It wasn't long before I saw Doc and Edgar walking quickly up the sidewalk next to my office window. Keys dangling at my side, I went to the front door to meet them. Lynda stood gravely posted as though she were a Buckingham Palace sentry, her face composed and calm, though her eyes still appeared wide with shock. Edgar and Doc said hello to her, but then moved quickly into the building with me.
"We left our cars down the street, Emily. I don't want the whole town to know what's happening just yet."
"That's great, Ed. The bell will ring in about forty-five minutes and I guess we don't want them greeted with police cars and ambulances."
As we talked, we continued to walk past the office toward the basement door. Doc Murphy put his hand on my shoulder. "This must have been quite a shock, Emily. How do you think it happened?"
"I can't imagine. Maybe he was cleaning his gun or..."
"In the school?" Edgar asked incredulously. "Nat wouldn't be that stupid, would he?"
I just shook my head. Approaching the basement door was making me nervous. My hand shook slightly as I inserted the key and opened it wide enough for Edgar and Doc to pass through. Taking a deep breath, I followed them down the steep steps into the gloom. Edgar stopped us at the bottom of the staircase and, mumbling that he better follow procedure, he asked us to slip on latex gloves.
Doc immediately went to Nat and felt for a pulse, then listened with his stethoscope. "Emily's right, Ed. Nathaniel's gone." He continued carefully feeling around the body, touching Nat's face, searching for answers to questions that I could not even imagine. "He hasn't been dead very long, though. Rigor mortis hasn't progressed very much. It's just hitting the face now. Of course, it's fairly cool down here, but I would say it hasn't been more than…maybe two hours. Could be even less."
Edgar was carefully walking around the body, peering into the electrical room, his perceptive, intelligent eyes taking in every detail. "This might be more serious than I first thought. I was absolutely convinced it was an accident of some kind. Does this look like an accident, Doc?" Ed had followed the trail of blood from the middle of the room. At one point, he stooped over and picked something up from the floor. "Here's where Nat was shot," he said, his voice flat with shock and something that could have been anger. "I believe I just found bullet fragments."
"He must have dragged himself to the electrical room. At that point, he could have been still on his feet." Doc Murphy stood up, puzzled. "What the hell could he have wanted in the electrical room?"
"There's something clutched in his hand," I said, pointing.
Edgar came over and crouched beside Nat. "You're right, Emily, he definitely has something in that hand. It's not the gun, though. Could that be under his body, Doc? Maybe we can carefully lift him a little to see. If it's here, we might be able to safely say that the wound was self-inflicted. Maybe Nat was getting ready to go hunting and was cleaning his gun. If the gun's not here..." He left the rest unsaid, too pained to consider the idea of murder in Burchill.
Once again that overwhelming feeling of violation, of being robbed of my safe haven, threw itself over me like a blanket. I know that I must sound selfish and self-absorbed, and perhaps I was but my past had taught me to be hyper sensitive to threats from the outside. It took very little to awaken the depths of fear and insecurity that I constantly kept at bay. The horror in this room was too much for my tenuous hold on the waves of terror that moved through my nervous system on a daily basis. I had to breathe deeply and steady myself by gripping the banister.
Doc and Edgar carefully lifted Nathaniel until his body was tilted on its side. No gun. "Can we get more light down here, Emily?"
I moved automatically, with each stride regaining control. "I think there's another switch inside the electrical room." I carefully stepped as far as possible around the body, into the small cubbyhole, and searched for the right switch. Nathaniel's pictures of his mother and father and his pets, pinned carefully to the bulletin board, smiled at me as I stood there in the filter of the one dim light bulb. I briefly thought of having to tell Nat's parents, about how lost they would be without him, and I found it difficult to swallow. The Ryeburns were totally dependent on Nat. What would they do now?
As I hit one of the larger switches, the basement was suddenly showered in light. In the glare of reality, the body and the river of blood looked more grotesque, more out-of-place than ever. I was thankful that there were no windows. At least no one from the outside could look in on this ghastly scene. None of the little people, no doubt now milling about in the schoolyard, would be inadvertently exposed to this dreadfulness.
Edgar continued his quiet search, his face wrinkled with thought, anger, and distaste. He had never had to deal with anything like this in his career. Burchill was his birth town. He had never considered the possibility of a murder in this little hamlet. There were occasional skirmishes, even threats, but generally everyone here knew everyone else. They were happy, generous, kind people. Either a stranger had entered their midst, or the appearance of happiness was just that—an appearance.
"Emily, Doc, look carefully for a gun. I can't find one. And if there is no gun, we have to consider the possibility that Nathaniel has been murdered. And that puts everything in an entirely different light. We definitely can't let the children come into the building. Would all the staff be here by now, Emily?"
He talked as he looked, poking into corners, yet careful not to touch or disturb anything. I couldn't move from my position in the electrical room, Nat's pets and his parents peering over my shoulder. Unless Nathaniel had shot himself and then absurdly hidden the gun carefully, there was no weapon in that basement.
