’s ginger ale in the office fridge.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Might make you better. Want me to get you some?”
“Sure.”
Brian hurried off toward the fridge. She searched the rest of the office with no luck, and was just about to leave when she saw an errant page sticking out from under the leg of Buck’s desk. She bent down and pried loose a pile of blue watermarked paper.
She didn’t have to see the words WATCH YOUR BACK to know that it was the same letterhead Bex’s note had been printed on.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
She slipped the paper into the waist of her pants, her short jacket barely covering it. Then she quietly locked the door, and headed to the staff room. She had planned to return the key. Now, she thought better of it. Probably a handy thing to hold on to if he was going to raid her office on a regular basis.
But a tiny little glow in the pit of her stomach tipped her off to her true non-objective feelings. She was secretly pleased to have an excuse to investigate Buck Weekly. Somehow, she felt, he was the key to this whole case. A case that was getting to be more than she’d bargained for every step of the way.
“Here you go,” Brian said, meeting her at the door. “Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.” Jil smiled, taking the ginger ale, and turning back around. “Hey, Brian.” She dropped her voice.
“Yeah?” He leaned in too, his face wide and questioning.
“Have you ever seen anybody in my office?”
“You mean, when you weren’t there, like?”
“Yeah.”
Brian looked around, then dropped his voice even lower.
“Now, you didn’t hear it from me,” he whispered. “But there’s a few things goin’ on at this school that Jess oughta take notice of and doesn’t. Not that she’s not good, mind you, but there’s some who’ve got her wrapped, if you know what I mean.”
“Marcel?” Jil asked, reading his expression. There was no love lost between Marcel and Brian—common enough knowledge.
“Bastard can get away with whatever he wants, including snooping through people’s things. Stealing. ‘Borrowing’ for his own amusement.”
“What has he taken?”
“Stupid stuff. He’s always bragging about how he never gets caught. Teachers’ pens or jewelry. A textbook. A picture or a candy. Anything. He keeps it all stashed in his little hiding places around the school. Jackass. It’s just a control thing. He likes to think he’s king shit around here, you know?”
“Why haven’t you told Jess?”
Brian snorted. “Yeah, like she’d believe me,” he said. “Marcel would pin it on me, and I’d be out on my ass without a job. I’ve got two kids to support. No way I’m gonna get fired over Marcel’s stupid treasure hunting.”
Jil nodded again. “Keep him out of my office, would you?”
Brian’s face grew serious. “Ya think he’s been in there?”
Jil shrugged, smiling again. “Who knows? I just don’t want him to try it.”
Brian smiled wide. “No problem, Jules.”
Jil shook his hand and turned to leave. She wanted to get out of this godforsaken school. Now.
It wasn’t until she was safe back inside her own empty house, with a fire going and a glass of wine in hand, that Jil took out the watermarked paper. Other than the watermark, she couldn’t see anything else that might help her identify the sender.
She took out her phone and called Padraig. “I need to see you,” she said tensely.
“What happened?”
“Someone at work stole my notebook.”
Padraig was silent for a long moment. “Did it have any identifying marks on it?”
“No. I always keep them like you taught me. No name, no numbers. Everything in it was in block-letter shorthand and initials. No way it could be traced back to me, except that it was taken from my desk.”
“Shit,” Padraig grumbled. “Any idea who took it? And why would they take it unless they were on to you?”
“I can’t imagine why. But I’m going to find a way to get those damned scribbles back.”
Padraig snickered a little. “You always liked to give me a hard time about that, eh? Thought I was going way overboard teaching you shorthand.”
“Well, what would anyone want with my notebook? Why would anyone go snooping through my things? Especially where this was hidden. This investigation’s getting weirder by the day. Can I just forget everything I’m seeing and get the hell out of here?”
“Do you want to?”
Jil sighed. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Part of me just wants to write the damn report and be done with this school.”
“And the other part?”
“The other part’s telling me that I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. Did I tell you that the latest suicide—Alyssa—was also gay?”
Padraig let out a low whistle. “So that’s four then?”
“Yep.”
“Seems like a pattern to me.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m also wondering who knew about these kids, and if someone could frame a murder to look like a suicide.”
“That’s what’s keeping you at the school then?”
“Well, that and my investigation.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
Jil blushed, glad Padraig couldn’t see over the phone. As much as he’d support her investigative curiosity and her search for answers, she doubted his sympathy would extend to her compromising her investigation for the sake of a woman she barely knew.
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Good,” said Padraig. A warning underlay that statement—which wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but Jil.
She purposely did not tell him that she’d agreed to help Jessica investigate the taggings at the school. She didn’t know how she would explain that to him. The one advantage, though, was that if ever anyone told Jess that she’d been snooping around, she could just claim that she’d been investigating the vandalism, and Jess would let her off the hook. She smiled, but if the thought gave her temporary elation, it was temporary indeed. She was sobered by the growing mountain of questions facing her.
The next morning as she dumped her stuff on her desk, she noticed the top drawer had been left slightly ajar. She wrenched it open to find her notebook peeking back at her.
“What the fuck?”
She too
k out the book and sat down heavily in her chair. Not only had someone snuck in here to take it; they’d also snuck back in here to plant it.
Folded between the pages was another watermarked paper. I’M ON TO YOU.
A chill ran down her arms. So, she was a target now.
She replaced the book just as Bex popped her head into the office. “Ready, Miss?”
“Yep.”
Jil jumped up and followed Bex out, careful to lock the door behind her—not that locked doors seemed to matter. Bex walked five steps ahead of her to the computer lab, watching subtly for any movement. Jil pretended to read her notes as she traveled along, stopping once to exchange a “good morning” with Rosie McMonahan.
When she caught up to Bex downstairs, Jil turned the light on in the computer lab. “Which one did she use?”
“That one in the corner.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Bex ducked out of the room.
Jil took the login information for Alyssa Marco and sat at the computer. She pressed in the ID and password and got a blinking box.
“Shit.” Her account had already been disconnected.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Someone had been bullying Alyssa online. She’d hoped to find some history in her account, but now she needed another strategy.
Just as she was about to get up, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone could listen in, but the hallway outside was deserted.
“It’s me. I found the report,” Morgan whispered. “It was sealed, but…”
She smiled. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” She could picture the cocky grin on his face, but also knew that behind that, he was a little worried about being caught.
“What did it say?”
“I think you’d better read it for yourself. But you were right. It’s definitely weird. Why does a fourteen-year-old kid go for a walk in the woods in minus twenty-five degree weather? Without proper outerwear or boots? The case file says no foul play is suspected, but the kid also didn’t have a history of insanity, so I don’t buy it.”
“Exactly. There has to be more to it. Something drove that kid out to his death that night, and I want to know what it was. Someone has to know something.” She hung up and hurried back to her office to log on to her e-mail.
UnCatholic Conduct Page 14
