by Judith Ivie
We sat in silence for a minute, listening to the pop and hiss of the fire.
“I suppose I’d be wasting my breath if I told you this stalker or poison pen pal or whatever is beginning to worry me.”
“She’s beginning to worry me, too,” I assured him, “but it isn’t the first time it’s happened.” I sighed.
“You’re not going to let it drop, are you?” he asked in the same tone of resignation Armando used when he knew he hadn’t a hope of dissuading me of something.
I nodded. “But I promise I’ll be careful.”
“So now what?”
I didn’t have a clue, but I smiled gamely as Armando and Margo clattered through the kitchen door with our dinner. “Now we eat. After that, I think I’ll kick you and Margo out, climb into bed with my copy of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, and do a little reading.”
Thirteen
“I never read that one.” Emma finished pouring out cracked corn along the edge of a packed-down snow drift while I did the same a bit farther down the road. “I’m not that into mysteries; they’re more your thing. What’s it about?”
I found it difficult to believe that my well-read daughter was unacquainted with the Christie classic, but I filled her in on the basics of the conspiracy thriller.
“Oh, yeah, the murder on the train and the funny little French detective with the big moustache. ‘Masterpiece Theater’ did a version of it on PBS a couple of years ago.”
I grimaced. “Hercule Poirot was Belgian, not French, but yes, that’s the one.”
Emma’s brow furrowed as she stuffed the wadded up plastic sack into her pocket. We headed in the direction of our cars.
“Do you really think Mindy’s murder was a conspiracy? Sounds a little out there to me.”
“At this point I’m willing to believe almost anything is possible, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of this puzzle. Somebody killed Mindy Marchelewski and is getting away with it.” I picked up my pace, remembering this outing was supposed to involve aerobic exercise, and Emma followed suit. “Did Margo tell you about her scheme to bail out the Flahertys, or did she just volunteer your services for you?”
Emma laughed. “She didn’t have to. I was happy to jump in. If you guys can go to all this trouble and waive your commission, it’s the least I can do. She and John and I are meeting first thing this morning, as a matter of fact. I think of it as paying ahead. Somewhere down the road, the universe will just have to owe me one.”
Considering all the kindnesses Emma had performed over the years, I felt certain that the rest of her adult years were pretty well covered karma-wise. “Did I tell you I’ve lost two pounds this week?” I exulted as we reached our cars.
“That’s great! Keep up the good work, Momma. I know how tough it is, and I’m not a couple of years past fifty.” She blew me a kiss. “Later.”
How callously the young allude to our advancing years, I thought but managed to squelch my annoyance. No doubt she’d meant it kindly.
By the time I’d exchanged my sweatpants and running shoes for presentable slacks and leather ballet flats in the Law Barn’s restroom, Emma and the Harknesses were huddled at the desk in the lobby, Rhett Butler lolling contentedly at their feet. So deeply engrossed were they in the details of their scheme to help Dennis and Suzanne Flaherty that they didn’t even acknowledge me as I passed them on my way to our office, but I took no umbrage. Their unselfishness was enough to balance my growing anxiety about the circumstances of Mindy’s death.
I’m not a religious person, but I have a gut belief in the concept of karma or something very much like it. I may not buy into the whole heaven-hell thing, but I do believe that within the context of human behavior, what goes around, comes around, so you’d better be careful what you put out there. That cosmic boomerang can take you out when you least expect it.
The sight of my daughter and our friends helping out the Flahertys for no other reason than the satisfaction of doing so somehow eased my dismay that one or more emotionally damaged classmates had harbored grudges severe enough for more than three decades to plot the demise of their tormentor.
With the holidays a week behind us, the pace of business had almost returned to normal. Since Strutter was at Vista View, and Margo was otherwise engaged, it fell to me to manage the Monday morning onslaught of calls and emails that began most weeks. When Margo came down the stairs from the lobby, I handed her a stack of pink message slips, my phone still pressed to my ear, and she got busy, too.
What with one thing and another, it was after one o’clock before we got a break in the action. She scurried to the copier-coffee room to microwave a couple of mugs of soup, and I placed a quick call to Shear Heaven.
“Kate Lawrence calling. May I speak to Joan Haines or Ariel MacAfee, please?” I asked the receptionist.
