by Monica Nolan
“You think Mona’s out there, don’t you?” whispered Netta frantically. “You think she killed your Math Mistress somehow, just because she had this—this secret! Mona wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone! Anyway, it’s impossible.”
“I’m not betting my life on that,” Bobby told her. She eased open her office door.
“I’m coming too!” Enid grabbed on to Bobby’s shirttail, which had come untucked during her climb through the ivy.
Bobby didn’t want to alert the intruder with an argument. Biting her lip, she moved into the gymnasium, with the headstrong Math Mistress hanging on behind.
The gymnasium was like a big, dark pool. Bobby’s mind was filled with the sinister possibilities of gym equipment—the free-weight that could crush a skull, the jump rope that could wrap around a throat. Had she locked away the bows and arrows after archery? The big room was a veritable warehouse of weaponry!
She heard something, like the scrape of a foot. It sounded like it was coming from the corner, behind the big exercise ball. She made her way slowly around the vaulting horse. The intruder was breathing heavily, as if she were nervous.
Was Mona capable of murder? All Bobby knew was there’d been a startled look in her eye when Bobby had tossed the possibility of foul play like a cold codfish into the middle of the kitchen. The housekeeper’s hands had been shaking when she carried the cocoa to the common room. Sure, Mona had been with Miss Craybill when she found the body, but what about a booby trap? An invisible wire stretched tautly, a few granite blocks removed and then replaced. Bobby could picture the handy housekeeper busily recementing the blocks while funeral preparations were made.
Bobby was between the intruder and the door now. Her hand felt for the light switch, and she raised her stick in the air. The next moment the gymnasium was flooded with illumination.
“Why, girls! What are you doing?” Bobby lowered her hockey stick as Angle and Kayo scrambled up off the pile of gym mats in the corner. “I mean, here, what are you doing here?” The gym teacher amended her first question hastily, as it was quite clear what the hot-blooded teens had been up to. She felt Enid release her shirttail. “Why aren’t you at dinner?”
“We wanted someplace quiet to finish our conversation,” Angle began. “It was so noisy in the Common Room.”
“And we were looking for you,” added Kayo. “We have some ideas for strategy against the Holy Virgins.”
“The Twist Push-Pass Feint will throw them for a loop, and then me and Kayo will mop the floor with them! We’ve got moves they’ve never seen!” Angle radiated enthusiasm. Where was the embittered loner of only a week ago?
“Girls, I think it’s just great you’ve put your heads together for the team this way,” beamed Bobby as the flushed pair smoothed down their skirts and retucked their shirts. “And I want to hear your ideas, certainly. However,” she sobered up, “the gymnasium is not the place for your private, er, conversations. Scoot yourselves along to dinner now.”
“Okay, Coach Bobby!” the pair chorused.
“Just a second.” Bobby held out her stick to Kayo. “This is yours now.”
“Thanks, Coach!” Kayo’s eyes forgave Bobby for all her blunders.
“I never would have thought it.” Enid was staring after the two girls. “They have nothing in common. They disliked each other so!”
“Never mind that,” said Bobby brusquely, trying to hide her relief at Kayo’s quick recovery. “Now that they’ve learned to work as a team, the Martyrs haven’t a chance against us!”
“Oh, you—you field hockey coach!” Enid burst out angrily.
Chapter Thirty-two
Milk Run
Quietly, Bobby closed the door of Cornwall behind her and breathed deeply the frosty air of early morning.
She jogged across the quadrangle, past the banner that hung over the entrance to Dorset and read “Welcome Old Girls.” They would begin arriving today.
Bobby’s feet in their worn gym shoes thudded down the path to the gymnasium. Last night after dinner, Serena and Alice had regaled her with stories of Old Girls’ Weekends past. “The Old Girls are worse than the young ones,” the big German Mistress declared. “Don’t plan on accomplishing anything in class tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?” Bobby had asked. “They’re not going to be in classes, are they?”
“It’s the tradition,” Alice explained. “They call it Old Girl Observation, but the Old Girls like to get into the spirit of things and participate fully in all classroom activities.”
“Bryce has learned to make sure the biology class is not doing dissection when the Old Girls visit,” Serena added darkly.
