“Is this why we need to sign out every piece of construction paper?” Evelyn asked wearily. “So we don’t get shut down?”
Brunhilda spun on her heel. “I know how concerned you are with programs being eliminated, Evelyn.” She lifted her chin. “We are under serious review right now. Every pen, every paper clip, every rubber band and eraser must be accounted for, and all of us have to keep our noses clean. Certain board of ed members have already made up their minds to close this school, and a few others are looking for a reason to do so. Whatever ultimately happens, I don’t want to give them that reason. Understood?”
We all nodded numbly.
“Good.” Brunhilda tugged at the hem of her olive-green tweed jacket. “I think that’s enough for today. Just remember: no talking to the press, and be on your best behavior. Have a good night,” she added hastily as we stood to leave.
“Crap,” Mindy whispered once we were back in the hallway. “Kitrich hired someone to kill her husband? I wouldn’t have thought she had the balls.”
“To recap: Marlene Kitrich pays someone to kill her husband, so now the rest of us have to sign out pencils from the supply closet. Am I missing anything?”
“I think those were the highlights, yes.” Mindy tugged a lock of hair loose from her large silver hoop earrings. “Sounds like I’m going to need to manifest a new job.”
A ball of anxiety wound through my gut. Losing Sweet Pea was one thing. That was extra money, nothing more. But losing my teaching job was too much to process at the moment. “I thought for sure we were safe after the board opted to keep two elementary schools last spring. I thought it was a done deal.”
“Not with the talk I’ve been hearing about state grants,” Mindy muttered. “I’ve got a headache.”
We headed out to the parking lot quietly, following our equally silent colleagues. Mindy and I said our good nights and I unlocked my Corolla. As I sat in the driver’s seat, I checked my cell phone for the first time since Mindy and I had been texting each other. One missed call, and my heart arrested when I saw the caller ID.
James. Like the night could get any worse.
CHAPTER 9
ERIC LOOSENED HIS TIE and flung his suit jacket onto the back of the chair. Another rousing meeting, he thought wryly. A serving of bureaucracy with healthy sides of threats, fodder for gossip, and shame. Gretchen should be tickled pink.
“I hate that this is part of the job.” She sighed dramatically as she closed the blinds in her office. “But I think of myself as a mother hen raising her brood. Boundaries and honesty are important.”
“Yes.” Eric nodded tightly and folded his arms across his chest. “I think you achieved your objectives.”
He’d cut his teeth as a middle school history teacher, and he’d been through his fair share of faculty meetings. The best ones were an open exchange of ideas about new teaching methodologies or how to reach the students who were most at risk of falling through the cracks. The absolute worst ones were about signing pens out of the supply closet. He’d never actually attended a faculty meeting where the principal instructed her staff to keep their noses clean. Working with Gretchen was like embarking on an expedition.
“It’s nice to have your support,” she said as she heaved herself into the chair behind her desk. “Marlene was always great about that.” She paused, her shoulders slumped. “What a mess.”
Mess was the understatement of the century. A vice principal involved in a murder-for-hire plot was a friggin’ nightmare. He’d come into this position because it was a promotion from his job at the middle school, even if he was only serving in a temporary capacity. Good opportunity, the superintendent had said. Pad your résumé for a few months while Marlene recovers from her nervous breakdown. He’d only learned a few days ago that “nervous breakdown” was Marlene’s shorthand for “being under investigation for attempted murder.” And each time Gretchen mourned her absence, Eric bit his cheek to keep from reminding her that Marlene had hired someone to kill her husband. She must be a charming woman.
He rubbed his cheek and felt the prickles of new growth on his palm. “I’ve cleared my schedule for tomorrow. I’ll be available to field calls from the press.”
“That’s good. They’re probably going to want to speak with the principal, of course. I don’t think I’m up to it.” Gretchen opened a tortoiseshell compact and fluffed her hair, which barely moved. “God, and all the photographers. I should see if I can get my hair colored. I had a feeling when I canceled the appointment last weekend that it would come back to bite me in the ass. You ever get that feeling? Of course I couldn’t know about all of this.” She snapped the compact shut and waved her hands. “I shouldn’t bore you with those details. Not your concern.”
Eric smiled mildly. “Not a problem.”
He was officially used to Gretchen boring him with details that weren’t his concern. The run in her panty hose. The nail polish on her toes that had chipped too soon. The snag in her brand-new sweater. He’d spent the first days of his tenure at Noah Webster wondering what he’d ever done to invite the comments. Did he somehow look like he cared a great deal about clothing snags and paint chips? Then he’d accepted that he was filling Marlene’s role, and that Gretchen viewed them as interchangeable. His strategy for these conversations was to change the subject.
“Have the police given any indication as to whether we need to retain other records? Do we know to what extent Marlene used her position?”
Gretchen held her head in her hands. “Who knows? I’ve handed over her files, and they said they have someone reviewing the documents. Our attorney has advised us to retain everything connected with her.”
“I’ve gone through my filing cabinet. I didn’t find anything. Some campaign flyers, nothing else.”
