by Mary Feliz
We passed a kiosk marking the entrance to a park complex that included a golf course, sailing lake, and walking trails.
“It’s built on an old garbage dump,” Tess said. “There’s a great place to have lunch out there, but we’ll do that another time. We can’t go any farther with the dogs than the dog park.”
It seemed too bad to me. It looked like a great place for dogs to play. But the dog park was nice too, with dog-height drinking fountains and fences for safety. Inside the fenced area, we let Belle and Mozart off their leashes, and they took off. I sat on a bench while Tess poured us cups of coffee from her thermos.
Mozart and Belle ran from one end of the park to the other sniffing and exploring—checking pee-mail, Max called it.
“What a great day,” I said. “But what a gruesome way to start out. Did you see those squirrels at school?”
“What squirrels?”
I stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. How was it possible that Tess, who was clued into every little thing that happened in Orchard View, hadn’t heard about the squirrels?
“What?” she said. “Teddy walks to school. I wasn’t there this morning. What happened?”
“Three squirrels, crucified in a triangle on the wall next to the office.” I shuddered. “Gruesome.”
“Were they nailed up alive? That’s sick. Really sick.”
“First the portable toilet, now the squirrels . . .” I said, thinking out loud. “And a bunch of vandalism at our house. Are they connected? Is trashing other people’s property normal around here?”
“Of course not,” said Tess, sounding offended. “We get kids taking a baseball bat to mailboxes from time to time, some graffiti, but this stuff is . . . bizarre.”
“And what’s the story on the funding crisis? Parents were freaking out yesterday. Harrier downplayed it when she announced it, like it was just a small accounting wrinkle that needed to be ironed out. But when Brian and I met her later, she implied that classes might be cut.”
“I’ve got friends on the board of the foundation—” Tess began.
“Wait, back up. What is the foundation?”
Tess sighed and put down her coffee cup.
“Oh, lord,” she said. “California school funding is as complicated as it gets, particularly as it relates to districts like Orchard View. It takes an advanced degree in accounting and probably another in political science to completely understand it, but I can give you a summary.”
She stood as if she thought better on her feet. “Way back when, our schools were well-funded and among the best in the country. In the 1970s, three separate cases based on school financing went to the California Supreme Court. The court ordered changes to create equity among school districts. Local taxes went to the state and were redistributed on a per-student basis. Theoretically, every student and every school received the same funding, no matter where they lived.”
I nodded. “Got it. Stockton gets some extra funding because of at-risk kids, but I’m with you so far.”
“After that, two things happened. First, districts like ours that had previously enjoyed excess funds were alarmed to see world-class science labs, libraries, and arts programs on the chopping block. Second, additional add-on efforts over the years—a Band-Aid approach to increasing funding for needy districts—left us, and districts like us, among the poorest districts in the state. We don’t qualify for any of the aid programs that benefit communities like Stockton.”
“But your test scores are through the roof,” I said. “Max and I checked before we decided to move.”
“Part of that is demographics. In affluent areas, you tend to have well-educated parents who work hard to support their kids’ education. In poorer districts, where parents are working two or three jobs to keep food on the table, there’s no time left for reading aloud or any of the other things that help kids do well in school.”
Tess looked at her watch, scanned the park for the dogs, and pushed her hair from her forehead. She sighed, sat, and continued explaining. “The rest comes down to things like parcel taxes and the foundation. They’re politically controversial, because some people see them as ways to circumvent funding laws. In Orchard View, we have voter-approved parcel taxes—extra property taxes—that go directly to our schools. That helps, but not enough to fully fund science and the arts. Back in the 1980s, parents created the Orchard View Education Foundation to augment school funding.”
“And those are the funds that disappeared?”
“No, to make matters even more confusing, there are two separate foundations, and most people refer to them both as ‘foundation funds’. As far as I know, the Orchard View Education Foundation is rock-solid. The second one is a private family foundation that donates funds for what used to be part of the standard curriculum, but are now considered ‘enrichment programs.’ Courses like theater and music—I think it also pays for a portion of the science program. It’s run by the DeSoto family with funds from apartment projects that go back to the postwar building boom.”
“Dennis DeSoto?”
“Same family, different brother. It’s a big family. Ten kids, I think. Umberto, the oldest, runs the DeSoto Family Foundation. Apparently, a routine audit uncovered discrepancies that triggered further investigations, and the foundation’s board froze the funds. There are a bunch of local, state, and federal agencies taking a look, and it’s really hard for civilians like us to know exactly what’s happening. But, because the DeSoto Foundation annually donates about two million dollars to the schools, the investigation has left the schools with big budget holes.”
“But everyone says the funds disappeared.”
“That may be true. The rumor mill is often surprisingly accurate. But I don’t know if we’ll ever know exactly what triggered the freeze on the accounts. The bottom line is that, for now, funding has dried up and that means budget cuts. No one knows how much, because the scandal might make people unwilling to donate to the Orchard View Education Foundation or even the PTA.”
