He looked at me appraisingly. “To what do I owe the honor?”
I stood up and said, “I need to talk to you.”
“So it appears.” As always, he remained totally unruffled. It would take more than a teacher’s ill-timed intrusion to put Mr. Hanover off his game. He turned to Harriet. “Does Ms. Travis have an appointment?”
“Yes, she does.” She lifted her calendar and showed it to him. “It’s on May fifth. Let me further point out that today’s roster is full. Your appointments are scheduled back to back.”
His head swiveled back in my direction. “Is this urgent?”
Mr. Hanover and I had needed to attend to urgent business on several previous occasions. I was thankful this situation didn’t involve anything as dire as those incidents.
“Umm . . . school-on-fire urgent, no. But otherwise, yes.”
Back to Harriet once again. “What time is my first appointment?”
She looked down to consult her book, though I was sure she already knew what it said. “Eight-fifteen.”
The headmaster gave a clipped nod. “Ms. Travis, you have ten minutes. I’d advise you not to waste a second of it. Move that chair out of the way and let’s get on, shall we?”
Howard Academy’s main building was the former residence of early twentieth century robber baron Joshua A. Howard. The great stone mansion sat high on a promontory above downtown. Over the years, it had been updated to meet current standards, but otherwise left mostly intact.
The school’s reception area had once been a soaring, two-story entrance hall. Mr. Hanover’s office was originally the formal parlor. Its wide windows looked out over the spacious grounds. An antique mahogany desk, imposing enough to impress even the most jaded parent, held pride of place in front of them. The room had been decorated to convey an aura of achievement, stability, and good taste—clearly a reflection of the headmaster’s own sensibilities.
This morning I didn’t have time to appreciate any of that. I had just ten minutes to tell Mr. Hanover everything he needed to know about Francesca Della Cimino’s rocky transition to his student body. Hopefully we’d be able to use most of that time to agree on a solution.
Mr. Hanover sat behind his desk and listened somberly to what I had to say. Now that I had the floor, he gave me his full attention. As I’d expected, he didn’t like what he was hearing. Never one to equivocate when a direct course of action presented itself, the headmaster acceded to my suggestion that I first attempt to deal with Francesca’s tormentors myself. If that didn’t work, we would call in the big guns.
“I want you to continue to monitor this situation closely,” Mr. Hanover said as he walked me to the door. “And I expect to receive frequent updates on your progress.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
Mr. Hanover pulled open the door and I walked through. Harriet was sitting at her desk just outside the office. She hadn’t looked up from her work, but I knew she was listening to every word that was being said.
“Should I leave messages for you with Harriet?” I asked.
“No, talk to me directly. I’m sure Harriet will be able to fit you in, if you need time.” He turned to his secretary. “Isn’t that so?”
“Certainly, Mr. Hanover.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll expect you to get right to work on that.”
“I will,” I told him. “I’ll meet with the girls today.”
The headmaster was still frowning. Clearly I hadn’t gotten his morning off to a good start.
“We have zero tolerance for that kind of behavior at Howard Academy,” he said firmly. “It will be made to stop. Any student who continues to cause a problem will be removed. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Off you go, then. Harriet, who’s next?”
I’d been dismissed. Thank God. I respected Mr. Hanover enormously. I had worked for the man for years. But I still breathed a sigh of relief every time I survived a meeting with him with both my job and my wits still intact.
With the full weight of the headmaster’s support behind me, I sent notes to Taylor’s, Brittany’s and Alicia’s teachers, clearing their schedules for a meeting with me, in my classroom, right after lunch. Howard Academy was a small enough school that I had at least a nodding acquaintance with every student. I was equally certain they all knew who I was. But none of these girls had ever needed tutoring. None had ever visited my room before.
They arrived together in a boisterous group. Obviously good friends, the three girls were chatting and giggling as they came through the door.
Two blonds and a brunette, the preteen girls were all fashioned from the same enviable mold. Each had sleek hair, clear skin, and bright teeth. Even the dowdy school uniform—navy plaid wool skirt, white button-down shirt, and knee socks—couldn’t dim their luster.
Although they’d been given no reason for the unusual summons, this trio of golden girls was sure they couldn’t possibly have anything to fear. I was about to change their minds about that.
“Please take a seat.” As I closed the door, I indicated the round table in the middle of the room. “Alicia? Ditch the gum.”
She blinked her big, blue eyes, certain she must have misheard. “But I always chew gum after I eat. It’s almost as good as brushing your teeth.”
I didn’t know if that was true and I didn’t care. In my classroom, we followed the rules. I pointed toward the waste basket.
As Alicia grudgingly complied, Taylor muttered under her breath, “It’s not like this is a real class.”
I ignored the comment, and the snicker from Brittany that followed. By the time I was finished these girls were going to wish they’d been sent to a real class. I waited until each of the three had found a seat. Then I walked over to the table and stood above them.
Brittany glanced toward the empty dog bed in the corner. Even students I didn’t see regularly knew my big black Poodle. “Where’s Faith?”