Bobby had had a hard time absorbing the latest Metamorian lore from the veteran teachers. She kept glancing at Enid, on the other side of the room, grading papers with her usual single-minded focus. Would she ever stop resenting Bobby’s profession?
Bobby jogged around the track, picking up her pace now that she was warmed up. Still her thoughts flew faster than her feet.
After the false alarm in the gymnasium the other night, she, Netta, and Enid had managed to come to an agreement—they’d wait until after the Old Girls’ Weekend to take action. In the meantime, they’d keep a close watch on Metamora’s housekeeper. Netta had returned to Bay City, but had promised to come back Saturday to help. The idealistic teacher clung to the belief that Mona could be reformed. “There’s no such thing as a bad girl!” she declared.
Did Enid agree? After her outburst, the Math Mistress had been tight-lipped. Bobby pulled to a panting stop and swung one leg up on the fence, stretching her hamstrings. What was behind Enid’s sudden coolness? Bobby had thought they were drawing closer, working as a real team, but after Enid’s outburst last night, it was clear the Games Mistress had fallen from her favor. Did she distrust Bobby’s steadiness? Did she suspect the complication with Kayo, or resent her affair with the Art Mistress?
Bobby changed legs and repeated her stretch. Thank heavens she’d never responded to any of Mona’s overtures!
That’s it! Bobby jerked upright, hamstring health forgotten. Now she knew what had bothered her about Mona’s professed passion for Dot Driscoll—if the housekeeper was so gone on the Kerwins’ aunt, why was she constantly fingering Bobby’s biceps and inviting the gym teacher over for cocoa?
Bobby turned and jogged up the rise to the quadrangle, her mind working furiously. Dot and Mona weren’t in love with each other—they were bound together by a love of betting. I’m going to brace that bookie right now, Bobby decided, loping across the quadrangle.
Her hand was on Devon’s doorknob when Bobby heard an engine sputter to life, breaking the morning stillness. The gym teacher turned instantly around Devon and ducked between Dorset and Manchester, running toward the paved road that circled the quadrangle.
The paneled station wagon was just rounding the turn from the parking lot. Bobby leapt to the middle of the road, waving her arms. “Stop!” she shouted, but the car only picked up speed. Jumping back, she caught a glimpse of Mona’s set face behind the wheel as the vehicle swerved at the last minute, narrowly missing the Games Mistress. Bobby dashed back through the quadrangle, running as fast as she’d ever run, down the hill, toward Route 32. Bursting from the foot path to the drive, she saw the car jerk to a halt at the closed gate. Mona jumped out of the wagon and ran to tug at the heavy wrought iron with all her strength.
Bobby put on a superhuman spurt of speed. She reached the car as Mona succeeded in swinging open one side of the gate. Gulping air into her burning lungs, Bobby leaned in the window and turned off the engine. She shoved the keys in her pocket as Mona turned back to the station wagon.
“Bobby—what are you doing?” Mona attempted a laugh. “We’re out of milk, and I need to get twenty gallons before breakfast!”
“You almost killed me!” Bobby shouted. She glanced at the backseat of the station wagon, piled high with luggage. “Milk! Think up a better one, Mona!”
&n
bsp; Mona wilted. “I’m not a killer, Bobby, whatever you might think! I’m just a little jittery from too much coffee. I’ve been up all night packing.” She stepped close to the sweating phys ed instructor, close enough for Bobby to smell the lily-of-the-valley scent that clung to the attractive housekeeper. “Give me those keys and let me go, Bobby,” she begged. “Believe me, it will be better for Metamora!”
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you and Dot were really up to,” Bobby ordered the desperate housekeeper. “And don’t try to tell me you were trysting in the replica cabin!”
“I’ll come clean,” Mona promised. “Dot was my banker, my silent partner. Her actuarial experience was useful when it came to calculating the odds. Math was never my strong suit,” admitted Mona. “I made the mistake of asking Miss Froelich for advice on setting the line for last spring’s archery tournament, and that must have awakened her suspicions.”
“Yes—Miss Froelich!” Bobby pounced. “What happened to Miss Froelich?”
