Carrying the plate and a stack of napkins, I led the way to a corner table in the dining room. Jane reached for the first sandwich as she slid into her chair and quickly wolfed it down. Ignoring the napkins, she licked the ketchup off her fingers and went for the second. At this rate, we’d be back in the kitchen in no time.
Two minutes later, the second sandwich was also gone. As Jane took a deep breath and followed it with a sip of milk, I asked, “Better?”
“Yeah.” She wiggled in her chair and glanced back toward the kitchen. If she were like my son, she was thinking about dessert. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. When was the last time you ate?”
She shot me a look. “Yesterday, I guess.”
“Nobody at your house fixes meals?”
“Yeah, there are meals. I just don’t always eat them.”
Maybe, I thought. Maybe not. I kept my tone casual. “Where do you live?”
“Right,” Jane sniffed. “I tell you that, and you’ll take me home.”
“Not necessarily. You seem to spend a great deal of time here. I’m thinking there’s probably a good reason for that.”
Jane didn’t answer. Instead, she reached for her milk and finished it off. Getting information from her was like trying to pry a bone from the jaws of a pit bull.
“Dessert?” I asked. The girl’s eyes widened fractionally. “I bet we can find some cookies.”
“Even better, I bet we can make Shawna scream again.”
I smiled with her. “Let’s go for it.”
To Jane’s disappointment, this time the kitchen was empty. I rinsed off the plate in the sink while she rifled through the pantry. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she slipped a box of unsweetened chocolate into her pocket. I pretended not to notice; the chocolate’s bitter taste would probably be punishment enough.
Jane emerged from the pantry a moment later with a bag of iced oatmeal cookies that looked good enough to make my own stomach rumble. This time, we poured two glasses of milk.
“You’re going to have to talk to the police,” I said as we munched. “They think Krebbs was murdered, and since you were the first person to get there after he died, whether you realize it or not, you may have some valuable information for them.”
Jane shook her head. Her mouth was filled with cookie, but she pushed a word out around it. “No.”
“There’s no point in arguing—”
“I’m not,” Jane protested, when she’d finally swallowed. “But you’re wrong. I didn’t find Krebbs after he died. When I got there, he was still alive.”
Ten
“Alive?” I gasped. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. “Are you sure?”
“His fingers were moving,” said Jane, her face clouding over. “That was the first thing I saw. That, and the blood.”
I wanted to reach over and put my arms around her, but I didn’t dare. I was afraid she’d stop talking, or worse, run away again. Instead, I simply listened.
“I was just passing by the shed. There was a wheelbarrow sitting next to the door. I’d seen Krebbs with it earlier, so I figured he was inside. I always liked to keep track of where he was . . .” Jane glanced in my direction. “You know?”
Remembering their encounter in the prop room, I nodded.
“I didn’t hear anything, so I figured I’d have a look, maybe sneak up on him so he wouldn’t even know I was there. He always thought he was so smart.” She shook her head in disgust. “Half the time, he had no idea what was going on.
“But when I looked inside the shed, he was lying on the floor. At first I thought he’d tripped and fallen. Then I saw his face. His eyes were just staring off into space. It was really spooky.”
“Did you go into the shed?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Jane said quickly. “I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I just kind of kept walking. Krebbs’s fingers were twitching, and his lips were moving. I thought he was trying to talk to me, except I didn’t want to get close enough to hear what he was saying. Part of me thought it was a trick. You know, like he’d set this up to scare me and any second he was going to jump up and grab me?”
Even in the retelling, I could feel Jane’s terror. I slid my arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away.
“He didn’t get up, though. And I only heard him say one word. Jason. At least that’s what it sounded like. That made me think of those old horror movies. You know, like Friday the Thirteenth? I just turned and ran.”
“You were very brave,” I said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“I was scared shitless.”
The teacher in me wanted to correct her vocabulary. The mother in me won out; I just kept holding on. “That’s when you went to get Mrs. Plimpton?”
“Right. I wasn’t looking for her in particular. I just wanted to get help. I knew Krebbs was in bad shape, but I didn’t think he was going to die. I thought an ambulance could come and save him.”
“Jane,” I said gently. “You’re going to have to talk to the police about this. Detective Shertz is the man in charge of the investigation. You need to tell him what you saw.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Jane said firmly. “Just what I’ve told you.”
“I know, but sometimes when the police ask questions you remember things you didn’t realize you knew. It’s important for you to tell them everything so they can find out who did this.”
“Jason did it. That’s what Krebbs said.”
I turned the name over in my mind. It wasn’t an unpopular one, and I could think of several students who were called that. However, I couldn’t imagine why any of them would have wanted to murder Eugene Krebbs. “Do you know who he meant?”
“No.” Jane shook her head emphatically as she twisted out of my grasp. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t know anything. And I don’t want to talk to the police.”
I gazed at her sadly. Such a small girl, with such a large burden. And I wasn’t making things any easier for her. “Are you afraid they might find out something about you? Like where you live, or that you don’t go to school?”