“She couldn’t come with me today,” I said. To Faith’s annoyance, I’d left her home because I knew I’d be running around all day. As soon as I was finished at school, I’d be heading downtown to talk to Detective Young.
“Who cares about the dog?” Taylor said with a smirk. “Why are we here, Ms. Travis? I’m supposed to be in French class now.”
“You’re here because your behavior has been causing problems,” I said bluntly. “I’m sure you’ve all read the Howard Academy code of ethics that you agreed to abide by when you became students here. Would one of you like to define bullying for me?”
“Bullying?” Alicia managed to sound surprised. “I don’t know why you would think that has anything to do with us.” She gazed around the table for support. And she got it. All three girls shrugged innocently.
“How about name calling?” I asked. “Does that sound familiar?”
Francesca might not have been this trio’s only victim, so I didn’t want to get specific. It turned out I didn’t have to. Comprehension dawned. These girls knew what I was talking about. Brittany and Alicia shared a troubled glance.
“My parents taught me to always tell the truth,” Taylor announced. “I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”
“Even if it means insulting another girl to her face?” I asked.
“I guess that would depend on what the girl looks like, wouldn’t it?” She smiled at her own cleverness, then glanced at her friends for approval. It wasn’t forthcoming. Alicia and Brittany were beginning to look nervous.
Taylor shook her head, dismissing them. She was still defiant. “I don’t know why any of this is my problem.”
I’d hoped we could discuss the problem amicably. Apparently not. As a teacher, I was never supposed to lose my temper. But Taylor’s arrogance was driving me perilously close to that edge.
“Taylor, I gave you more credit than that. But since this is hard for you to understand, maybe I need to be more specific. Would you consider it your problem if your so-called honesty
caused you to be suspended from school? How about if your recommendation to Exeter was revoked? Would that get my point across?”
Judging by the startled, and then angry, expressions that chased across the girl’s face, it would. Finally I’d struck a nerve. It was about damn time.
Taylor had been slouching in her seat. Now she bolted upright and straightened her shoulders. “You can’t talk to me that way. Do you know who my father is?”
Of course I knew who Taylor’s father was. John Simon was a founding partner of an enormously successful hedge fund. In the girl’s twelve years, I suspected that few people, if indeed any, had ever told Taylor Simon that she couldn’t have whatever she wanted. Or do whatever she wanted.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Actually, I can talk to you that way. While you’re here, in my classroom, you are under my authority.”
“Your authority?” Taylor scoffed. “You must be joking. You’re not even a teacher. You’re just a tutor.”
Alicia’s brow rose at that. She edged her chair slightly away, deliberately distancing herself from Taylor and what she had said. Brittany had her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Her lips were pressed in a thin line. She looked as though she might cry.
“Yes, you’re right,” I agreed mildly. “I’m just a tutor. But I spoke with Mr. Hanover this morning about the way you three have been behaving yourselves. Would you like me to ask him to join us here so he can clarify the hierarchy? Maybe you’d like to discuss your concerns with him. Considering that he’s already well versed on the topic, I know he’d be happy to talk to you about it.”
I paused and let my gaze rest on each of the girls in turn. “If you three don’t think I’m important enough to handle this, I’d be happy to escalate the matter. Would you prefer that I hand it over to a higher authority?”
“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Travis,” Alicia said quickly.
Brittany’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “We never should have said those things to Francesca.”
“Why did you?” I asked.
“We only told her what she would see for herself if she looked in the mirror,” Taylor snapped.
“That she looks like Porky Pig?”
“It’s just a silly cartoon,” Alicia told me. “Francesca took things way too seriously. She should have laughed it off. She’s new here. She doesn’t know how things work. So it was just as much her fault as ours.”
“You must be joking,” I retorted. “Please tell me that you don’t really believe that.”
Alicia’s cheeks reddened. Her mouth clamped shut. I supposed that was as close to an admission of guilt as I was going to get.
I yanked out a chair and sat down. Now we were all eye to eye.
“Let me tell you something,” I said sternly. “I don’t care whose fault it is. I only care that it stops. Immediately. Look at me.”
I waited until the three girls had done so. “You girls are better than that. You know you are. And from now on, I’m going to expect you to act like it.”
Taylor was clearly the leader of the group. She looked like she wanted to slap me. But I was pretty sure that Brittany and Alicia were coming around.
I glared at them some more. “And if I’m wrong about you three, and you’re actually not better than that? Then I’m going to expect you to pretend to be. Now I’m setting the bar pretty low here. So if that’s too hard for you—if you don’t think you can manage to be civil to your fellow students—then Howard Academy probably isn’t the right school for you. Do we understand each other?”
Two heads nodded right away. Taylor waited a beat, then followed suit reluctantly.
“Can we go now?” she asked.
“Yes, you’re dismissed.” I stood up, walked over to the door, and opened it. “But don’t forget what I said or you’ll find yourselves right back here. I mean that.”
