Address to Die For

by Mary Feliz

  Belle bounded up and nudged my hand with her nose, planting her head in my lap. Elaine refilled my glass and handed me a clean, pressed handkerchief to dry my tears. The delicate white cloth of the hanky smelled of lavender and looked like it had sprung, fully formed, from the depths of a Victorian novel. Not for the first time, I had the impression that Elaine was a time traveler who might be more at home in a different century.

  “I think I have pictures of him working at school and with his family at Christmas parties here at the house. Would you like me to see if I can dig them out?”

  I nodded and sniffed.

  “He was my ally in those years I was teaching and being principal,” she said. “Even after he retired, he would serve as a chaperone at dances, or stop by on Sundays for a chat and fix things the current custodian hadn’t had time to tackle. The kids created this alter ego for him, claiming he had superpowers. He could smell pot a mile away and always knew who was experimenting with drugs. He’d tilt his head, look them in the eye, and they’d confess immediately. I think the story they told was that he used to be a Colombian drug lord and if you lied to him ... there would be retribution and it would be bad.” Elaine laughed. “I think I half-believed the story myself. But it’s odd; I don’t think the kids ever specified what might happen if you lied to him. Just something so bad that ... they couldn’t imagine it.” She used her index finger to swirl the condensation on the outside of the glass. “Middle-school kids are funny old things. Betwixt and between. Some days they’re small children and the next day young adults. They ride a roller coaster of hormones and emotions that are mostly out of their control.”

  “Do you think one of the students could have hurt Miss Harrier?” I asked. I stumbled over the words, swallowed wrong, and coughed. I couldn’t bring myself to use students and murder in the same sentence.

  Elaine put down her glass. “Is it murder now?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. I suddenly felt I was in middle school again, being interrogated by the principal. “But if it’s suicide, we already know who did it.”

  “Well, to answer your question, absolutely not. I’m not saying none of those kids have problems, including tendencies toward violence. But Susan—Miss Harrier—was an astute judge of character and very good at identifying and helping the troubled kids. She wasn’t universally liked, I’ll give you that, but among the troubled kids and their parents, she was idolized.”

  “A side of her most of the community never saw.”

  “That’s right.” Elaine wiped up crumbs and put the plate, pitcher, and glasses back on the tray. It was time for me to leave.

  I stood.

  “I’m sorry to shoo you out, Maggie, but I want to finish cleaning the gutters.”

  “No problem. This was a wonderful visit and break. Thank you.” I held up the crumpled handkerchief. “I’ll get this back to you shortly.”

  “Toss it on the tray. I’m doing wash later, anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “About something like a handkerchief? Absolutely. About what’s going on in Orchard View that’s resulting in murder, fraud, and vandalism? Not so much.”

  I laughed, called to Belle, and attached her leash. We followed Elaine into the house and she walked us to the front door while Mackie whined and nipped at Belle’s feet. Asking her to stay, I guessed. But both Elaine and I had things to do. Another doggy visit would have to wait.

  I was outside the door and halfway down the walk when Elaine called to me. She closed the door behind her and scurried down the walk. “Javier Hernandez was one of those people who used to be called ‘salt of the earth.’ He truly believed that money was at the root of evil—at least around here. It really bothered him when the parents of kids in trouble would drive their expensive cars to school-counseling sessions about their troubled kids and say, ‘We have to work,’ as if that were an excuse for ignoring their kids.”

  Elaine shook her head. “It made him sad and he made an effort to be around for those kids as much as possible. I’m glad you’re trying to get to know him, even now.”

  “Thanks, Elaine,” I said. “Are there any other historical tidbits you’ve got that might help? Maybe not about Javier, but someone else?”

  Elaine thought for a moment, surprising me. Up until now, she’d seemed reluctant to pass along anything she’d learned in her role as principal. She bit her lip and nodded quickly, as if she’d made an important decision. She looked up at me, shading her eyes from the sun.

  “There’s been something odd going on with Dennis DeSoto over the past few months, and I haven’t trusted his brother Umberto since he was a seventh-grader. He stole a master key, opened the girls’ gym lockers, moved their street clothes to the shower block, and turned on the water. They had to go to class in their PE uniforms—mortifying. It took Javier to get Umberto to confess. I don’t know if that means anything. I haven’t seen Umberto in years. But he runs the foundation whose funds have been frozen. I wonder if everything dreadful that’s been happening boils down to a problem with money.”

  “Do you think Umberto could have embezzled funds from his own family’s foundation? That would be pretty risky for him, wouldn’t it? From everything I’ve heard about him, power and prestige are everything. Would he take a chance on tarnishing his family’s reputation?”

  “Everyone has their price,” Elaine said, shrugging.

  “But what motive would he have for damaging our house or the school? The incidents have gone beyond juvenile pranks, but they don’t seem the work of a mature adult, either. Why on earth would Umberto, the big and powerful, bother himself with something so small-time? And if he’s embezzling, why involve his brother Dennis?”

  Apparently, Elaine had said all she had to say on the subject, at least for this afternoon. She turned and walked back to her front door, opened it, waved, and then closed it firmly.

