"I find that a little hard to believe. I know you see the resemblance. I know you remember the history. My wife. Blake told me some of the other children’s assignments. Cole has to write about Maria who passed away when he was a baby? Cory Dennison has to write about his father who is in jail? What good will this do? I was also told that if this assignment isn't damn near perfect that you'll fail them."
"You heard correctly. This is not grammar school, or PS132! I expect my students to be independent thinkers and solid researchers. If they do not hand in a thorough report and bring forth a solid oral presentation, they will fail my class. And as I said before, the assignment was given out at random. A little challenge will do them good."
"You know this is a sensitive subject for my family," complained Jack.
"It was not directed solely towards your family," Bernard explained.
"Then why does it seem you are taking great pleasure in holding your students’ misfortune against them? Leave my daughter alone, or you’ll have me to answer to!"
Bernard laughed at the man before him. Six feet, five inches of cowardice is what he thought of Jack; the venom that he needed to take him down was on his tongue, but he held it back.
"Hey Kendricks, you've got real nerve. You're the same weasel you were in high school!"
Jack turned on his heel in a huff as he began to storm down the corridor of the Steeplechase School, when Bernard couldn't help but allow the venom to slip through his lips.
"At least I would have the courage to tell my children the truth! You may have won her then, but look how it all turned out!" Kendricks continued, "If Tristan, Thomas and Blake do not hand in their essays they will get an F on the project. Not only does that mean that Thomas and Blake will be on academic probation, again, but it also means that Tristan will find herself off the honor roll for the first time since she’s started at Steeplechase. She’s a brilliant girl. Don’t allow her record to be sullied because of your foolish pride. It’s your call - do it, or don’t do it. The firm fact remains that if that project is not handed in, there will be serious repercussions.”
Jack looked Bernard straight in the eye. “Now that you've spelled it out for me, I've decided that they will not be handing in the essay after all.”
“Is this how you teach your children responsibility? Or is it simply that you are running away from the truth? I think the school counselor would be interested in hearing about this.”
Jack turned on his heel slowly and focused his eyes on his children’s English teacher and his former high school enemy. Bernard took in his features slowly and felt a quiver move down his back. Jack walked slowly, but with each movement it was apparent that Jack was using every ounce of his strength to keep from losing his cool on the Steeplechase English teacher. Jack didn’t stop walking until he was toe to toe with Bernard, with eight inches of height over Kendricks, Jack was not someone with whom you wanted to start trouble. Bernard was all too familiar with that notion.
"Is that a threat?!" asked Jack incredulously.
"No, I am their teacher," Bernard firmly responded. "If they do not hand it in, I will fail them."
"Is it possible that Tristan can write an essay on another relative, use another family member such as a grandmother or aunt or possibly her grandfather?" asked Jack sensibly.
"That was not the assignment. Good day to you. I have a class to teach," Bernard said as he tried to slither away from Jack.
"I will go to the dean and report you. You are meddling, once again. You did the same thing when Adam and Liam were in your class too. And let’s not forget the hell you put my wife through. You'll get more than a slap on the wrist this time, I assure you. Do not test me," replied Jack with a heated expression clear upon his face.
A sly grin emerged across Bernard Kendricks’ face, "The fact remains that you still have not told your children the truth about their mother."
Jack, reaching his breaking point of control, took one finger and firmly pressed into the chest of Mr. Kendricks.
"That is none of your business. Your job is to teach my children English, not pry into personal matters! Press the issue, and I'll have your job this time."
Bernard puffed out his chest, and bravely stated in a hushed voice, “You are the reason she is dead, and you don’t want to explain that to anyone.”
As a look of contempt grew in Jack’s eyes, Bernard allowed a smile to curl from his lips. Finally, Jack retorted, “We both know the reason she is dead is because of you. You might have been able to hoodwink the police, but you don’t fool me for a second.”
* * *
In classroom 219, bouts of chatter erupted while their teacher was temporarily disposed. Bets in the form of juice boxes and a stiff wager of a dollar seventy-five in quarters were placed on Joey Binn’s desk as theories were forming and the general population of 219 was under the impression that Mr. Kendricks was getting his ass kicked in the hallway by Jack Morrow.