I checked my watch. 8:20. "Most of them should be here by now, Ed. The bell rings at 8:45 and we usually have kids in the yard by now, too."
"Okay. I think I'd better call the city. I never even considered the possibility that this would actually be a murder, but I'm afraid that's the only conclusion I can come to now. Shit. I didn't even search the building. The murderer could actually still have been here." Edgar shook his head, feeling and looking the country bumpkin at the moment. "What time did you get here, Emily?"
I shivered. I couldn't help picturing myself showering with carefree security while a murderer lurked in the hallways. Once again I found speech difficult and had to clear my throat several times before I could reply. "At seven. The doors were still locked, but the alarm was turned off, which is normal. I took a shower as I normally did, then I went searching for Nat. I suddenly realized none of the usual doors were unlocked, nor was the coffee made. I saw absolutely no one." I took a deep breath. "It was all dark and quiet and…" To my embarrassment, my voice cracked and the tears spilled over once again.
"It's okay, Emily. Enough for now," Edgar said, his voice soft and comforting. "I'm going to call the city people and get some advice on this. For now, I'd like the staff to stay where they are out in the yard and try to keep the kids busy. Maybe they can gather their classes outdoors. Let them know there's some kind of problem in the school and they can't go in until it's been cleared. I'm also going to call Barry and Mike to do a full search of the building."
Barry Mills and Michael Lewis were two trained volunteers who helped with emergency situations when Edgar was not available. Barry and his wife owned the Main Street Station Pub, famous for its food and hospitality. Michael was a local artist with some national repute.
"I guess I should go over to the Ryeburns' place," Doc said, making the statement a reluctant question.
"Jeez, Doc, I guess so. I'd appreciate that very much. Just tell them as little as possible, okay? They should know Nathaniel's dead, but maybe it's best to be vague about how. They can see the body if they want to, but not 'til he's been moved." Edgar shook his head in disbelief. "I can't get over this. It just doesn't seem possible. I keep hoping I'm dreaming."
In the few seconds that they talked, I was able to gather my inner resources. I am the principal, I told myself. I am in charge
, in control, responsible. I spoke up. "I think I'll call a staff meeting, Ed. I can send Lynda and whoever else is standing guard at the doors to round up most of the staff from the yard. Then we can have a plan. Do you think it would be okay to bring them into the gym by the side door? We won't go anywhere else."
"Sounds okay. I guess that would be the best way to keep the kids organized and the parents at bay. Go ahead. Doc and I will take it from here."
I almost raced up the stairs and headed toward the main office. It was now 8:30, so I turned off the bells. Many of our children would be at school by now, playing their innocent games in the yard, secure in the morning sunshine and the protective shadow of the building where they always felt safe and secure. I hated the thought of their peace of mind being shattered, of their assurance threatened, of tearing the net that school should provide for them at all times.
As I was talking to Lynda at the front door, I saw May on the walkway. Lynda and Margaret Johnston, our resource teacher, left their posts at the doors and started rounding up the staff from the yard. May began walking toward me, her hand already outstretched to touch mine, her lovely face suffused with concern, her eyes holding mine steadfastly and openly.
May Reneaux was my age and we were slowly becoming very good friends. Since I had no vice principal, May, as the school secretary, got the first earful of complaints or queries or comments. She was proud of the fact that she could handle any parent without getting ruffled. She could deal with any catastrophe from a bleeding nose, to a lost tooth, to a broken arm. She was articulate, understanding, and dedicated.
May was an attractive woman, a full-blooded Canadian native with dark eyes and long straight hair. She looked slightly overweight, but that was really her sturdy, muscular build draped in the flowing, colourful clothes that she favoured. Her husband, Alain, owned the only full auto service station in town, so they were financially quite well off. May did this job to have some independence and because she truly loved people, big or small. I knew that May would be able to handle this situation, too, probably better than I could.
"What's happened?" she asked calmly, her hand warm and dry and steadying in mine.
Quickly but gently, I pulled her into the hallway and told her. Typically, she was shocked but immediately sensitive to me, clucking sympathetically about how I must be feeling after such a discovery. She enwrapped me in her warm, strong embrace and it was all I could do to prevent myself from pitching forward, staying there forever, rejecting responsibility for the situation, curling up like a child on May's lap, dissolving into and letting all the tears of the past and present enwrap us in a fog of ignorance.
Lynda came into the office just then and informed me that all of the staff had gathered in the gym, save two who remained in the yard to supervise any children who'd already arrived. I stood out of the safety of May's circle, but her strength had infused me with a tonic that waved the uncertainty from my weakened state of mind. I stood up straight once again.
There were thirteen teachers on staff, including myself, the resource teacher, and the French teacher. In my opinion, they were all excellent teachers and wonderful people. Since arriving here at Burchill Public, I had come to appreciate their abilities, their struggles, their quirks, creativity, and skills. I admired their idiosyncrasies as much as their accreditation and knowledge, because their passions and obsessions were what filled them with energy and ideas and love for children. Today I had to count on their professionalism to handle an unprecedented situation, but I had full confidence that they could do it.