“Ariel’s still not in, but I’ll see if Joanie’s between appointments.” She put me on hold. Although it seemed as if weeks had passed since my visit to the suburban salon, I realized it had been only a couple of days. Still, it was odd that Ari hadn’t returned to work. How frightened could she be, or was it something else?
“Kate, have you heard from her?” Joanie came on the line sounding breathless. Her anxiety was almost palpable.
“Do you mean Ariel? No, that’s why I’m calling, to see if she’s been in touch with you over the weekend.”
“I haven’t been able to reach her, and I’m really scared, Kate.” Joanie suddenly became aware of the coworkers and clients around her and lowered her voice. “When she didn’t answer her phone, I went over to her place yesterday and banged on the door, but there was no answer. I figured she’d gone to stay with her mother, but her number is unlisted. Anyway, why wouldn’t Ari answer her cell?”
“You’re right, that doesn’t make any sense. Surely she would recognize your number and pick up.” Two lines on the Mack Realty console lit up simultaneously. “Listen, I can’t talk now, but can we meet after work for a quick drink? I need to fill you in on my progress.”
Some progress, I amended to myself silently. More like a lot of dead ends and one new, probably irrational, theory.
“Sure, okay,” Joanie said distractedly. “Max Burger at six, or somewhere nearer to you?”
“Max Burger is fine. See you then.” I punched off my cell phone and grabbed one of the ringing office lines.
By the time I drove to West Hartford through rush hour traffic and found a parking space on LaSalle Road, the unofficial happy hour at Max Burger was in full swing. I flinched at the assault of blaring rock music, several TV’s and the raucous laughter of happy after-workers. Another sign of my advancing years, no doubt. Joanie waved from a small table in a far corner, and I excused my way through the crowd to join her.
“Sorry,” she said as I slid into the seat across from her. “I forgot what a watering hole this is on a weekday. At least the food here is good, if you like casual stuff. Should we eat? These kids will clear out pretty soon.”
Too late, I remembered how delicious the burgers were here, and my stomach growled at the mere thought of Max’s sweet potato fries. I steeled myself.
“No, thanks. Armando is expecting me, but you go ahead,” I lied, hoping against hope she wouldn’t be hungry.
“I think I will, if you don’t mind. I haven’t had a bite all day.”
My hopes plummeted as she gave the waitress her order for a blue cheese burger with all the trimmings and, yes, sweet potato fries. I ordered a Diet Coke with lemon and forced myself to get down to business. Maybe I could wrap this up before her order arrived and I throttled her for a fry.
“What do you think is going on with Ariel? Is the anonymous note-writer really intimidating her so much that she’s gone into hiding, and if so, why? Does she feel guilty about something?”
This last question brought a frown to Joanie’s face, which she quickly straightened out. With one finger she smoothed her forehead, where two lines had appeared betwee
n her brows.
“What do you mean by that? I told you about the note in her locker. Of course she’s scared, but guilty? Of what?” she demanded.
I did my best to choose my words carefully. “It’s probably nothing, but Harold King said something during our conversation on Saturday that gave me pause.”
Our drinks arrived, but Joanie ignored her Bloody Mary and gaped at me. “You spoke with Harold? How is he? What did he say?”
To my amazement, a rosy blush crept into her cheeks, and she fiddled with her straw to cover her confusion.
“We were talking about the kids Mindy picked on in high school and who besides him might have it in for her. You remember what she did to Harold, right?”
She closed her eyes and nodded mutely. I moved on.
“So he said something that started me thinking in another direction, how sometimes mean girls just pretend to be friends but are really in a sort of competition with each other.”
Joanie’s eyes flew open, and I proceeded with caution. At least now I had her full attention. “In high school the three of you hung out together, and everyone thought you were best friends, but were you really? Frankly, I never saw you as a bully. I can’t think of a single ugly incident that you instigated. You were just kind of part of Mindy’s pack.”
“Like jackals, you mean. They hunt in packs, don’t they? Or maybe I’m thinking of hyenas. Anyway, you’re right, Kate. If I’d had a brain in my head back then, I would have broken away from Mindy, especially after what she did to my Harold, but I didn’t have the guts. I was afraid she’d turn on me, and I could not have dealt with that.”
My Harold? I kept quiet, hoping she would go on, and after a minute she did.
“I think Ari felt the same way. Oh, she was quick to go along with Mindy’s habit of insulting everyone around her, but her heart was never really in it. She’s been a good friend to me over the past few years, especially through the break-up of my so-called marriage, and I use that term loosely.” She looked down at her ring finger from which her wedding band was noticeably absent, then gave me a watery smile. “Ari knows all about rotten guys. She and I always could pick ‘em.”