“May as well give those to the lawyer. Jeeeezus.” She released her head and leaned back in the chair. “I need a drink.”
School administrators had the option of furnishing their offices themselves. Gretchen had a dark-colored oak desk embellished with ornate carvings of vines across the bottom and sides. There were three panels on the front, each with a carved square and a different leaf carved into the center. This was one of the first conversations they’d had, about the leaves: maple, oak, and birch, but he’d forgotten the exact significance of each. Something to do with her family’s farm up in New Hampshire. What he remembered was that she’d had the desk commissioned, and she’d had the carpenter add a panel in one of the drawers so she could hide her bourbon.
“Want some?” She set the bottle on the desk and reached back into the drawer to pull up two crystal tumblers.
Eric didn’t care for drinking with his boss, but he was savvy enough to know the message it would send if he made her drink alone. “Just a splash.” He sat in the chair across from the desk.
She poured a finger for each of them and slid the glass to him. “To surviving the chaos,” she said.
He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
Eric took a tiny sip and gazed at the clock on the wall. It was only a quarter after five. As faculty meetings went, that one had been brief. That’s what happened when the only topics were signing out pieces of paper and felonies. He’d expected the meeting to go longer, and he’d positioned himself strategically to get a view of Lettie Osbourne. Yes, it was wrong to have a little crush on a teacher, but he figured it was harmless. He could be unbiased when he performed his classroom evaluations. No special favors. He just happened to think she had great legs.
“Fucking Evelyn Pierce and that music program,” Gretchen said, gripping her tumbler close to her chest. “If I have to hear another goddamn word. She doesn’t have any idea how hard I worked last spring to save her ass. It makes me wonder why I even bothered.”
It was the first time they’d shared a drink together, but it seemed they’d crossed another boundary and that Gretchen was goin
g to talk to him as a drinking buddy. Eric loosened his tie further and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. No need to be formal. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks, Gretchen,” he said easily. “To tell Evelyn Pierce to piss off.”
“Damn right. You know what she wants? Music three days a week.”
“A full-time program.”
“More than that. We’d have to get rid of phys ed. Or math.” She took a large sip without wincing. “They don’t get it. None of them.”
She was actually correct about that part. When he’d been a faculty member, he would often complain about administrative policies. It was one of the reasons he became an administrator, that sense that they were a pack of monkeys, but he! He could do better. Then he’d moved into that position and finally understood the challenges. Budget cuts. Pressure from the board of education to raise test scores or else. And faculty members who found fault at every turn.
“It’s not easy,” he agreed. “I lost some friends when I became an associate vice principal. Not because they were jealous, but because we couldn’t agree on school talk the way we used to. I was defending the administration and explaining the decision-making pressures. They told me I’d moved to the dark side.”
“Ha!” Gretchen took another gulp and set the tumbler down again. “Some of them are better than others.” She didn’t elaborate.
Eric swirled his drink in his glass and watched it cast light. “That kindergarten teacher. Osmond? Is that her name?”
Gretchen eyed him. “Aletta Osbourne.”
“Yeah, Osbourne. She seems okay.”
Heat worked its way up his neck. He did this when he liked a girl, where he tried to play it cool. I can talk about her casually, see? Like he was trying to prove something to someone. One of these days he’d learn his lesson and keep his mouth shut. His brain didn’t operate as well when he liked someone. His blood supply was directed elsewhere.
The principal rolled her eyes and tilted her head slightly. “Little Miss Sweet Pea?” she said with a sneer. “Thinks she’s better than everyone else.”
Eric started. He hadn’t had that impression of Aletta at all. Sure, she’d been pissed off about the lollipops in the alley behind Bar Harbor, but that was understandable. That wasn’t being superior. “Did something happen?” he asked mildly.
“Have you read those books? Life is sunshine and flowers. She’s a walking etiquette lesson. If she saw us here, drinking bourbon in my office, she’d probably report us to the board.”
The small sips of bourbon had softened his nerves already. Strong stuff. He’d stay at work a little later before driving home.
“You seem like you like rules, Gretchen,” he said, dulling the edge of his words with a smile. “You two should be fast friends.”
“I don’t like rules. I need rules.” She pointed a finger at him. “There’s a difference.”
“Ah.”
“When you’re running a school, you have to impose order. Demand respect. It starts with the little things.”
“Like the dress code?” He couldn’t help himself. He thought those rules were absurd.
“Exactly,” Gretchen said. “If they obey the dress code, they will obey the larger rules, too.”
“Lettie Osbourne seems to obey the dress code. Not that I’ve been taking notes—”
“Yes, she does. She’s harmless.” She finished off her drink and brought the glass back down. “Annoying, but harmless. I don’t worry about her. She’s not a pain in the ass like Evelyn Pierce.”
She opened her drawer again and pulled out the bottle of bourbon. “Want any more?”
“Thanks, I’m good.” He set his drink down. He’d barely touched it, but he wasn’t going to stay in Gretchen’s office. Releasing steam was normal, but he didn’t like talking about faculty members in a gossipy way. “I’ve got to finish some work and get going. Have a good night.”