“All I know is what Dot told me!” Mona cried. “And she swore it was an accident. We used to meet up in the tower to settle accounts—we switched to the replica cabin after Miss Froelich’s fall. When we settled up after the softball season ended last May, we never suspected Miss Froelich was on the other side of the turret, looking at nuthatches. Dot told me afterward that Miss Froelich startled her, jumping out and spouting accusations. She said Miss Froelich tried to grab the envelope of money as evidence. Dot pulled back, and the next thing she knew, Miss Froelich was over the parapet.”
Mona closed her eyes and shuddered, like a third former having a bad dream.
“This year has been a nightmare,” she told the Games Mistress. “The sabotage, the uncertainty. I told Dot I wanted out, but she threatened me with exposure. All I want is a second chance—or call it a third chance—anyway, another chance to try to find my place in the world—legit, of course!”
Bobby thought hard. With Mona gone, no scandal would taint Metamora. And was Mona really a career criminal—or just a girl who’d never had proper vocational counseling?
“You’ll stay away from sports betting?” Bobby said sternly.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Mona said solemnly. “All those numbers and bookkeeping—I’m sick of it!”
Bobby held out the keys. She suspected she was being soft, but Mona had been so helpful all semester. And she did make a mean cup of cocoa. “Get out of here, before I regret this,” she said gruffly.
Mona snatched the keys and wrapped Bobby in a brief embrace that left the gym teacher gasping. She slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Releasing the clutch, she began rolling toward the open gate and freedom even before she started the engine, as if afraid Bobby might change her mind.
Once through the gate, the car stopped with a jerk. Mona rolled the window down and stuck her head out. “Watch out for Dot. I’ll bet she’s the one who’s been sabotaging the top teen teams this season—I hear she takes her share of the book and bets big money on the long shots with a bookie over in Beaverton. She’ll be looking to recoup the loss you handed her the other day at Adena, when you missed the point spread she needed.”
The car spurted into motion again, swinging right toward Adena. Bobby lifted her hand in farewell.
“Be good,” she murmured.
Chapter Thirty-three
Old Girls
“You let the only witness go?” Enid practically spat the question at Bobby.
The two teachers were walking to Dorset for breakfast, dodging the gathering groups of Old Girls, middle-aged, well-dressed women for the most part, wearing crimson and white carnations pinned to their lapels. “Buzzy—Buzzy!” shouted one to a friend on the other side of the quad. “Let’s go to Gussie’s class after breakfast and see if we remember any Xenophon!”
“These Old Girls are a raucous bunch, aren’t they?” Bobby tried to distract Enid.
It didn’t work. “How are we going to prove Dot Driscoll’s guilt?” she demanded.
“We’ll get Dot somehow,” pleaded Bobby. “Honestly, Enid, I thought this would be the best way to spare Metamora more scandal!”
“You weren’t thinking at all—you acted on your emotions!” Enid snapped. “You’ve always been attracted to Mona and so you let her go!” With that she stalked away.
Bobby watched Enid go. The Math Mistress’s opinion of her as a brainless womanizer seemed as unshakeable as the rock of Gibraltar. The worst of it was, Enid had a point about Dot. How were they going to prove the gambler’s guilt?
Miss Craybill was standing on the steps of Dorset, flanked by Miss Otis and Gussie Gunderson, greeting the Old Girls, smiling, chatting, shaking hands. Bobby knew none of the alumnae would suspect that the Headmistress had been almost catatonic only the day before. “Why, Harriet Hurd! Little Hattie Hurd, still late for breakfast,” Miss Craybill jokingly chided a plump woman whose curly blond hair was showing some gray.
“It’s just jet lag, Miss Craybill,” the Old Girl laughed. “I came straight from Laos.”
At least Bobby could take pleasure in Miss Craybill’s stunning recovery. When the Headmistress rose to make the announcements at breakfast, there was a spontaneous burst of applause from the student body, which had drifted through the past weeks like a rudderless ship. The Old Girls joined in with enthusiastic affection for Miss Craybill, never suspecting the true cause.
“Welcome, Old Girls!” Miss Craybill smiled and waited until the whoops and cheers, the bursts of “Hail to thee, Metamora” had died down. “I know you’re going to have a wonderful three days greeting old friends and teachers, reflecting on all Metamora taught you and thinking, perhaps, of how you might repay your alma mater.” Laughter rolled through the dining hall at Miss Craybill’s sly wink.
