by Margot Hunt
“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Carson isn’t growing pot in her spare time,” I said dryly. “She’s a CrossFit addict and competes in triathlons.”
“I know, it’s crazy what sort of stories the parents are coming up with, and it’s only been a few hours. Wait, I just got an email from the school. Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“They’re holding an emergency meeting for the parents at seven o’clock tonight. And get this—they’ve asked us not to speak to the press.”
I opened my Gmail account and found the same email in my inbox, marked urgent with a red exclamation point. It was from Naomi Rubin, who was a member of the school board.
To: Parent List
From: Naomi Rubin
Date: February 19
Subject: Police Investigation
Dear parents,
As some of you are already aware, the Calusa County Sheriff’s Department has opened an investigation that might concern the Franklin School community. Please know that your children are safe, and there is no need to pick them up from school early today.
We will be holding a meeting for the parents tonight at 7:00 p.m. in McGrath Auditorium. We will update you on the situation and give you an opportunity to ask questions then. We would appreciate it if you would refrain from calling the school office with your questions in the meantime. We would also appreciate it if you would not speak to the press.
We hope to see you tonight.
“The press?” Mandy repeated. “What the hell is going on?”
“I guess we’ll find out tonight,” I said.
Chapter 3
Will and I walked into the school auditorium a few minutes early for the seven o’clock meeting, and both stopped suddenly, blinking at the scene in front of us. It was chaos. Franklin School had over two hundred students, ranging from kindergarten to eighth grade, and it looked as though nearly every parent of every child was already present. The auditorium had rows of chairs, but no one was sitting down. Instead, everyone was standing in loose groups, talking frantically at one another. The noise was overwhelming.
“What the hell is going on?” Will murmured in my ear, echoing Mandy’s words from a few hours earlier.
“I have no idea.” I took in the anxious expressions on the parents’ faces, the sense of barely suppressed panic pulsating through the crowd. Everyone seemed to be bracing for the worst.
“Hey, Will.” Zack Smith, a tall, lanky dad appeared, holding out his hand.
“Hey, man,” Will said, shaking his hand.
“Are you playing hoops this weekend?” Zack asked.
He and Will launched into a discussion about the Sunday basketball league they were both in. I turned away, looking to see if Mandy had arrived yet. I spotted her across the auditorium—her long auburn corkscrew curls stood out among the sea of blonds—but before I could head over to her, I was intercepted.
“Natalie!” Keiko Bae rushed up to me. Keiko was a tiny woman, impossibly thin, with pale skin and straight blue-black hair. Even though I only knew her well enough to say hello to, she grabbed my hand and wrung it with both of her own. “Do you know what’s happened? Everyone I’ve talked to says that you must know everything.”
“I don’t know anything more than you do,” I said, extracting my hand from her surprisingly strong grip. “I saw the police cars in the parking lot at drop-off this morning, but that’s all the information I have.”
Keiko’s face fell dramatically. “I thought you had contacts at the sheriff’s office? Or with the district attorney?”
“I’m a defense attorney,” I said gently. “They see me as the enemy, more or less. They don’t keep me in the loop.”
This wasn’t entirely true. The State’s Attorneys were certainly never very friendly to defense attorneys, but the sheriff’s deputies probably viewed me as more of a coworker than an enemy. I saw them several times a week at court—going through the metal detector, hanging out in the courtroom while waiting for the judge to appear—and they were mostly genial and good-natured with me. They often passed on to me the local gossip in our small local legal world. But I hadn’t heard anything about what was going on at the school. Which could mean that it was relatively minor. But it could also mean that it was something, and the deputies were under orders not to chat openly about it. That had happened a year earlier, when we had a rare first-degree murder case in our town. It wasn’t a particularly complicated case—a drug deal had gone bad—but one of the men involved had been shot, and all the sheriff’s deputies had remained tight-lipped about it until the trial was over.
Ellie Jones—curvy with short blond curls and the sort of ruddy skin that flushed easily and made her look perpetually agitated—spotted us and hurried over. Ellie’s son, Max, was a friend of Charlie’s. They were in the same class, and also went to the same karate school. Max was a sweet boy and I liked him, but I’d resisted Ellie’s attempts to be closer friends. She was overbearing and something of a know-it-all.
Ellie looked from Keiko to me and back again, then leaned closer. “What did you tell her? And why didn’t you call me back? Anyway, start again from the beginning. I want to hear everything.”
Ellie hooked her fingers on my arm and pulled me toward her. I had to fight the urge to shake her off me. Why did these women keep touching me?
“I was just telling Keiko...wait, hold on,” I said. I reached into my handbag and pulled out my phone, pretending to check my messages. It was really just an excuse to dislodge Ellie’s grip on my arm. “Sorry. I have no idea what’s going on, either. I’m hoping we’ll find out tonight.”