"Five bucks says Mr. Kendricks comes back with a black eye," replied a plump boy with spiky blond hair named Ellis.
"I say ten," quipped Kevin, a hyper kid who sat in the front of the class.
"Hey, Tommy, ain't that your dad?" asked Kelly, a girl with short frizzy hair. Tommy laughed while Tristan nervously tapped her fingers against her desk.
Blake, who was sitting quietly in his desk behind her, thankful for the momentary reprieve from iambic pentameter, tapped Tristan on the shoulder.
"It will be okay, you know. He'll set him straight," Blake explained. With a smile he leaned back in his chair without care just in time to see Mr. Kendricks walk back through the doorway. His face red, his eyes wild. Mr. Kendricks looked like he had something malicious up his sleeve.
"Attention, children," said Mr. Kendricks as he peered over his classroom full of teenagers crammed into tiny desks. "Regardless of what you may have heard, the Biography Assignment is required curriculum. Any student who fails to hand it in, will receive a failing grade in this class."
The look on Tristan’s face said it all. A mixture of anger, frustration and exhaustion washed across her features. As the tears welled in her eyes she rushed out of the classroom. Tommy, concerned about his sister’s well-being, rallied.
Shooting up out of his seat, Tommy shouted, “Then fail us!” as he followed Tristan out into the hallway and to the Principal’s office hoping to catch their father before he left, but as the reached the door to the office, the secretary advised him that he was already gone.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Tristan opened the rusty locker that housed her many text books and began loading up her already fraying book bag. Being enrolled in advanced placement classes certainly weighed down her book bag, so she utilized her locker wisely. Tristan slammed her locker shut to find Cole standing on the other side.
“Coming over after school?”
"Yeah, it's your sister's birthday isn't it?"
“Five o’clock it starts, but come whenever. We’re having a ton of food. Your Dad is invited too.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then!”
In a moment of clumsiness that was typical for Tristan, she dropped her book bag and most of its contents fell onto the floor. Cole scrambled to pick up her belongings. The pair nose to nose, glanced up at each other. A moment of intensity, the connection was broken by the dismissal bell as the pair tried to hide their embarrassed smiles.
The exchange caught the attention of Blake, Tommy and Shane who were huddled in a circle at the other end of the hall. For a moment Tommy thought his buddy was going to kiss his little sister. That would be a problem. Blake and Tommy raised an eyebrow, as Shane quipped “I’d die laughing if she got lucky before either of you!” Blake and Tommy stared evilly at Shane. Clearly he had hit a sensitive nerve. “Just sayin’… it would be funny. Eh, never mind.”
"Don't let Kendricks upset you. I'm not doing the project either," Cole explained to Tristan.
"Oh, really? How come?" asked Tristan sincerely.
"My mom is not around either. She died when I was a baby," explained Cole.
"I knew she was gone, but I didn’t know what happened… I'm sorry to hear that, Cole," she replied.
Although the thought was sad, his words were a comfort to Tristan.
Chapter Four
Elkhart, PA
December 24, 1981
Early Afternoon
Frank Kilpatrick sat on the hood of his pickup truck slurping from his thermos of lukewarm coffee. Snow flurries fell from the dreary sky onto his clothes, sticking to his boots and melting on his bald head. A smile grew across his face that only a mother could love. Well, a mother and Bridgette Morrow-Kilpatrick. Clearly Frank did not mind the snow. Above all others, winter was his favorite season because it reminded him of his childhood in Scotland.
The news report squawked from the radio in Frank’s truck. Weatherman Chip Turner was warning all listeners of the approaching winter storm.