“It’s none of their business. It’s nobody’s business!” She put down her glass and started to walk away.
“Running won’t help,” I called after her. “Detective Shertz will find you. He has to, it’s his job. You might as well give in and talk to him willingly.”
Jane whirled to face me. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”
“Only when I have to be.”
Grudgingly she walked back and took the cookie I held out. “I hate teachers.”
“I’ll try not to take it personally.”
Jane was silent for a moment. “Will you be there?” she asked finally.
“Where?”
“When I talk to the detective, will you come with me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want is to be left alone.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. So I guess you may as well call the guy and tell him I’ll see him.”
“Detective Shertz was here earlier. He might still be here now. What about your parents?”
“What about them?” Jane looked annoyed.
“Wouldn’t you like them to be here, too?”
“My father’s dead,” she said shortly. The bald announcement carried not the slightest shred of emotion. “My mother’s in Boston. She wouldn’t come down here for something like this.”
“You ought to ask her—”
“I don’t know how to reach her. No one does. I think she’s living on the street. She doesn’t carry a cell phone, okay?”
“Okay,” I said softly, wishing I could ease her hostility, longing to put my arms around her once more. “Who takes care of you?”
“I live with my grandmother. My mom’s mom. She’s okay.”
Okay was a relative term, I thought, considering that I was talking to a child who wasn’t in school, was dress
ed in dirty clothes, and hadn’t eaten since the day before.
“Does she know where you are?” I asked.
“Sure.” Jane smiled slightly. “She thinks I’m in school. And I am. So everything works out fine.”
Right. “I imagine the police will want to speak with her, too,” I said, thinking aloud.
“If you try to call her, I’ll walk.”
Clearly I’d pushed her as far as she was going to go. “The only person I’m going to call is Detective Shertz. It’s up to him to decide what to do after that.”
I checked with Russell’s secretary. Harriet informed me that the detective had left before lunch and was not expected back on campus for the rest of the day. My next call was to the police department. I was certain Shertz wasn’t the only person working on the case, but he was the one I knew. When he proved unavailable, I left a message, setting up an appointment at the school for the next day.
“You will come back, won’t you?” I asked Jane, fully aware that I had no way to ensure her compliance.
“I guess.”
“Promise?”
“I told you I’ll be here,” Jane said, frowning. “Isn’t that good enough?”
It had to be. It was all the assurance I was going to get.
Howard Academy is situated just north of downtown Greenwich, on the edge of a residential area. As you drive out of town, compact, older homes quickly give way to stately mansions. Within a mile, you’re well into estate territory. Beautiful houses, each worth more than I will earn in my lifetime, line the country roads.
Aunt Peg lives in backcountry Greenwich. Her home is a rambling farmhouse set in the midst of a tree-fringed meadow. In the summer, wildflowers abound. In the winter, deer leave tracks beneath her windows. She and her husband, Max, bought the house forty years earlier, before the price of Greenwich real estate skyrocketed.
Max and Peg had never had any children, but they had raised glorious dogs. Over the decades, the Cedar Crest line of Standard Poodles had become known worldwide for its beauty, health, and good temperament. Faith was a Cedar Crest Standard Poodle, and to my mind she embodied everything that was wonderful about the breed. Thanks to Aunt Peg, I now had two children, and I couldn’t imagine living without either one.
Max Turnbull had died several years earlier and now that he was gone, Peg was beginning to scale down. Though there was a trim kennel building in the backyard, these days it seldom housed more than a handful of Poodles. The other dogs, those who had already finished their championships and no longer wore the elaborate clip required for the show ring, lived in the house with Aunt Peg.
Currently, the indoor herd numbered five. After school, when I’d swung by home and picked up Faith, gotten Davey off the bus, then driven to Aunt Peg’s house for a visit, the Poodles announced our arrival as soon as we turned in the driveway. That was business as usual. Faith functions s a combination burglar alarm/personal greeter at my house, too.
When Peg opened the front door, the Standard Poodles spilled down the steps and across the yard. All were black, and each wore the same no-muss, no-fuss kennel trim, with closely clipped face and feet, pom pon on the end of the tail, and a short blanket of hair covering the rest of their bodies. As Faith leapt from the car to join them, I found myself envying, not for the first time, the trim, sporty look of her sleeker cousins.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” said Aunt Peg, following the group down the stairs. “And might I add, it’s about time.”
“Time for what?” asked Davey. He was already rolling on the ground with the Poodles, who tended to treat him as a smaller, less hairy, littermate. “We just got here.”
“Time for you to go inside and see if you want a snack. I’ve got angel food cake and fresh raspberries.” As Davey scampered inside, Peg turned her attention to me. “Fine niece you are. A murder takes place right under your nose, and you don’t even have the decency to call. I had to read about it in the morning paper just like everyone else.”
Sweets are only one of Peg’s vices; curiosity is another. Her interest didn’t surprise me; nor did the rebuke.
“I’m here now, aren’t I? Besides, there isn’t that much to tell. I’d barely met Eugene Krebbs, nobody seems to know why anyone would want to murder him, and the police are investigating.”