“Well, I heard that Robert Gibbons was caught extorting money from the school,” Ellie said, not bothering to lower her voice. “That he transferred thousands of dollars from the business account into his personal bank account.”
I frowned. “That doesn’t seem likely.”
“You never know. People are capable of all kinds of dark deeds,” Keiko said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “I once knew a man—well, I didn’t know him personally, but I know someone who did—who emptied out his kids’ college accounts. Can you believe that? I think he might have had a gambling problem, but still, that not’s an excuse.”
Ellie looked at her in irritation. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“All I’m saying is that people are capable of doing all sorts of bad things,” Keiko said testily.
“Natalie’s a criminal defense attorney and I’m a physical therapist. We’re well aware that people are capable of doing bad things,” Ellie snapped.
“God, excuse me for having an opinion.” Keiko crossed her arms and glowered at Ellie.
I wondered what sort of bad people Ellie ran into as a physical therapist, but I knew better than to ask. She’d be more than happy to tell me, and I’d never get away from her.
“I just meant that transferring money from a school account to a personal account would be pretty easy to trace. No one with half a brain would do that,” I said. “And anyway, I know Robert pretty well. He’s not a thief.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ellie retorted. “You never know what people are capable of.”
“That’s exactly what I said!” Keiko looked at me, incredulous. “Didn’t I just say that?”
Thankfully, Will had finally finished his conversation with Zack Smith and turned back to me. It was my chance to escape.
“I think we’re about to get started,” he said, nodding toward the front of the auditorium.
Naomi Rubin—who was on the school board, and had sent out the email announcing the meeting earlier that day—was standing on the stage behind a microphone. The other members of the school board were also up on the stage, sitting in folding chairs behind her. This display of strength struck me as an ominous sign.
“Attention, everyone,” Naomi said. Th
e feedback on the microphone screeched, causing several parents to flinch. “Please take your seats so we can begin.”
Everyone was eager to find out what was going on, so all the parents rushed to their seats more quickly and quietly than I would have imagined possible. Naomi waited patiently for everyone to settle in, although I thought she looked strained. She was a tall, striking woman with pale, freckled skin and wavy, dark hair, and she looked coolly professional in a cream sheath dress. She was a mother of four, all of whom had been students at Franklin at one time, although only her youngest—Candace, a seventh grader—was still at the school. The school board positions were all strictly volunteer, and I wondered if Naomi was sorry she’d ever agreed to serve on it.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” Naomi began. “I know there are a thousand different rumors floating around about what’s happening, so we—” she paused, and held out a hand toward the rest of the school board members “—thought it was probably best, in the spirit of transparency, to tell you what’s going on. Or, at least, as much as we know.” She paused to tuck a lock of hair behind one ear. “Today, the Calusa County Sheriff’s Department notified the school that there has been a complaint filed against Franklin School principal, Robert Gibbons, of—” she paused to inhale deeply “—sexual indecency with a minor.”
The impact of her words was explosive. After a few long beats of absolute silence, punctuated only by a few sharp intakes of breath, the room suddenly erupted in noise. All around me voices rose up, some angry, some fearful. I just sat there, trying to absorb the implication of her words. Robert, a man I had known for years, someone I considered a friend...had been accused of molesting a child. It was stunning, and the last thing I’d been expecting to hear.
I looked up at Will, and saw my bewilderment mirrored in his face.
“Is she serious?” he murmured. “Robert?”
“Please.” Naomi raised a hand until the room had quieted. “I know this is shocking. But I have to stress that Principal Gibbons has not been arrested or even charged with a crime at this point in time. And I should also add, he strenuously denies these allegations. But the school board met and decided that it would be best for him to take a leave of absence from the school until this matter is resolved. We are very glad to inform you that Emily Randolph, who was the principal of Franklin for fifteen years, has agreed to come out of retirement, temporarily, to fill in as acting principal.”
Naomi turned and gestured for an older woman sitting in one of the folding chairs behind her to stand. “Would you like to say a few words, Mrs. Randolph?” Naomi asked, before stepping aside. She looked relieved to hand over the microphone and duck out of the spotlight.
Emily Randolph stood and stepped forward. She had retired a few years before Charlie started at Franklin, although I recognized her from some of the photos in the display case at the front of the school. She had dark gray hair cut in a short, no-nonsense style and very straight posture, and was wearing a conservative skirt suit. She looked like a formidable woman.
“Thank you, Naomi, for that warm greeting. I do appreciate it.” Emily Randolph adjusted the microphone downward and then leaned slightly toward it. “I know this is a difficult situation for everyone involved. I have faith that our justice system will work quickly to resolve these allegations. But for now, our priority is making sure our students are safe.”