Alicia shoved back her chair and raced from the room like her skirt was on fire. Taylor followed at a more sedate pace, the arrogant tilt to her head meant to illustrate that I hadn’t succeeded in scaring her.
Well, we’d see about that. Taylor thought she was tough, but I intended to keep repeating myself until I got my point across. And if I needed to up the stakes, I was ready to exercise that option too.
Brittany hung back until the other two girls were gone.
“Do you need something?” I asked.
She dropped her head guiltily. “I knew it was wrong,” she admitted. “We shouldn’t have behaved like that. I didn’t mean it. But Taylor, she’s . . .”
“Impossible?” I said when Brittany didn’t finish her thought.
The girl managed a very small smile. “I was just trying to fit in.”
“You know what? Francesca is just trying to fit in too. It’s hard to be the new kid. To go someplace in the middle of the school year where you don’t know anyone, and everything, even the language, is different. Things are difficult enough for Francesca without you girls making it worse.”
“I know,” Brittany said. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the one you should apologize to. Why don’t you deliver that apology to the person who needs to hear it?”
“Maybe I will,” Brittany said uncertainly.
“Think about it,” I told her, and she nodded.
It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start.
Chapter 21
When I finished with the three girls, my school day was over. Then it was on to my next assignment.
The Greenwich police station was just off Greenwich Avenue, an easy drive from Howard Academy. I was lucky to find a place to park on Mason Street, which meant that I was a few minutes early for my appointment.
I hadn’t seen Detective Raymond Young since the previous summer. From my point of view—and his as well, I’m sure—that was a good thing. The less time I spent on any police detective’s radar, the happier I was. But I had a story to tell. I needed to talk to somebody in law enforcement. And Detective Young was the nearest thing I had to a connection.
I knew better than to hope that he’d be happy to see me.
I signed in at the reception desk and was told to take a seat. Detective Young didn’t keep me waiting long. A black man with broad shoulders and close cropped hair, Young moved with surprising grace. I stood up as he approached, but when he stopped in front of me, I was still dwarfed by his size.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Travis,” he said.
I might have been able to fault the honesty of the detective’s sentiment, but his manners were flawless. When we shook hands, his grip was firm enough to convey strength and inspire confidence. Maybe I had come to the right place after all.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Is there somewhere we could talk for a few minutes?”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is this about?”
“It’s kind of a long story. But it started with a murder.”
His brow lifted. “Recent?”
“Two weeks ago. In eastern Connecticut.”
“And you think I can help with that?”
“I hope so,” I replied fervently. “Because I don’t know where else to turn.”
Detective Young pondered that for a moment, then nodded. “In that case, let’s go to my office. You can tell me everything you think I need to know.”
I followed Detective Young through a rabbit warren of connecting corridors. His office turned out to be small and sparsely furnished. But at least it had a window. And a door that closed. Not that he shut it behind us. I wondered whether he’d left the door open for his protection or mine.
Young waved me to a straight-backed chair. I expected him to sit down behind his metal desk. Instead he remained standing in front of it. Maybe that was his way of telling me that I wouldn’t be there long?
The detective leaned back against the edge of the desk and waited for me to speak. Finally he said, “Well?”
“I’m gathering my thoughts.�
�
I had a lot to tell him. It was hard to know where to begin.
As if he could read my mind, Young said, “Start with the murder.”
Or maybe that was what policemen always said in circumstances like these. Detective Young made it sound so simple. When in truth it was anything but.
I did what he requested—sort of. I started with Jasmine Crane. And the dog show. And Aunt Peg’s custom-made leash. In my mind, it was all part of the same explanation. But then no one has ever accused me of brevity.
I went from there to Amanda’s disappearance. And Amanda’s boyfriend. He was definitely key. I told Detective Young that Alan Crandall had taken possession of Jasmine’s paintings and subsequently burned them. And that Jasmine—a woman always on the lookout for an easy score—had been finding dog-sitting jobs for at least three girls that I knew of.
About that time, Detective Young began to look bored, so I spiced things up by telling him about the robberies. The Stanbergs in Trumbull, Raina Gentry in Hamden, Elliott Bean and Roger Marx in Rye, and the most recent addition to my list, the Bradshaws in Pound Ridge. All dog show people, and all of them away at shows when the crimes occurred.
I’d hoped that the detective would start to see the same patterns emerging that I had. Instead he appeared flummoxed by the sheer amount of information I’d thrown at him. I needed to get down to specifics.
“Marrow bones,” I said.
“What about them?”
“The thieves knew ahead of time that there would be dogs in the homes they robbed. They brought marrow bones with them to use as a distraction.”
“That could have been a coincidence,” Detective Young pointed out. “Or maybe they’d had the houses under surveillance. They might have seen the dogs and known to come prepared.”
I’d suspected that he would object to that assertion. The detective had never found my theories involving canines to be compelling. Someday I was definitely going to have to educate that man about dogs.
“That’s not all,” I said. “The thieves also targeted people with things like rare coins, art collections, and valuable jewelry. They weren’t just picking random houses and grabbing cash and electronics.”
Ruff Justice Page 19