Peg did a quick nose count, making sure that all the Poodles were with us as we walked inside, then closed the door. “There has to be more to it than that. You’re in a perfect position to have all sorts of inside information, so don’t think you’re going to get away with giving me short shrift.”
Davey was waiting for us impatiently in the kitchen. Aunt Peg and I took a few minutes out from our conversation to get him set up with a plate of cake and berries and a glass of milk. Peg fixed another plate for herself, only larger. I settled for a small bowl of raspberries.
“There’s heavy cream in the refrigerator,” Peg offered as she dug into her cake. She must be the only person on earth who thinks of heavy cream as a staple. Check out my refrigerator and you’ll find yogurt and 1% whole milk.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Good. Then you can tell me all about what’s been happening at my alma mater.”
I lifted my head and stared. “Your what?”
“My old school. Really, Melanie, is your education so lacking—”
“I know what the term means,” I broke in. “But I had no idea that you were a Howard Academy graduate.”
Peg shrugged. “Everyone has to go to school somewhere.”
Except Jane, perhaps.
“Well yes, but . . .” I groped for words. “I’m just wondering why this never came up before. I’ve been working at Howard Academy for six months. I would think you’d have mentioned your connection to the school before this.”
“Why?” asked Peg. “It’s not as if it made any difference. I attended the school for grades one through eight, many, many years ago. I’m sure the school has changed dramatically since then.”
“This is boring,” Davey announced, sliding down off his chair. His plate was already empty. “Can I go outside and play with the dogs?”
“If you put on your jacket,” I said automatically.
“And leave Faith in here with us,” Aunt Peg added. “I’d hate to see anything happen to her coat, now that she’s so close to finishing.”
Faith ran to the door with the rest of the group and was deeply chagrined to discover that she wasn’t going out with them. I cupped my hand around her nose, cradling her muzzle in my palm, and led her back to the table. Poodles “in hair” never wear collars, except when they’re in the show ring; and that’s the time-honored method of leading them from place to place. To cheer Faith up, I let her put her front legs in my lap and broke off a piece of angel food cake to hand-feed her.
“I hope you don’t make a habit of that kind of behavior,” Aunt Peg said as she piled the plates and dumped them in the sink. Obviously she takes her dogs’ diets a good bit more seriously then she takes her own. “You’ll have that bitch spoiled beyond redemption in no time.”
I looked at Faith, her face only inches from mine, and grinned. “Are you beyond redemption?” I asked. The Poodle wagged her tail in happy agreement. Aunt Peg didn’t look pleased.
To mollify her, I returned to our earlier topic. “The man who was murdered was the school caretaker, Eugene Krebbs. I’m told that he’d been at Howard Academy for decades, maybe even when you were there. Do you remember him?”
She thought for a moment. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Even if I knew who he was at the time, the memory’s faded by now. The newspaper report hardly said a thing about his background. Who was he? Why would anyone have wanted to kill him?”
“Nobody knows. Detective Shertz speculated that robbery might have been the motive, but no one can think of anything that was stored in that old shed that would have been worth killing over.”
“I hope you’ll keep me posted,” said Peg.
As
if I’d have a choice.
“I don’t know.” I pretended to consider. “I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you yet for keeping Sam’s first wife a secret.”
“That news wasn’t mine to tell,” Peg said firmly. “Besides, for all I knew, the two of you might have already discussed it and decided it wasn’t important.”
“Not.”
She ignored the interruption. “Since you’ve brought Sheila up, I should probably mention that I paid her a visit the other day.”
“The other day when?” I sputtered. “We just found out she was here.”
“You know how I hate to waste time. I stopped by Sunday afternoon with a housewarming present, and said how nice it was to have her in the neighborhood.”
“She lives in North Salem. Her neighborhood is twenty miles from here.”
“Semantics.” Peg sniffed. “Do you want to hear what she had to say or not?”
She knew perfectly well that I did.
“Sheila seems like a nice woman, if you don’t count the fact that she divorced Sam.” In Peg’s eyes, Sam can do no wrong. “We shared a pot of tea and had quite a pleasant conversation.”
Translation: she’d pumped the woman for all she was worth. I wasn’t complaining. “And?”
“At first we talked dogs, of course. But eventually I brought the subject around to Sam. Sheila said she was delighted to know he’d made such nice friends on the East Coast.”
“Cut to the chase,” I said “Did you find out why they got divorced?”
“That was easy. Sheila admitted quite readily that it was all her fault. She was young, and at the time her career was very important to her. Sam wanted them to gear down a bit, perhaps think about having children. Sheila wasn’t ready for that. She’s very ambitious. She was on the fast track and she wasn’t about to let him derail her.”
“So she left him,” I mused. “I wonder how Sam felt about it. Do you think he was devastated?”
“Sheila seems to think so. Apparently he told her if she ever got her priorities straight, she should look him up.”
I felt a knot tighten in the pit of my stomach. Before Aunt Peg continued, I knew what she was going to say.
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