“We’re expecting anywhere between twenty-four and thirty-six inches into Tuesday morning. The severity depends on your location; Shepard’s Grove and Gabbard’s Bend won’t get hit as hard and should expect eighteen to twenty-four inches. Elkhart residents should expect at least thirty inches, while citizens atop Cavegat Pass should expect to feel the full force of the storm. The mountain road is expected to be impassable beyond early evening tonight. Take great caution with icy roads. Winds are expected to kick up to sixty miles per hour tonight. Take extra precaution folks… I know its Christmas Eve, but seriously, it’s time to get your milk and bread and hunker down.”
Frank rolled his eyes in response to the dramatic weather report. In a faint Scottish brogue he griped, “Give me a break, Chip!”
Clearly agitated by the weatherman, Frank jumped off the roof of his truck, reached in the window and punched the radio button so that it would change the station. He didn’t care what station, as long as he didn’t have to listen to Chip anymore. A rock song came on the radio, and Frank began to sing along, out of key, as he returned to his post on the hood of his truck.
Occasionally his walkie-talkie would squeal to life with updates from the Skole County Department of Transportation office, questions from his workers who were dispatched around the area, weather details from the base and the like. Pennsylvania’s Department of Transportation in Skole County depended on Frank to make sure all the major roads were clear. Frank already had dozens of plows dispatched around the area, awaiting the snow accumulation. At the mouth of Cavegat Pass, he had three plows alone, waiting to take on the mountain.
Over the horizon a blue pickup truck was approaching. The driver of the vehicle rolled down his window and whistled to get Frank’s attention. It was Jack. Jack waved to his brother-in-law and longtime friend.
"Do you really think you're going to need those?" Jack asked as he pointed to the metal chains that rested in Frank's hands.
"Oh… not going to take any chances. The report doesn't sound so great, though I doubt it'll be as bad as that idiot weatherman says," Frank replied.
"Did Bridgette or Gus make it up the mountain yet?" asked Jack curiously.
"You know your sister; she’ll be late for her own funeral," complained Frank with a smirk.
"Do you need help with those?" Jack asked again referring to the chains in Frank's gloved hands. Frank shook his head indicating no as he pointed with a scowl to the small circle of men in orange jumpsuits. Instead of helping Frank put chains on the trucks, his workers decided to congregate together and treat themselves to a cigarette break.
"They can do it. Clearly they have nothing better to do," replied Frank. He continued, "Hey, are you waiting for someone?”
Jack replied, “Had to stop at Quiver’s Gun Shop and now I’m heading back home.”
With a knowing glance, Frank understood and quipped, "Later, man."
Jack shrugged his shoulders and waved to Frank, "See you at dinner."
As Jack rolled up his driver side window, his brother-in-law focused on his slacking employees. He jumped from the hood of his truck and went on the warpath.
"Jesus, Mary, and Father Christmas! What in the feck's name do ya think you're doing?! The mountain isn’t going to plow itself! The father friggin’ idiot weatherman says we’re gonna get like three feet of snow! Let’s go!"
At the sound of Frank's booming voice, the men began stomping out cigarettes and scrambling to their trucks to begin putting the chains on the plow trucks. Jack laughed at the sight. Frank Kilpatrick was no man to trifle with.
“Oy! I’m not kidding! I got me some dinner plans tonight!” he continued to yell across the street at his workers.
“I like how you injected some holiday spirit in there,” said Jack, grinning widely.
“It’s the holidays… I really try to be nice,” replied Frank with a sarcastic smile.
About a half hour later, after the chains were secured on the tires of the trucks, Frank sent his crew in to get a late lunch and to pick him up a turkey club on rye. Frank kept a steady eye on the door of Monte’s Cafe at the end of Mountain Road. All eight of his workers disappeared through its doors twenty minutes ago, with no turkey club in sight.
Frank’s eyes perked up as he heard a rumbling noise coming down the road. The noise grew louder as it approached. Frank raised one eyebrow as a smirk began to appear. Struggling over the hill at the top of Mountain Road was a faded green junker of a car. The car continued sputtering and stalling down the hill. As the car approached, Frank’s smirk evolved into riotous laughter, amusement painted across his face. The car’s engine choked out a final death rattle as it came to a slow halt directly outside of Monte’s Cafe. Frank let out a howl of laughter as he watched the green car choke to a halt. Frank jumped off the hood of his truck and began making his way over to the distressed car.