“Hold on a minute.” Kyle Anderson stood up. I didn’t know Kyle well, but I did know his wife, Penny, and their three giggling, sweet-natured daughters. Kyle was stocky and slightly overweight. He had an aggressive, red-faced manner. “You can’t just leave it there. Who did Principal Gibbons abuse? Was it a student here?”
Mrs. Randolph held up a hand. “I do appreciate your concern. However, as I’m sure you can understand, we can’t release any information about the victim. The alleged victim, I should say. He or she has a right to privacy.”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Kyle continued. “Was it a he or a she? We at least have the right to know if he was molesting boys or girls. And the age of the victim. Our kids go to school here. They could have been targeted.”
“I agree,” Ellie Jones said. She also stood. “You can’t just drop this bombshell on us, and then not give us all the details. We have a right to know what happened. We have a right to know who the victim is, and what they’re accusing Principal Gibbons of doing.”
Judging from the nodding heads and murmurings from the crowd, quite a few of the parents agreed with her. I was still so shocked, I was finding it hard to breathe, let alone join in with the throngs demanding answers.
Emily Randolph again held up a hand, palm facing outward. “Please, ladies and gentlemen. Please. I know everyone is concerned, but you must understand that we cannot release any information about the alleged victim at this time.”
I sat there, legs crossed, face impassive, heart pounding in my chest, and wondered how long it would take for everyone in this auditorium to know exactly who the victim was and what exactly he or she had accused Robert Gibbons of.
I gave it twenty-four hours.
As it turned out, I was wrong.
Chapter 4
“That was insane,” Will said, steering my SUV out of the school parking lot and pointing it in the direction of our house.
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you think he did it?”
I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never gotten a creeper vibe off of Robert. Have you?”
“No, of course not.” Will shook his head. “You don’t think he’s actually guilty, do you?”
“It seems so unlikely. I mean...it’s Robert.”
“There’s really nothing worse to be suspected of. I’d rather be accused of committing a murder than molesting a child. Especially for a principal. Good God. This will ruin his life.”
“Even if they never bring charges, or if it goes to trial and he’s acquitted, I doubt he’ll be able to come back to the school.”
“Even if he’s innocent?” Will asked.
“That won’t matter. No one will ever be sure, and that will be enough to ruin his career.” I sighed. “I’ve had clients who were falsely accused of molestation. It’s pretty awful. It’s one of those crimes where everyone assumes that you wouldn’t be accused if you weren’t guilty. It’s like, you have to prove your innocence. How do you do that?”
“Did you believe any of them?”
“Some I did. I had one client, Paul Knowles, who was accused of molesting his stepdaughter. We were able to prove that Paul wasn’t even in the state at the time she alleged the abuse happened. But that was after a bitter divorce. That unfortunately happens more often than you’d think. Ex-spouses use the kids to get revenge on one another.”
“So, what? An angry parent manipulates their child to make a false accusation? That’s sick.”
I nodded. “But that can’t be the case here. Robert doesn’t have any children.”
“Which means it might have been a student at the school who made the complaint.”
“If it happened.”
We stopped at a red light. Will turned to look at me. His worried face was illuminated by the lights of the cars passing by. “You don’t think there’s a possibility he could have hurt Charlie, do you?”
“Of course not,” I said immediately.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” I would sense if something bad had happened to Charlie, I was sure of it. Besides, I had read up on the sort of behaviors that abused children often exhibit when I’d represented Paul Knowles. They frequently withdrew and often became depressed. Sometimes they’d regress and begin sucking their thumbs or wetting the bed. “Charlie’s the same easygoing, happy-go-lucky kid he’s always been. If something were wrong, I’d know it. Besides, he’s never been alone with Robert.”
“That
we know of.”
“He confesses every time he’s gotten a check during class.” The students at Franklin School received checks for committing classroom crimes, ranging from talking out of turn to leaving necessary supplies at home. “He would definitely have told me if he’d ever been sent to the principal’s office. That would have been a huge deal for him. You know how much he hates getting in trouble. And he’s incapable of keeping a secret.”
Will didn’t look convinced. “We should still ask him.”
“Of course, although we’ll have to figure out a way to ask that won’t freak him out.” My phone beeped, signaling a text had arrived. I looked at it. “It’s Mandy. She said that some of the parents are meeting at B-Side to discuss what’s going on.”
“When?”
“Right now. Do you want to go?”
“Maybe we should, just to see if anyone has more information. Do you think Marissa will mind staying a little later with Charlie?”
Marissa was the teenage daughter of our next-door neighbor, and Charlie’s favorite babysitter, even though I thought he was probably reaching the age where he was really too old to have a babysitter. When I had been eleven, I was already babysitting for other families. But I’d always been more protective of Charlie than my mother, Lindy, had ever been of me. I told myself that this was smart—after fourteen years of practicing law, I knew how dangerous the world was. But I always worried that I was coddling him.
