I’d checked in with Louisa Delgado and two of Francesca’s other teachers and discovered that they were equally mystified. “Gain her trust and figure it out,” Louisa told me. “You’re good at that.”
For Francesca’s sake, I hoped Louisa was right.
Francesca began the session the same way as always. She walked in the room and went straight to Faith. The big Poodle jumped up out of her bed and met Francesca halfway across the floor. The two of them did a happy dance around the room.
If the sixth-grader had had a tail, it would have been wagging too, I thought. She was so lively and unguarded in her interactions with Faith. Why did the walls come back up as soon as she had to talk to me?
Francesca dropped her backpack on the table and unzipped an outer pocket. “I brought Faith a peanut butter biscuit. You told me that was her favorite kind. Is it all right if I give it to her?”
“I’m sure Faith would love that,” I said with a smile. “But thank you for being polite and asking first.”
“My mother says no matter how logical things appear to you, you should never assume that other people feel the same way,” Francesca told me.
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”
“She is,” she replied seriously. “At least that’s what my father says.”
I took a seat at the table. Francesca would follow when she was ready. There was no hurry.
“Was your mother good in school?” I asked.
The girl brushed aside her hair and looked up at me. “Do you want the true answer or do you want me to tell you what her official bio says?”
What a question, I thought. What a world this child lived in.
“Since you know the truth, that’s what I’d rather hear.”
“Mother didn’t love going to school, but she was good at her classes. Just like she’s good at everything she does. She makes it all look easy.” It sounded as though Francesca sighed as she left Faith and joined me at the table.
“You must take after your mother then. School is easy for you too. At least it used to be.”
Francesca shrugged. She unzipped the top of her backpack and took out her English book. “This is what you wanted to work on today, right? My essay for English lit?”
“Sure, but we can get to that in a minute. First let’s talk about your classes.”
Francesca’s gaze slipped away. “What about them?”
“Which one is your favorite?”
She considered briefly, then shook her head. “I guess I don’t have one.”
“Really? Are you sure? There must be a subject that you enjoy more than the others.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right. Then who’s your favorite teacher?” Francesca shrugged again. This was like pulling teeth. “There’s nobody?”
She stared at me mutinously. “If I have to give you a name, I’ll pick Mr. Babic.”
“Mr. Babic,” I repeated. The name wasn’t familiar. I ran through the roster of HA teachers in my mind. Nope, still nothing. “I don’t think I know him. What does he teach?”
“Mr. Babic taught mathematics,” Francesca blurted. “At my old school in Vienna. That was a better school than this one. I want to go back there.”
Her face crumpled. The girl looked like she was trying not to cry. She turned away from me and began digging in her backpack. I heard a loud sniffle.
There was a box of tissues on my desk. I got up and brought it over. Francesca ignored it. And me.
I waited a minute, then said gently, “I’m sorry you’re not happy here. And I can understand how you might be homesick. But your parents are working in New York now. I don’t think it’s possible for you to go back to Vienna.”
“Nobody asked me if I wanted to move here,” Francesca complained. “Nobody cares what I think about anything.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. But performing at the Met is a wonderful opportunity for your mother. And I know your parents thought you would like being in school at Howard Academy.”
Francesca spun around to face me. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. “Well, I don’t.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“I know this is a big adjustment for you. Howard Academy is a very different environment than the one you were used to. It can take time to figure out where you fit in.”
“That’s just it,” Francesca said. “I don’t want to fit in. I don’t even like anybody here.”
“That’s too bad. There are lots of great kids who go to this school. Maybe if you gave them a chance—”
Francesca pushed her essay toward me, across the table. “You’re supposed to be helping me with my paper. Can we do that now?”
I paused, hoping for a bright idea. Nothing happened, darn it. “Yes, we can get to work. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
So I helped her with her essay. When our session was finished, Francesca couldn’t get out of my room fast enough. I’m a teacher. I’m supposed to have the answers. But in Francesca’s case, I kept coming up blank. Something was going on with that girl. I wished I knew what it was.
Chapter 13
Aunt Peg called as Faith and I were leaving Howard
Academy. I don’t know if she monitors my schedule or if she has a tracking device on my car. I probably don’t even want to know.
The purpose of the call was to invite me to her house for cake. Not scones, mind you. Cake. Aunt Peg suggested that I arrive tout de suite. As if the offer of cake wouldn’t have been enough to ensure that.
Our conversation was unusually brief. Something had to be up, but Aunt Peg wouldn’t tell me what it was. She likes to remain a woman of mystery.
Sam had dropped Kev off at preschool that morning, so it was my turn to pick him up. But I was already in Greenwich where Aunt Peg lived, and Graceland was in Stamford. By the time I swung by the school and came back, that whole toot sweet thing would be right out the window.
Curiosity won out over family obligation. I called Sam and he agreed to fill in for me. There’s a reason Bertie calls Sam “the long-suffering husband” but mostly I try not to think too much about that.
When Faith and I arrived at Aunt Peg’s house, Abby Burke’s car was parked in the driveway. So that was one puzzle solved. I hoped that Abby had something interesting to tell us and hadn’t just stopped by for cake too.
