Murder at the PTA Luncheon

by Valerie Wolzien

  “They are quite competitive, yes. And that might account for it. But I can’t help thinking that there’s something else there—some stronger motive.”

  “Was Paula Porter the type of person who would arrange an office like that for a friend?” Brett asked.

  “Yes, possibly. Paula was a nice woman. A hard worker, but, well, easily manipulated. The person who gets left holding the wrong end of the stick sometimes. That’s probably why people suggested that Charline had put her up to the whole thing.”

  “You think that’s what happened?”

  “I don’t know. But you have to remember that no one knew who was going to throw their hat into the ring for offices.”

  “Except that Carol Mann had already told Mrs. Ames that she wanted to be vice-president. And was promptly discouraged from putting her name forward,” Kathleen said.

  “Did she? Well, that’s something I didn’t know. And it does surprise me. Mrs. Mann wouldn’t make waves as vice-president. I don’t know what objection they could have had to her holding office.”

  “Maybe because she isn’t in their class?” Kathleen suggested.

  “Possibly. Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Voos aren’t above being snobs, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “You really don’t believe that anyone would kill Mrs. Porter because they objected to her choice for president of the PTA, do you?” Kathleen asked a little sarcastically.

  “Definitely not. And I don’t believe that I said that.”

  “We understand that,” Brett said. “Did you like having Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Voos as co-presidents? Would you possibly rather have worked with Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Henshaw?”

  “I try not to get involved in this type of thing. Of course, if I had found it impossible to deal with either woman … But no, there was no reason not to want them as co-presidents again.”

  “But would you rather someone else had been?” Brett persisted.

  “You must understand my position, Detective Fortesque, I have to get along with whatever the PTA decides.”

  “And you must understand my position, Dr. Tyrrell. We have to know everything about anything that might have to do with these murders. And it should be obvious to anyone who has looked at the suspects that the members of your executive board of your PTA are well represented. I’m not suggesting that we have decided that the political maneuvering of these women had anything to do with the murders directly. But I won’t be able to eliminate that possibility until I know more. Now will you please answer a question: Would you rather have had Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Henshaw for co-presidents?”

  Dr. Tyrrell took a few moments before answering. “Okay. Yes, I really don’t like Julia and Charline. Maybe it’s personal prejudice on my part, but they do seem to want the office for the status and not because they want to contribute to Hancock Elementary. Actually, I had thought that being in office once would have been enough for them. I was very surprised to find that they wanted to do it again.”

  “So …” Brett began.

  “But,” Dr. Tyrrell raised his voice and interrupted, “I want to make this very clear. While it may be true that Paula Porter and her committee didn’t pick Mrs. Henshaw and Mrs. Cooper, I cannot, I repeat, I cannot believe that either of them would kill Paula Porter out of revenge or for any other motive.” He looked at them sternly.

  “We understand that, sir,” Kathleen assured him, noticing that Brett seemed involved in his own thoughts.

  “Do you have any other questions?”

  “Well, do we, Brett?”

  “Not that I can think of.” He picked up his glass and drank down the contents and then stood up. Kathleen hurried to follow.

  “Oh, Dr. Tyrrell.” Brett stopped on his way to the doorway. “Do you have any drug problems at your school?” he asked casually.

  TEN

  “Well, now we all know how to offend an elementary-school principal. Just ask him if his school is loaded with little addicts,” Kathleen said, getting into the passenger side of the car.

  “You were on the narcotics squad. Are you telling me you haven’t heard of drugs being taken by fifth graders?” he replied, putting the key in the ignition and starting the motor.

  “I worked in the city. This isn’t exactly the poverty-plagued urban area that breeds dependence on drugs,” she protested.

  “That shows how little you know about it,” Brett argued. “You think there’s less cocaine use here than in the city? These kids certainly have enough money to get the stuff. And if they can’t get it right here in town, New York City is only thirty miles away.”

  “I know that,” Kathleen said, indignant. “But not fifth graders, not in this environment. If you want to suggest that there are drugs in the high school here, or even the junior high, I won’t argue. But not these little kids, I don’t see it. And where are we going?” Just because he was in the driver’s seat didn’t mean he could take off wherever he wanted to, did it? Well, actually, of course, it did.

  “I’d like to clear up this story about the presidency and—”

  “You’re kidding me. You really think that a woman would kill someone just because she’s not getting to run the PTA the way she wants to?” She flung her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I cannot believe …”

  “I think we should clear up any area in which we know people were unhappy and that there was conflict. That is what I think. You may think what you want. You may …” His voice trailed off; her skirt was hiked up above her knees and there were those garters again …

  “And just how are you going to clear up these things?” She glanced over and saw what he was looking at. “Just keep your eyes on the road. You don’t want to get us lost again, do you?”

  “I don’t think I was the only one to get us lost today. I believe you were driving when we tried to find the Ames home.” He sounded more sure than he felt; in fact, he felt he was lost. Well, maybe if he turned here …

  “Left, not right. This is where you almost made the wrong turn on the way to Dr. Tyrrell’s house. Left, I said.”