“She seems in wonderful form, doesn’t she?” Hoppy whispered to Bobby as the two teachers sat with the rest of the junior faculty at a table in the back of the room. Bobby nodded. She was too choked up to speak. Gosh, I love this place, she thought.
“I’d like to tell you about a most generous gesture from Vivian Mercer-Morrow, class of thirty-nine. She is founding a scholarship in honor of our late Math Mistress, Nerissa Froelich,” Miss Craybill paused and Bobby tensed, but after a barely perceptible moment the Headmistress continued, her voice steady, “whom many of you loved and learned from. We thank Vivian for her generosity—”
“Thank the Business Machine Corporation stock split and my tax advisor,” called a narrow-faced woman as she stubbed out a cigarette. A ripple of amusement went around the room.
“…and any contributions to the scholarship fund will be deeply appreciated.” Miss Craybill finished with a smile. “And now, on to the day’s activities…”
Alice Bjorklund spoke for all the teachers. “I think she’s finally starting to accept Nerissa’s demise.”
“Thank heavens,” said Bryce.
“Sie hat mir herz gebrochen…” murmured Serena.
“I will withdraw my application from Les Hautes Écoles,” remarked Madame Melville. “Annette would like to graduate with her friends, I think.”
“Madame, you weren’t really thinking of leaving, were you?” Hoppy asked reproachfully.
“Did not you secretly think of a, how you say it, an escape plan?”
“Time heals everything,” said Ken sententiously. “The Hopi Indians of Arizona—”
“Shhh,” said several teachers simultaneously.
“…and after the game, tea will be served in Dorset Common Room. Tonight’s Old Girl Follies will be performed in the chapel at eight P.M. Ginger Knowles, forty-two, and Leona Durst, forty-three want me to remind all the performers in the Music Hall sketch that they must bring their own tomatoes.” Miss Craybill paused dubiously and then concluded, “I look forward to seeing you there.” She sat down amidst the clatter and bustle as the waitresses began to serve corned beef hash and waffles.
“Who’ll be making tea?” Laura as
ked plaintively. “I mean with Mona away. Did you all hear Mona’s been called away?”
Bobby kept her eyes on her hash, not daring to look at Enid.
“Kayo offered the Prefecture’s services,” Alice volunteered. “And Mona arranged for some additional assistance from Adena, after she got the phone call.”
“The perfect hausfrau,” sighed Serena, pouring more cream into her coffee. “Her mother’s on her deathbed, and she thinks of our stomachs.”
Bobby risked a quick glance at Enid. The Math Mistress was eating her waffles with a preoccupied air, perhaps thinking only of her future inventing new computational devices at Business Machines Corporation.
Then Bobby froze. Over Enid’s shoulder the gym teacher spied a familiar well-coifed fashion plate. The Kerwins’ aunt Dot was at a tableful of fellow alumnae.
Bobby’s heart began to pound. Of course Dot would attend the Old Girls’ Weekend. Wasn’t she a dedicated alumna? A wave of panic swept over the Games Mistress. How could she prevent the dastardly dowager from doing further damage?
“Enid.” She cornered the Math Mistress as soon as breakfast was over. “Dot Driscoll’s here! What are we going to do? The Holy Martyrs will arrive right after last period—we’ve got to stop her sabotage!”
“We’ll enlist the other teachers,” Enid said immediately. “I’ll convince them to keep an eye on her. Maybe I can start by asking her to come to my calculus class.” Businesslike, she turned to search for Dot in the throng of departing Metamorians.
“Gosh, Enid, I guess you were right and I was wrong,” Bobby burst out impulsively. “But you’re not going to write me off for a little mistake, are you? I really think it’s more than physical with us! I think we’ve got the stuff for a long season!”
Enid winced, and Bobby immediately regretted the sporty expression. “Look, Bobby.” The Math Mistress chose her words carefully. “When we got together the night of the Harvest Moon Mixer, I wasn’t looking for anything more than a tawdry affair. Then I saw the shocked look in Kayo’s eyes, and—well, it was like being on the other side of the looking glass. I haven’t thought of Miss Schack or that swim captain once since then. I even toyed with the idea that our fling could turn into something more.”