“But why? It sounds like all these different funding mechanisms are completely separate.”
“They are, on paper at least. Absolutely. But a lot of people volunteer at more than one and donate to more than one. And, unlike you, most people—even those who’ve lived here all their lives—won’t think to ask the right questions.”
“What a mess.”
Both dogs lay panting in the shade of the park’s lone tree—an ancient California oak with spreading branches. I walked to the drinking fountain and pushed the button to let water into the dog-level bowl. Belle and Mozart came running. I raised my voice so Tess could hear me over the sounds of water splashing and dogs slurping.
“Okay, never mind the DeSoto Foundation for now, but would it make sense to get a group of parents together to brainstorm ways to stop the vandalism? Maybe walk our dogs on the grounds in a revolving schedule to patrol the school at night? Compare notes on what our kids have heard?”
“Brilliant,” said Tess, jumping up and brushing off her skirt. My jeans were covered with dust from the park and my sneakers were speckled with mud from the puddles the dogs were making around the water fountain. Tess was spotless.
“I’ve got to get back for a showing,” she said, gathering up her thermos and our cups. “Let’s talk about this in the car.”
Belle and Mozart were reluctant to leave, but jumped into the car, planting their muddy paws on the front seats before curling up quickly in the tiny backseat of Tess’s pickup. She grabbed a pile of ragged towels and wiped mud off of her own cushion before passing the towels to me.
Driving back up Shoreline toward home, Tess and I worked out the details. I borrowed her phone and texted everyone she told me to. I was new and didn’t have enough social clout to get parents to adjust their schedules to come to an afternoon meeting. But Tess did.
I thought we’d have the meeting at school, but Tess didn’t want to risk alienating Harrier before we had a plan. I texted someone named
Elaine Cumberfield as Tess dictated a message asking if we could meet at her house across the street from the school. With Elaine’s approval, we texted some other people and asked them to attend a two o’clock meeting to discuss strategies for stopping the vandalism. Tess had me text Stephen Laird in case he wanted to attend.
“What about Jason or someone else from the police? Is there a school liaison officer?” I asked.
“Stephen will take care of that.”
“Stephen the police volunteer?” I raised my eyebrows, curious about Stephen’s connection to the police department.
“Stephen is everywhere and he’s a bit more than a volunteer,” Tess said. “He was with the military police in the Marines, and helps the police in all sorts of ways, particularly in public-liaison roles like this one. It’s a bit unusual, I guess, but we’re a small town. The police will be fine with this meeting. Trust me.”
Tess winked and I laughed. I had to trust someone. It might as well be her. I wasn’t sure about Jason approving our efforts, however. He’d told me to stay out of the investigation into Javier Hernandez’s death and the vandalism at our house. Would he consider this meeting part of his investigation? I certainly thought the crimes were connected, but I didn’t know what Jason would think.
Tess pointed out Elaine Cumberfield’s house as we drove by. It had a white mailbox adorned with the carved wooden head, feet, and tail of a West Highland white terrier. It was clever and cute—just shy of cutesy.
“I’ll meet you there a little before two,” I told Tess as we climbed out of the pickup. “Do you want me to bring snacks or anything?”
Tess shook her head. “Elaine loves to feed people. Wait until you taste her gingerbread cookies.”
By the time I had Belle back in my car, Tess had put Mozart in her backyard and hidden her pickup in her garage. She brushed her windblown hair into a neat French twist and stood a little taller. Her ability to change her appearance and persona so quickly and completely unnerved me. But I did trust her and appreciated her help.
I checked the clock on my phone. I had time to drive to the house and check in with Adelia and the electrician. I’d ordered appliances from a shop Tess had recommended. I hoped their claim that their installers were always on time was accurate. They were due at noon. Considering they needed to deliver and install a refrigerator, dishwasher, range, washer, and dryer, if they were any later than noon, I wouldn’t have time to make the meeting that had been my own idea.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Both boys like school so far. I hope you got the emails they sent. It makes no sense, but I don’t trust the Internet to reliably deliver emails across 8,000 miles. David signed up for marching band. It will mean long hours for all of us, since he needs to be at school every morning before 7 am. Can you believe our little snooze monster is voluntarily getting up that early? He hasn’t complained yet. Neither has Brian. And no, I don’t think you should come home from India to drive David to school! I hope things are going well. Are you getting to know people?
There was some vandalism at the school—super-creepy stuff. Three squirrels were nailed to the front office wall. A bunch of us are meeting to set up parent patrols and compare theories on who might be behind things. I wonder if it’s the same person who was trashing our place before we moved in. I’ll let you know what I find out.
Floors look great. Adelia, the woman who’s in charge of the crew, is a cross between Mary Poppins and a five-star general. I know you hate working with contractors, but I think even you would love Adelia.
You won’t recognize the place when you get back. Has that date been firmed up? Let me know, and we’ll pick you up at the airport—in the middle of the night if necessary. We all miss you. Even the cats.