  “This is a shortcut,” Brett said firmly, and then changed the subject, since she would never believe that one. “Did you notice the phone in the living room?”

  “No, why should I have? Just because he said he was going to make his call from the kitchen? He probably just wanted some privacy. Are you sure you know where this shortcut is taking us?” she demanded.

  “I am on my way to Susan Henshaw’s house,” Brett insisted, doubting the truth of his own words. “If you prefer to pursue some other line of inquiry or even to quit for the day, I’d be happy to drop you off somewhere else.”

  “I think I’d like to stay with you, if you don’t mind.” She stared in stony silence out the window.

  At least she didn’t seem to realize just how lost they were getting …

  “Well, I’ll admit it. I’m impressed,” Kathleen commented.

  “You’re what?” Just in time, he saw the municipal building loom up on the right. What luck. “I won’t say anything,” he said, turning the correct direction to get to the Henshaw home.

  His luck continued and he found the Henshaw place easily. A baby-sitter with platinum-blond hair, blackened eyes, and more holes in her earlobes than he would have thought possible explained that the Henshaws were out for the evening. A party next door, in fact. When he showed his identification, she offered to give him the phone number, but Brett resisted the offer, thanked her warmly, and suggested to Kathleen that they call it a day.

  But his decision not to interrupt the party was a mistake: except for Dr. Tyrrell, all the suspects in the case were there. It would have been very informative.

  Susan Henshaw was having a third glass of sangria, on the theory that if you can’t get a little sloshed on the evening of the day that for a while, at least, you were the main suspect in a murder case, then when can you?

  Besides, she reminded herself, looking around from the sofa on which she sat, doesn�
�t everyone get drunk at a wake? And this was either a wake or New Year’s Eve, because most people were doing some serious drinking. Certainly more than was normal for this crowd.

  Nancy Dobbs came and plunked herself down next to Susan, some of the drink she was carrying sloshing out of the glass and dripping down onto the skirt of the sundress she was wearing.

  “Damn. Oh well, no one will notice. And it’s washable.”

  Susan frequently found herself tongue-tied when it came to party small talk. She had a tendency to forget everything about the person next to her and always hoped the other person would start the conversation. Nancy did.

  “Wasn’t Kevin great yesterday? The way he gathered up the kids and got them away from Paula’s body? I’ve been telling Doug how wonderful he was. Don’t you agree?”

  “He did some quick thinking. Doug must be very proud of him.”

  “Well, you know Doug. He’s sometimes a little hard on the kids. Not that he doesn’t want the best from them—I mean, for them—but sometimes he doesn’t see just what good kids they are. Say something to him about Kevin, if you get the chance tonight.”

  “Of course,” Susan agreed, knowing she could do that without lying or exaggerating. It really had been remarkable of Kevin to think so quickly, and wasn’t it interesting that Nancy was willing to be even this disloyal to her husband? She had always thought that Nancy was something of a stick about her marriage: never a word against Doug, even when all the other women were sitting around sharing complaints. It had always been “dear Doug, how lucky I was to meet him,” instead of how lucky he had been to meet a woman who would raise his three kids and then have five more.

  “I really shouldn’t have this drink,” Nancy was saying, her voice surprisingly coy.

  “I can’t imagine why not.” Susan looked around the room. “It seems to me that everyone here is drinking. Why should you be different?”

  The response was a giggle.

  Susan looked carefully at Nancy. Maybe she shouldn’t have a drink if it was going to make her act like a forty-year-old teenager.

  “Can’t you guess why not?” Nancy asked, putting the glass, still full, down on the table beside the couch.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?” And was this Twenty Questions?

  “Well, sometimes a little queasy in the morning. But you know how that is.”

  “Not really. I usually get up, grab a cup of coffee and go. There’s no time to feel queasy. Of course, when I was pregnant … You’re not!”

  “I am.” There was that giggle again. Look pleased, Susan ordered herself. Just because you’d slit your throat if you found yourself pregnant again doesn’t mean that Nancy feels the same way. “How wonderful.” Say the same things you always say to pregnant women, you idiot, she ordered herself. You haven’t had that much to drink. “When are you due?”

  “March thirtieth. I just hope it isn’t late and turns out to be an April Fool’s baby, don’t you?”

  “I’m sure it will be right on time. Or maybe even early,” Susan assured her, knowing just who she thought the April fool was going to be.

  “I really do hope it’s on time. Doug always goes down to Key West fishing in April and I would hate him to miss the birth again.”

  “Oh, but he’ll stay around for that,” Susan assured her.

  “He never misses his fishing trip,” Nancy insisted. “And I wouldn’t want him to. It’s important for him to relax. His work is very exacting, you know. And Doug always says that women make too much of pregnancy and birth. That they used to go out into the fields and have babies and get right back to work before Lamaze—”

  “Oh, there’s Doug,” Susan interrupted. “I must go congratulate him. You sit right here and rest.” And she abruptly got up. Nancy’s queasiness seemed to be catching. But she didn’t head for Doug Dobbs, but in the opposite direction. Whenever she heard a man talk about giving birth in the field and getting right back to work, it made her want to take that man out into a field somewhere and make sure he didn’t father any more children.