“Just leave the glass there.”
Eric stood in the doorway to his office and paused. The red light on his phone was blinking. Messages. He didn’t want to go back to his office and face his voice mail. He didn’t want to talk about Marlene with some reporter or face questions he couldn’t possibly know the answer to. Were there any signs that Marlene was plotting her husband’s murder on school time? Did the administration know she was having an affair with the senator? What policies will change as a result of this incident?
God.
Eric walked down the hall, past the whirring of the floor polisher. When he was a kid, he wanted one of those things because he imagined he could ride it up and down the hall. Whenever his dad came around, he imagined riding it straight out of town. He still thought they were pretty cool, like a Zamboni for tile floors.
The lights in the school classrooms were off—all except one. His pulse kicked as he realized which classroom it was. He swallowed and wondered if he should even say hello. He might have booze on his breath. But to not say hello, well. That would be rude.
He paused beside the open classroom door and saw her sitting on the floor, sketching something on a pad. He smiled and knocked twice. “Hi, Lettie. Working late?”
I HAD SAT in the car and given the issue some thought. I could call James back later, once I was through a glass of wine. But there is really no good time or place for that first conversation with an ex-fiancé. James and I hadn’t spoken directly since I’d told him to get out of my car two days before the wedding. Even our frozen reception entrées had been divided with the assistance of Faye and the reception hall staff, who’d been gracious in complying with my instruction to give James extra fish. I wish I’d seen his face. He hates fish.
I got out of the car and headed back into my classroom. No one was there and it was heated. It was as good a place as any for an unpleasant conversation. I dialed his number.
“Hello?”
The sound of James’s voice disrupted my thoughts momentarily. “H-hello? James? It’s Lettie.” I perched on the bookcase beside the window, right near the sign that read R is for Reading. R was also for regret. And rage. And really uncomfortable.
“Hey.” His voice sounded unsure, and why shouldn’t it? He’d spent a long time lying to me. “I didn’t think you were going to call me back.”
“Oh, was that an option?” I immediately regretted the question. There was no need to be like that. “Sorry, bad joke. Not a joke.”
“It’s all right. I should be the one apologizing to you.”
See what I mean? James was a nice guy. The nicest, possibly. And gay, I had to remind myself when my heart melted just a little. “It’s all done and over now,” I said. “So is that why you called, to apologize?”
“No, no. Well, yes,” he said, “that needed to be said. But I also called because . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment, and when he continued, it had softened. “I’m getting married, Lettie. I wanted to tell you that myself.”
I glanced up at the classroom clock, the one with the smiley face. Not because I was interested in the time, but because my exact thought was to wonder how much time had passed since we’d broken up. I know, checking the clock was feeble, but the conversation was difficult to process.
“You’re getting married?” I felt the tension mount in my forehead. “To who?”
“His name is Michael. I met him here. In Boston. He’s a musician. Cello,” he added, like it mattered.
I felt like I’d been partially anesthetized. I was wide-awake, but numb to the pain being inflicted. Man, James went right for the soft spots, didn’t he? That wasn’t nice, it was merciless.
“Wow.” It hurt to talk, my throat was so tight. “I’m still not clear why you felt you needed to tell me this yourself. Like this.”
Because you mean nothing to him, a voice informed me. You were always a convenient friend, and then you became inconvenient and he moved on. But he still likes to hurt
you.
My chest constricted around my lungs and heart. I closed my eyes and remembered being smacked with a leather strap. Physical pain healed quickly. These emotional lashings lingered.
“I thought you should know from me,” James said, sounding a little helpless, a little desperate. Good. He should hurt, too. “And I didn’t cheat on you.”
But the comment barely registered. There was no way James would marry someone after only a few months of dating. He was a person who planned for every contingency, thought things through a hundred different ways from different angles. He was a theoretical physicist, for God’s sake. Overthinking was his job. “I don’t believe you.”
He sighed patiently. “I can’t make you believe me. I can only tell you the truth.”
Oh, there he went with the superiority. “How did you expect me to react to this? To you getting married when I’m—” I stopped short of saying, When I’m still grieving. “When I’m still eating frozen chicken entrées from the reception that never happened?”
“I’d hoped you’d moved on. Things between us had been strained for a long time.”
News to me. The blow struck me in the heart. “This call wasn’t a good idea,” I said softly. “It’s very recent. I’m still dealing with things.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, but I listened to pick up clues as to what he was doing. Writing an equation on a dry-erase board? Clipping his toenails? Mouthing something to his cellist fiancé? “We were always close. I genuinely cared about you. I wanted you to be happy for me.”
I hadn’t realized I was crying, and the center of my chest hurt so badly. “I’m doing the best I can,” I whispered. I sniffed and ran my sleeve under my nose. “I’m happy for you, James,” I finally managed. “Or I will be eventually. I think. But right now I have some stuff going on, and I’m finding it hard to be gracious.”
“I understand. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought it would be best if you heard the news from me, that’s all.”
Seeking Mr. Wrong Page 12