We got out of the car together. Faith led the way up the steps to the front porch. Had it really only been a week since the three of us had met here previously? I wondered. It felt like much longer. And yet I hadn’t learned nearly enough in the meantime.
“It’s about time you got here,” Aunt Peg said when she opened the door and her Poodles came swarming out. “We almost started without you.”
Barely more than ten minutes had passed since she’d called. But Aunt Peg didn’t believe in speed limits. She also possessed an uncanny ability to talk her way out of tickets. Mere mortals like me were not so fortunate, so yes, I had crawled the length of North Street.
“Don’t just stand there.” She deftly shooed both me and the dogs inside the house. “Hurry up and come along.”
Aunt Peg veered toward her living room. Faith and I followed behind. Abby was on a love seat, clutching her phone. There wasn’t a piece of cake in sight.
“I hope you have good news for us,” I said.
“I do,” Abby replied happily. “I’ve heard from Amanda. She’s okay.”
“Excellent.” I sat down opposite her. “Where is she?”
“She didn’t say.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. “Did you ask?”
“We didn’t actually talk. She sent a text.”
“A text,” I echoed. My voice sounded hollow. Anyone could have sent a text from Amanda’s phone. Apparently that hadn’t occurred to Abby. “What did it say?”
“Here.” Abby handed over the device. “You c
an read it for yourself.”
Aunt Peg and I both leaned in to look at the message. It wasn’t much. Hi, Babes, sorry 2 B out of touch. Im ok. Just needed some vacay time. Talk soon.
I looked up. “Babes?”
“Amanda and I always call each other that.” Abby smiled fondly. “That’s how I knew the text was from her.”
“Does anyone else know about that name?”
“Well, family of course. And maybe a few friends. And I guess Rick might have heard us use it.”
I saw the moment the realization hit her. Abby’s smile faded. The identity of the person who’d sent the message wasn’t as definite as she’d assumed.
“Did you text her back?” Aunt Peg asked.
“Of course. Right away. But there was no reply. So then I called, but Amanda didn’t pick up.”
“Assuming your sister did send that text,” I said, “do you have any idea why she might have suddenly felt the need for vacay time?”
“I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure that out.” Abby sounded frustrated. “The only thing I can think of is Rick.”
Funny the way his name kept popping up.
“What about him?” I asked.
“He and Amanda have been together for a long time, but lately they haven’t been getting along very well. Amanda and I have had a couple of heart-to-heart talks about whether or not he’s the right guy for her. She’s been thinking about breaking up with him.”
“Why would that make her want to disappear?” asked Aunt Peg—the woman who’d never shirked a confrontation in her life.
“You don’t know Rick. He can be difficult.”
“Difficult how?” I prompted.
“He’s the kind of guy who thinks he’s always right. Like his opinions are the only ones that matter. Lately Amanda had been feeling like he was always criticizing her, finding fault with everything she did. I don’t know why Amanda wants to put up with his domineering crap. She deserves better, you know?”
Aunt Peg and I both nodded.
“And it didn’t help that lately Rick had developed this weird fascination with Amanda’s landlady.”
“Landlady?” That got my attention. “You mean Jasmine Crane.”
“That’s right.”
“Explain,” said Aunt Peg.
“I guess Rick ran into Jasmine a few times when he was visiting Amanda. That was how the two of them got to know each other. Amanda didn’t think anything about it at first. But then suddenly it seemed like Rick was always talking about Jasmine. He’d ask Amanda about her artwork and stuff.” Abby looked annoyed on her twin’s behalf. “I don’t know if I would say that Amanda was jealous exactly, but I know she didn’t like it.”
“Amanda wasn’t the only one who felt that way when Jasmine was around,” I said. “I keep hearing about her talent for flirting with men, making them feel important, and then getting them to do what she wanted.”
“Rick didn’t need anybody to make him feel important,” Abby said with a grim smile. “According to Amanda, he also wanted to know all about the jobs Jasmine was getting for her. Like every little detail. Even stuff Amanda thought was none of his business. Lately things had gotten pretty intense between them. Amanda didn’t come right out and say it, but I think she was a little bit afraid of him.”
“Another excellent reason for giving him the boot,” Aunt Peg said firmly.
“What kind of jobs was Jasmine getting Amanda?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. The pet-sitting stuff. Back when Amanda was getting started, before she’d made connections of her own, Jasmine was a real help to her. Even now, Jasmine was still drumming up work for her sometimes. Amanda took some of the jobs and another girl did the rest.”
I straightened in my seat. “Would that be Tamryn Klein?”
“Yes, I think so. At least the name sounds familiar. I’ve never met her though.”
“That’s the girl Daisy knew,” Aunt Peg remembered. “The one you were talking about yesterday.”
I nodded, then turned back to Abby. “So when you got in touch with Amanda’s friends last week, you didn’t talk to Tamryn?”
“No. Truthfully, she never crossed my mind. And even if she had, I wouldn’t have known how to get in touch with her.”