  “Susan. Did you hear about Nancy?” Ellen grabbed her arm as she pushed through the crowd.

  “If you mean the news that she’s going to go out into the field and give birth while her husband is relaxing fishing for marlin somewhere on a tropical island, then yes. And I don’t want to talk about it.” She knew that Ellen also considered every baby a blessing and she really wasn’t able to deal with that attitude now.

  “Well, you don’t seem to be in a very good mood. Come into the kitchen with me.” She pulled her through the swinging doors.

  “Oh, excuse us.” Ellen was surprised to find the caterers lounging around the kitchen, munching on canapés and sipping something that looked very much like wine. “Shouldn’t you be …” she began.

  “We’re just on our way to the patio,” Susan said, before Ellen could interfere in the workers’ habits.

  “They shouldn’t—”

  “It’s not our business,” Susan interrupted. “Let Martha Hallard worry about it. It’s her party. Now what did you want to see me about?” She sat down on one of the lounges and breathed in the cool night air.

  “Everyone knows you’ve been with the state police detectives more than anyone else. What’s going on?”

  “What a beautiful night. I wonder why Martha decided to hold the party inside. It’s lovely out here. Ouch.” She slapped her arm.

  “There’s one answer: mosquitoes. Now tell me what is going on,” Ellen nagged.

  “I don’t know. The police have been very nice. They’ve asked me a lot of questions and—” There was a scream from the other side of a nearby boxwood hedge. And then a muffled giggle. Susan stood up. “Who was that?” she whispered to Ellen.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to know. Let’s find a quieter place.”

  Ellen hustled back to the house and Susan followed, looking over her shoulder as she did so. They hurried through the kitchen door. This time the kitchen staff didn’t even bother to stop their drinking and chatting. They went into the hall, where Ellen opened a door and pushed Susan in front of her into the bathroom.

  “What are we doing here? Shouldn’t we go back outside and see what’s going on?” Susan insisted.

  “I know what is going on and if they wanted us to see it, they could have rented a video camera and made an X-rated home movie.”

  “But … Then who was it back there?”

  “How should I know?” Ellen sat herself down on the closed toilet seat and picked at the tissue box. But Susan had more immediate concerns. She grabbed the door and started to leave, issuing directions as she went. “Don’t move. Lock the door behind me and I’ll knock five times. When you hear me, let me in.” She rushed back out into the party.

  The Hallards’ house had been designed for large gatherings. The living room opened into the dining room and that opened into a large family room filled with expensive video equipment and a gigantic stereo.

  Off that room, two French doors led to a large solarium. It was there that she found her husband talking to Bob Cooper.

  He turned and smiled when he saw her. “Susan, where have you been? I was looking for you before …”

  “Were you outside?” she asked quickly.

  “Outside? Why would I go outside? Bob and I were just talking about the trip he and Ellen are planning to St. Barts. What was the name of that place we stayed at two years ago?”

  “The Mermaid Club.”

  “That’s it. I knew it was a dumb name, but the place was great, Bob. Best damn scuba diving …”

  Susan left them to their vacation plans. She really hadn’t thought that it was Jed back there in the boxwood, but it never hurt to check.

  “Susan, have another drink.” It was Martha Hallard, followed by a good-looking young man from the caterer’s staff. “What do you want?” The tray he was carrying hovered by her right hand.

  Why not? It was a party, wasn’t it? “I’ll have another glass
of white sangria, if you have one there.”

  “Of course.” Martha took the glass from the tray offered and handed it to her. “I’m so glad you could make it to the party. And I love that dress. Did you get it down at the Country Cross? I was in there the other day and they have the most fabulous things. Bloomingdales had something similar, but not nearly so nice …”

  Susan sipped her drink and listened to Martha’s chatter about clothes and New York shopping as compared to the local stores. When it came to shopping, Martha was a chauvinist.

  “I really do think that we should support the local merchants, don’t you? Especially now. It’s only a matter of time before the press picks up the story of these murders. I turned on the local news in New York tonight, sure that I would hear something about the Hancock murders or something like that, but nothing. But it is, you know, just a matter of time. I was talking to the mayor about it just a few minutes ago. We really should form a committee and try to do something.”

  “Do something? What can we do?” Susan asked, paying very little attention to the conversation. She had spied Carol Mann over in the corner talking to Angie Leachman. Carol wasn’t usually invited to these parties. She wondered if Martha had hired John Mann for security. With all these murders around, it might be a good idea. Angie was looking wonderful in a silk dress of shimmery peach. She really should move closer and get a better look at that fabric.

  “We have to put out some good publicity to counter all the bad things that are going to be said about Hancock if the situation doesn’t end soon. I don’t know what I worry about more: that we’ll look like a town harboring a mad killer or a town full of suburban women bored with their husbands and playing around with high school kids while their husbands commute to the city.”

  “Fooling around with who? Who’s fooling around with high school kids? Marty, what are you talking about? What does this have to do with high school kids? Marty, what are you talking about? What does this have to do with the murders?”

  “Paula Porter and Kevin Dobbs.”

  “They were having an affair?”