From the embattled car emerged the clearly disgruntled driver. Dressed in a khaki winter coat with white gloves, scarf and hat, she was clearly prepared for wintry weather. She moved quickly, almost running to the trunk of the car. She began to rummage through her trunk that was overflowing with shopping bags from various stores. After several minutes of searching, she pulled an old set of jumper cables from the crowded trunk and slammed the door shut. Frank approached the car with a friendly smile.
"Miss, do you need some help?" asked Frank courteously.
"Francis Kilpatrick! You know damn well I do not!" fumed Bridgette Kilpatrick at her husband. “I was just going to see if I could get a jump from Mr. Piedmonte and I'll be on my way.”
Frank, confused by his wife's present mood, spoke clearly, "Bridgette, I can give you a jump."
"Francis, I can do this myself," assured Bridgette.
"I know you are quite capable, but I can help," explained Frank getting agitated at his wife's unbridled independent spirit.
"You could have helped if you would have purchased a reliable used car and not this green piece of shit!" Bridgette’s rant was interrupted by the sound of a speeding black sports car as it passed. As it zoomed by, snow flew towards them. About a quarter of the way up Mountain Road, the driver of the flashy car came to a skidding halt, poked his head out of the window and began to back up the car.
"Oh, here he comes... Mr. Congeniality," Frank mentioned to his wife. Frank peered down at his much shorter wife, as he rolled his eyes. A smile came across Bridgette's frozen face as she gave Frank a knowing look. She was in total agreement with Frank's sentiment. Angus Morrow wasn't the easiest person to deal with. She flitted back to the front of her ailing vehicle. Reaching inside the driver-side door she reached and popped the hood. Moving quickly, she lifted the hood as smoke poured out of the vehicle towards Bridgette’s face. She coughed several times as she waved the smoke away with her hand. “Blech!” complained Bridgette. Disgusted at this point, Bridgette ripped off her gloves, tore off her scarf and used them to remove the grime and dirt from her face.
The black sports car came to a complete stop next to Bridgette’s fuming car. The driver gla
red out of his window, cigar smoke escaping into the frigid air. A middle-aged man who could have been Jack’s twin, but with salt and pepper hair, peered up at Frank and Bridgette. He began to speak loudly to them but his deep voice was drowned out by the voices of young boys in the backseat of his car. The man turned around to the boys and gave them a stern look, not uttering a word. All three boys, ages ranging from two to six years, sat up straight and closed their mouths. The man turned back around to focus on Frank and Bridgette. Next to him, his ever-patient wife Moira sat calmly in the passenger’s seat with a green blanket over her legs as she focused on the book she was reading.
Angus' piercing green eyes narrowed in on Frank and Bridgette's faces, his voice now peppered with a sarcastic bite.
"What is the hold up now, Bridgette? Francis, fix whatever is wrong with that heap of metal!" demanded Angus with healthy dose of attitude. Bridgette was offended that Angus was addressing questions about the car to her husband instead of her. She crossed her arms in protest. Moira stirred in the passenger seat as she clucked her tongue at Angus.
"Please do not feel the need to wait for me," fumed Bridgette to her father.
"No. I would love nothing more to be done with this mini-road trip. However, I do not want to hear one of your brother's monologues about how I am too impatient or too...whatever to wait for you," said Angus gruffly.
A distinct noise could be heard from inside the expensive car, the sound of a tongue smacking against the roof of a mouth. Angus shot a frazzled glare towards his wife.
“Moira! Stop clucking at me!” demanded Angus. Moira peered up from her book with an amused smile on her face. Glaring at him over her wide-rimmed glasses, she politely gave him a piece of her mind without uttering a word, with a stern glare.
"Just need a jump. Pop your hood, or I'm sure one of the guys in Monte's could do it for me," explained Bridgette. Frank raised his left eyebrow and began to protest.
"I think…” Frank started, but was interrupted by his agitated wife.
Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) Page 5