“That’s all right, I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Thanks to Daisy, I know how to find Tamryn. And I was planning to talk to her anyway.”
Abby nodded. She gazed back and forth between Aunt Peg and me. When I’d arrived, she’d been smiling. Now her expression was guarded.
“When I came to tell Peg that I’d heard from Amanda, I was feeling so relieved to know that she was all right,” she told us. “But now I don’t know what to think.”
“Only good thoughts,” I said. “And keep trying to get in touch with your sister. Maybe that text did come from her. It could mean she’s getting ready to open the lines of communication.”
“I hope so.” Abby tucked the phone in her purse and stood. Zeke, who’d been lying beside her, got up as well. Absently Abby’s hand drifted downward. Her fingers scratched the top of the Poodle’s head. Once a dog person, always a dog person.
“Let us know if you hear anything else,” I said.
“Of course I will. And thank you for your help.”
Aunt Peg walked Abby to the door. A minute later she was back.
“Well?” she asked. “What do you make of that?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think we should discuss it over cake. I’m pretty sure you promised there was going to be some.”
“No, I believe I offered. It’s not the same thing at all.”
I walked past her and headed for the kitchen. Faith was immediately at my side. The rest of the Poodles fell into line behind us. “I hope you didn’t lure me here under false pretenses.”
“Perish the thought. Of course I have cake.”
“Before I met you,” I said over my shoulder, “I never ate cake. I preferred pie.”
“Clearly there was something wrong with your upbringing.”
There’d been plenty of things wrong with my upbringing. But I had no desire to enumerate them now. Instead I poured us two tall glasses of milk while Aunt Peg dished out the cake. The slices she cut were so big they almost didn’t fit on the plates.
Not that I was complaining. I’d lucked out. It was St. Moritz mocha cake. I was salivating just thinking about it.
In exchange for transporting my taste buds to heaven, Aunt Peg wanted information. That seemed like a fair exchange to me.
“I know you were busy at the shows,” she said when we were seated across from each other at the kitchen table. “Indeed, we barely saw you back at the setup. Tell me what you found out.”
I had my priorities in order. Eat first, talk second. I cut a large wedge of cake with my fork, put it in my mouth, and let it melt on my tongue.
After I swallowed, I said, “Before—when Jasmine was alive—I thought of her as a popular member of the dog show community. But now, talking to the people who worked alongside her, I’m getting a totally different impression. She didn’t have many friends among her fellow vendors.”
Quickly I summed up everything I’d learned. Aunt Peg polished off most of her cake while I was talking. I hoped she was planning to go back for seconds. Because then I wouldn’t feel like a glutton when I did.
“And it wasn’t just the other vendors,” I said at the end. “Gwen Kimble didn’t have anything good to say about her either.”
“I suppose that’s to be expected,” Aunt Peg mused.
I stared at her across the table. “What do you mean?” And why was I just hearing that now?
“Gossip has it that Gwen and Jasmine engaged in a bit of a squabble recently.”
“Something to do with concession space at the Sedgefield show?” I guessed. “Gwen told me that Jasmine was difficult to work with.”
“No, not that. It was a different matter entirely. As you know, Jasmine took commissions for p
et portraits. She sold artwork she’d created in her booth at the shows, but the portraits were a lucrative sideline for her.”
I nodded. “So I’ve heard. Sam said he’d even thought about hiring her to do a portrait once.”
“Well, Gwen not only thought about it, she did commission a painting. She had an elderly Whippet bitch whom she absolutely adored. She wanted Jasmine to preserve the old girl’s likeness while there was still time. Gwen had pictures of Lotus, but she requested that Jasmine meet her in person too. Gwen hoped the portrait would capture the Whippet’s personality as well as her beauty.”
“Did it?” I asked.
“Supposedly it wasn’t even close. According to the grapevine, Gwen refused to take possession of the painting and she refused to pay for it.”
I was happy to let Aunt Peg do the talking while I ate cake. I even slipped Faith a nibble when no one else was looking. She’s a fan of the St. Moritz Bakery too.
“Jasmine wasn’t having any of that,” Aunt Peg continued. “She told Gwen that she’d adhered to the conditions of their contract, and Gwen needed to do the same. Otherwise Jasmine threatened to sue.”
“That seems a little extreme,” I said. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just make a few changes to the painting?”
“Frankly, I have no idea if anyone even considered that. By that time, the two of them were so mad at each other that no one was looking to compromise. Jasmine insisted that the portrait was perfect as is. And Gwen called Jasmine a talentless hack who wouldn’t know what real art looked like if it jumped up and sat on her easel.”
Aunt Peg paused for a sip of milk, then added, “So they both hired lawyers and they’ll be hashing out their differences in court.”
“Except they won’t,” I pointed out. “Not now. Gwen appears to have won her case by default. That seems rather convenient, under the circumstances.”
Aunt Peg slid a second piece of cake onto her plate. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Gwen and I discussed Jasmine Crane at length last week.” I tried not to sound annoyed. I probably didn’t succeed. “Why do you suppose she didn’t tell me any of this?”
Ruff Justice Page 12