  I shook my head. I was uncovering more questions than answers and it was time to go home. But I continued to muse over the hints Elaine had dropped. Could everything that was going wrong in Orchard View come down to something as simple as following the money?

  Elaine had encouraged me to take a look at the person I’d suspected from the start, Dennis—Mr. Snooty, who I’d seen examining our mailbox minutes before it exploded. Could the solution be that simple? Could the most obvious person really be the culprit? Not on TV. And not in a book. But maybe in real life?

  Chapter 26

  Moving is a process that isn’t completed until long after the moving van delivers your furniture. You need to arrange furniture, put things away, and develop the patterns you’ll use in your new life. Where’s the gas station? The grocery store? Who is your doctor? Who are your friends? Allow the process the time and energy it deserves.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Friday, September 12, Evening

  By Friday afternoon, the boys and I were exhausted. Even without the turmoil caused by the vandalism, deaths, and Jason’s investigations, we’d have been tired.

  The boys were still getting to know their school campuses, remembering names, and making friends. David faced a steep learning curve and long hours in marching band. Brian was still, I suspected, waking up to check the security cameras in the middle of the night.

  David had texted me to ask if he could stay at school for a trumpet-section meeting. I agreed.

  I picked up Brian and we stopped at the hardware store for more lightbulbs, a special cloth that I knew would make it easy to wipe up tiny slivers of glass, and other odds and ends. I stopped at Starbucks for a small latte while Brian walked around the corner for frozen yogurt. Fortified, we drove to In-N-Out Burger and ordered.

  We were eating too much fast food and I vowed we’d get back to our normal, healthy diet soon. Tess had promised to take me to the Mountain View farmers market and show me which vendors she preferred.

  Tonight, though, we needed fast
fuel and an early night. If Purina had made something called “Tired Family Chow,” I would have served that with a little ketchup and everyone would have been happy. Failing that, it was yet another order of In-N-Out Burger for us.

  By the time Brian and I picked up David, the wind had come up, the fog had rolled in, and the warm day was cooling off fast. We showered, threw on sweatpants and T-shirts, and watched our old standby favorite, The Princess Bride.

  Stephen arrived at eight o’clock and found us all nearly asleep on the sofas. I pointed him toward the burgers. The boys and I stumbled up the stairs to bed.

  After a few hours of blissful sleep, I awoke to the all-too-familiar sound of breaking glass, Belle’s barking, and a houseful of smoke. Not again!

  I grabbed Holmes, who’d snuggled under the covers next to me. Shoving my feet into my sneakers, I called to the boys.

  I found them both in the hallway rubbing sleep from their eyes. I made a snap decision.

  “Remember the rope ladder in the attic? Time to use it,” I said. “Get out. Go straight to the car and meet me there.”

  “What about you?” Brian asked, eyes wide.

  I lifted Holmes. “I’m grabbing the cats. We’ll meet you at the car.”

  “Come on, squirt.” David grabbed Brian’s hand and pulled him up the attic stairs. “It’ll be fun. Just like we practiced.”

  Holmes squirmed, and I braced myself for cat scratches, but he was only burying his head in my armpit, apparently trying to pretend he was back under the covers.

  “Stephen?” I called, breathing in smoke and coughing as I dashed down the front stairs. The treads were covered with glass shards. I avoided looking at the wisteria window. If it had broken, I didn’t want to know.

  “Here, Maggie,” Stephen called to me from the front door, coughing and wiping his streaming eyes with a handkerchief. “Where are the boys?”

  “Fire escape. Where’s Watson? Belle?” I looked at Stephen’s side, where I was used to seeing Munchkin, with his head nearly glued to Stephen’s thigh.

  “Belle, Watson, and Munchkin are in my car. Fire department is on the way. They’ve called out mutual aid countywide. The whole hillside could go.”

  I grabbed my backpack from the hall table and wasted no time getting out. My chest felt tight, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of the smoke or because I was terrified.

  I pushed the unlock button on my key fob over and over as I ran to the car. I was relieved to see the boys were in the car with their seat belts on, waiting. I opened the passenger door and handed Holmes to David.

  “Stephen’s got Belle and Watson,” I said.

  My phone rang as I jumped in the driver’s side and fastened my seat belt. I tossed my backpack to Brian.

  “Find the phone and answer it, please.” I put the key in the ignition, started the car, and put it in drive, planning to move us all back into the barn. I cursed the inept electrician who must have goofed up the wiring, neglecting to resolve the problem that had made our fuse box so dangerous back when we’d moved in.

  As I pressed the accelerator and looked up to see where I was going, I slammed on the brakes, pressing hard enough and fast enough to engage the automatic braking system. The pedal throbbed and the car came to a skidding halt.

  Flames shot from the roof of the barn. The field and hillside were dotted with small fires started by sparks.