Love, Maggie.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Squirrels? Nailed to the wall? That sounds like the work of a seriously disturbed individual. If it IS the same person who was damaging the house, PLEASE be careful. Can you get the police to patrol the neighborhood at night? Are they making any progress into the investigation into Javier Hernandez’s death?
If you feel unsafe at all, move to a hotel. And let me know, so I can come home.
I’m glad the house repairs are going well. Go ahead and hire this Adelia person to do whatever you need. If you need to transfer funds from Aunt Kay’s estate account, go ahead. That’s what the money’s for—upkeep on the house. We didn’t anticipate this trip to India and I feel bad that I can’t help out. I’m glad the electrician could get started so soon. We definitely want to get moving as soon as possible on safety-related fixes.
You’re doing a fantastic job and making me feel almost superfluous. Almost.
The managing director here is going to be fine, although he’s uncomfortable at the moment. He broke both legs and cracked his pelvis, so he won’t be mobile for several weeks. Looks like the easiest solution for the company is to have me stay and take care of things until he’s up and around again. I’m learning tons and loving the work. I’d like to stay IF that works for you and the boys. Let me know if you need me to come home. Our family needs beat Influx’s needs, hands down.
Love, Max
Chapter 11
Meetings should be tightly focused with definite start and end times. Encourage members to hold one meeting, rather than engaging in side conversations on sub-issues that can be distracting and time-consuming.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Wednesday, September 3, Afternoon
A delia and her team had the work well in hand when I stopped by the house to check on their progress. The floors and paneling they’d finished gleamed in contrast to the sections they’d not yet reached. As Tess had predicted, the appliances arrived on time. The electrician had nearly completed his work and agreed to stay in case anything went wrong once the new units were plugged in and running. Energy-efficient engineering can only take you so far. Major appliances will still make the electric meter spin, no matter how earth-friendly they are.
I had no qualms about leaving Adelia in charge. With her on the job, there was little left for me to do. I was in the way. I drove to school in plenty of time for the meeting, parked in the shade, and left the windows open a few inches so Belle could catch the breeze. I filled her car water dish from my water bottle and spread out her cooling pad. She settled in for a snooze and I walked across the street.
An elderly woman who could have been the model for the Good Witch of the North opened the door. She was accompanied by a West Highland white terrier who’d apparently been the model for the mailbox I’d noticed when Tess pointed out the house earlier.
“Elaine Cumberfield,” she said, holding the Westie back with her foot while she shook my hand. “You must be Maggie McDonald. Please come in. May I introduce Mackie? I will put him in the bedroom if you’re not a dog fan.”
I knelt and rubbed Mackie behind the ears. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mackie,” I said. “I’m Maggie McDonald. I feel certain we must have a common ancestor.” Mackie’s ears stood at attention and he tilted his fuzzy white face, listening politely.
Elaine laughed and pulled a long gray sweater closer around her, overlapping it in the front. “So, you are a dog fan,” she said. She leaned in closer to me and whispered, “I knew that. Stephen told me about your Belle. I just didn’t think it would be polite to indicate straight off the bat that we’d been talking behind your back.”
I liked Elaine, her dog, and her house, immediately. She wore a long lavender print skirt and white Keds that were heading toward a soft gray—the sneaker version of patina. A purple knit shirt and the gray sweater completed her outfit. Her house was done up in shades of navy and periwinkle blue with a focus on comfort. From the wear on the arms of the sofa, and the faded marks of a growth chart on the doorframe, I
could tell she’d lived here a long time and raised a family. Pictures of young women with small children dotted the hall table, but I didn’t have time to examine them closely.
“We’re in the living room, dear,” Elaine said. “Let me get you a hot drink. Are you coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please.”
Stephen Laird stood as we walked in. He was the only person I recognized other than Tess and April Chen, the assistant principal from the middle school.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. McDonald,” Stephen said. “Do you remember meeting me at your house over the weekend?”
“Of course,” I said, shaking Stephen’s hand and smiling. “You brought bagels and coffee and your wonderful dog, Munchkin. Please, call me Maggie.”
“You’ve met Elaine, April, and Tess?” Stephen moved his upturned hand in an arc, indicating the women I’d already met. “At the window is Flora Meadow. On my left here is Pauline Windsor.”
Tess sat in a navy corduroy club chair next to the fireplace. She wore her power suit, but had kicked off her heels and tucked her feet beneath her. Across from her sat Pauline Windsor. Like everyone else in the room, Pauline had looked up and smiled when I walked in, but I was wary. I wished I’d remembered to ask Tess about her. I was dying to figure out what I’d been missing when Pauline accused me of hijacking her personal parking spot.
April sat on the floor next to the coffee table. The woman Stephen had introduced as Flora Meadow perched on the window seat beneath a bay window. She picked dead leaves from a lush geranium and crumpled them in her palm. She looked like a younger, stouter, and more nervous version of Elaine.