The air in the gym was thick with concern, curiosity, even anxiety about this weird twist in their daily routine. The lights hadn't been switched on. The small group stood huddled under a basketball hoop, their faces reddish in the glow of the emergency exit signs. The shadowed atmosphere seemed more than appropriate in the circumstances. I took a huge gulp of air, placing myself in the middle of the circle, and began.
"I know you've been told there's been a terrible accident. It's actually worse than that. Nathaniel has been shot and killed." I waited for the gasps and whispers to subside. "We have no idea how this could have happened, but it looks like someone—it looks like it was deliberate." I couldn't say it, but the word 'murder' echoed on their faces and in their eyes. "I realize that this is a horrible shock for you. It is for me, too, and I hate so much to burden you with it. But right now we have to somehow submerge our feelings and our questions and deal with the kids first. When I've got all the information, we'll discuss everything."
"Edgar Brennan is here and Doc Murphy just left. Ed wants us to keep the kids outside until he gets advice from the OPP in Ottawa. We don't know if they'll want to close the school or what the decision might be. It depends on the results of their investigation, I guess. Barry and Mike will be arriving soon to help."
"It might be a good idea to get the kids together somewhere in the yard in your class groupings first, take attendance and let them know there's some kind of problem in the building. Don't let on that you know any details at all. If any parents of your own students bring the kids into the yard, you can let them know they can take them right back home if they want to. Just keep a notation of who has come and gone. After that, if we're still outside, I guess you'll have to keep them entertained somehow." I knew I was rambling, but they held fast to each word, saying absolutely nothing, only the sounds of expelled breath and small exclamations squeezed between my sentences.
"Why don't I lead them in the songs we're doing for the school concert?" Margaret Johnston, resource teacher, piano player, concert organizer, and, I thought at that moment, all-round wonderful woman, offered, her voice sounding loud and firm in the silence.
Everyone nodded. They began to murmur with determination, agreeing that they would have no problem keeping the kids entertained. The children were, after all, the priority, as always. I thanked them profusely for being so calm and professional as they went back out the gym doors and into the gathering groups of little ones in the yard. Once again, I blessed the principal before me, who had interviewed and hired this amazing group of people, and then had persuaded them to stay, despite the fact that an interloper was coming to town to take over when he retired. In the two years that I'd been here, I thought I'd done a good job establishing a rapport with the staff and the community. I was going to need to lean on that under these circumstances.
When I returned to my office, Edgar was waiting with the door open. He waved me in, his face grave.
"The city people will be down here in half an hour. They advise that we get on the phone right now and begin telling parents to come and pick up their children. Good thing it's Friday. At least we'll have the weekend to finish any investigating that has to be done and then a decision can be made about allowing the kids back into the building." Edgar ran his hand through his hair, his face filled with sorrow. "I can't believe this. Who the hell would want to kill Nathaniel Ryeburn? Especially here, right in the school..."
Who indeed? If only I had been able to look into the future, I would have seen that there are actually even worse things than the desecration of a school building.
Chapter 3
I couldn't answer Edgar's lament. I had to distance myself from the horror. I had to be objective and logical. I had to remember that everyone was depending on me.
Right now I was trying to focus my mind on the emergency system that we have in place for sending the kids home. Every parent must fill out a card that dictated to where and with whom the students were dismissed if the school was closed because of weather or some other emergency. Like Edgar, I still couldn't comprehend the emergency we had just encountered.
As soon as I had asked May to round up all the emergency cards, I waved Paul Granmercy, the French teacher, and Diane West, the Kindergarten assistant, back into the school. Before the three of them began the tedious task of calling every parent of three hundred and sixteen students—a total of one hundred and twelve families—I placed calls to the
school board and the local trustee. It was not an easy task. Both the trustee and the superintendent of schools insisted that they would be right over.
Despite numerous questions as May, Paul and Diane began their calls to the families, they continued to tell the parents that it was an emergency within the school building itself and that they had no details. They were also instructed to say—just like in the movies—that: "Mrs. Taylor is unavailable for comment". I knew I simply couldn't handle that right now. Besides, I had no idea what I could say. Let them believe it was something to do with the building. Allow them a little more time of peace and innocence and security.
Meanwhile, Edgar had moved his OPP car to the front of the school. Mike and Barry arrived shortly after the phone calls to parents began, so Edgar placed Barry at the front door to direct them to the yard to collect their children (and deflect any of the curious). It was an excellent choice, for Barry was extremely popular and respected throughout Burchill. He was a tall, slightly overweight, redheaded man with a huge laugh and an intimate handshake. From his experience in running the local pub and restaurant, he was skilled with people in all kinds of situations. He handled the parents, who began almost immediately to arrive at the school, with diplomacy and reassurance.
The Emily Taylor Mystery Bundle Page 2