  My heart sank and my lower lip trembled. I cleared my throat and fought back tears, trying to avoid upsetting the boys any more than they already were. What I’d thought had been a fire restricted to the house was now an imminent disaster. Everything we’d fought for was at risk: our home, the barn, the view, and Max’s dreams of taking the boys backpacking from our back porch to the coast through oak chaparral and redwood forests. We’d all worked so hard to move, to settle in, and to make the house a home. I now had to face the very real possibility that it was all going to go up in smoke.

  But first, I had to get the boys to safety. My hands shook as I shifted the car into reverse.

  “Stephen says to follow him,” Brian said. Anything else he might have added was lost in a fit of coughing. We’d all inhaled too much smoke. I had to get us out of here.

  Chapter 27

  Emergency plans need to include strategies for protecting people and grabbing shoes, keys, animals, and critical medications. Organization is essential and can save lives.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Friday, September 12, Near midnight

  I followed the taillights of Stephen’s car, trying not to panic. Sweat coated my face as a result of fear, or heat, or both.

  Fire trucks screamed past on the other side of the road: red from Mountain View and white from Orchard View and Santa Clara County.

  “David, call Stephen and ask if he’s alerted the Open Space District. The barn was sparking and starting fires on the hillside.”

  David dialed, relayed the message, and listened.

  “Okay . . . good . . . okay . . .” he said to the phone and hung up as I was about to ask him to put it on speaker.

  “We’re headed to his house off Grant Road,” David said. “Paramedics will meet us there to check for smoke inhalation and lacerations from the glass. He says the county takes charge of wildfires in the Open Space District and they’ve alerted other local departments to stand by in case they need help.”

  At Jason and Stephen’s house, David and I were examined and quickly released from the paramedics’ care. Brian’s coughing had improved, but they hooked him up to an oxygen sensor, listened to his lungs, and kept an eye on him for a little longer.

  After an hour they released Brian too, with instructions to head straight to the emergency room if he grew worse. Stephen grabbed blankets and pillows and I tucked the boys in on the sofas in Jason and Stephen’s front room. David fell asleep immediately. Brian stayed awake a little longer. Belle curled up on the floor next to Brian’s couch. His arm dangled over the side, patting Belle’s head in a gesture that appeared to be soothing them both.

  Stephen had hospitality down to a science, even at two o’clock in the morning. While I settled the boys in, Stephen had transferred the cats from our cars to a cozy den at the back of the house. Clearly, this was where the couple spent most of their time. Rust-colored recliners were positioned in front of a wide-screened television set. A complex sound system and speakers filled shelves behind the chairs.

  Stephen had filled a mixing bowl with water and found a plastic dishpan that would do as an emergency litter box for the cats. He ripped up newspaper in place of kitty litter.

  “Is this okay?” he asked. “We’re not well fixed for a feline bathroom.”

  I nodded. “They’ll have to make do like the rest of us.”

  I plopped down on the end of a pullout sofa bed Stephen had made up for me. I sniffed at my sweatshirt and wrinkled my nose at the smoky smell.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Everything in your house will smell like a campfire.”

  “Forget it. I’m glad we’re all safe. Do you want tea? Jason will be calling with a report soon.”

  I shook my head. I’d resigned myself to losing everything. I didn’t need to wait to hear Jason confirm it. Lists of to-do items ran through my head: call Max, contact insurance . . . it was too much.

  “At this point, I just want sleep,” I said. I was tempted to climb into the bed, throw the sheets over my head, and hide from the world for a week. A part of me managed to hope this was a horrible dream from which I’d awake, wondering why I was at Stephen’s house.

  “Of course. Sure you don’t want water?”

  I shook my head and Stephen nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  He reopened the door and stuck his head in. “Wake me if you need anything.”

  I nodded, he closed the door, and I slipped between the sheets. I wiped tears from my cheeks and wished Max were here, but I was a
wake only long enough to feel Holmes burrow under the covers while Watson curled up behind my knees.

  Chapter 28

  Organization does not prevent disasters, but it can help you bounce back from a crisis more quickly.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Saturday, September 13, Nine o’clock

  The next morning I awoke to a knock on the door.

  “Nine o’clock, Maggie,” Stephen said. “The boys are up and breakfast is ready.”

  I ran my fingers though my smoky hair and hawked up ugly gray mucous. Gross!

  I followed the sound of laughter broken up by coughing. In the kitchen, Stephen flipped pancakes while Jason sliced strawberries. Brian sipped a cup of tea and David was juicing oranges using a mechanical device with a whirring motor that drowned out any attempt at a conversation.

  Jason handed me a cup of steaming coffee.

  “Let me give you the highlights before you bombard me with questions,” he said. “The fire department’s primary job was to keep the fire from spreading. They plowed firebreaks on the hill and extinguished grass fires before they could spread. Any damage to the hillside will repair itself quickly after the next rain.”

  “The barn?”

  “Unsalvageable,” Jason said. “Insurance should cover a rebuild, though current environmental regulations may require you to relocate it.”

  I took a deep swallow of coffee to fortify myself and asked, “The house?”

  Jason leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Nearly one hundred percent undamaged,” he said. “Smoke bombs. You’ve got another broken window. There may be a residual smoke smell, but nothing that opened windows can’t handle. Your house is fine.”