“Is there a woman alive who doesn’t have a loser or two in her romantic past? Hormones are treacherous things. We’ve all been there,” I assured her. She rewarded me with a chuckle and blew her nose into a napkin. After a restorative pull on her Bloody Mary, she picked up where she’d left off.
“So in answer to your question, no, Ari and I were not secretly competing for the title of top bitch of Brewster High. We didn’t have the courage, but it’s an interesting theory.” She stirred her drink thoughtfully. “I hoped from time to time that one of the people she ragged on would stand up to her, really nail her to the wall, but no one ever did, not even Pat Connelly.”
My ears pricked up. “Why Pat especially?”
Joanie shrugged. “I don’t know. Pat was so funny and smart. She always seemed so much stronger than the rest of us girls, different somehow. It surprised me how easily Mindy got to her.”
Different, yes. Stronger, no, I thought to myself, although that which does not kill us is supposed to make us so. In 1978 Pat’s differentness would have been a terrible secret for a teenager to keep. Thinking about Charlie’s friend Duane, I realized that even in our supposedly enlightened times, it still could be.
“Then why has Ariel dropped out of sight, Joanie? What is she hiding—or hiding from?”
Joanie shook her head in frustration. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t have a clue. Ari always took things too much to heart, and Mindy took advantage of that. She enjoyed making Ari do things she knew she’d feel guilty about afterwards. Maybe this awful note writer is doing the same thing, making Ari feel responsible in some way for what happened to Mindy.”
“What kind of things would Mindy make her do?” I wanted to know.
“Nothing earth shaking. You know, flirt with other girls’ boyfriends, that kind of thing, just like Mindy did with you and Mitch. There was one poor guy I remember, Dave something, a studious type. He went with a girl in the class behind us. Mindy wanted Ariel to seduce Dave and break them up just for fun. It was one of the few times Ariel flatly refused, and Mindy made her life miserable. In the end, though, it didn’t matter, because Mindy did the dirty deed herself.”
My shock must have shown on my face.
“You didn’t think you were the only one, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I never thought about Mindy doing anything that awful to more than one person, but that’s probably because we all think we’re the center of the universe at that age.”
I had to laugh at myself, and Joan joined in as the waitress deposited her dinner on the table. The fries were done to perfection and smelled like heaven.
“Try one?” Joan offered, but I stiffened my resolve and shook my head.
“Tell me more about this Dave,” I pressed. “Do you remember his last name? Was he the only one besides Mitch that Mindy moved in on?”
“Gawd, no,” Joanie snorted, reminding me of Margo’s unattractive habit when she was amused. “Mindy ate them up and spit them out for the sheer fun of it. It didn’t matter if it was the captain of the football team or some geeky little guy who hung out at the library. What mattered was, did he have a steady girlfriend? That was the sport of it, taking the guy away from someone else.”
“And this Dave had a girlfriend? Why can’t I think who you’re talking about?”
Joanie chewed and swallowed before answering. “Probably because he wasn’t at Brewster all that long. He was an Army brat, I think. Transferred in during our junior year. He was gone by Christmas the next year, and it was all because of Mindy.” She picked up a fry and looked at it but returned it to her plate uneaten.
“Why, what happened?” I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to know.
Sadness, or perhaps it was regret, flickered across Joanie’s face as she dredged up the details. “Like I said, Dave had a steady girlfriend in the junior class. She worshipped the mud on his sneakers, and he seemed totally devoted to her, too. But as you have reason to know, sexual opportunity trumps devotion every time when it comes to teenage boys. The poor little buggers are complete pushovers for a predator like Mindy. Dave never knew what hit him. Mindy dangled the bait, and Dave’s girlfriend was history. It should have turned out just like all the other boyfriend-nabbings, but this particular episode ended very badly.”
She pushed her plate away entirely, and I found myself holding my breath.
“The girlfriend committed suicide, hanged herself in her bedroom about a week later. She said she didn’t want to live without him, and get this: She wished him and Mindy every happiness in her suicide note. How’s that for laying a guilt trip on somebody?”
I realized my mouth had fallen open and snapped it shut. “How is it possible I never knew any of this?” I managed to get out.
Joanie finished her Bloody Mary. “You said it before. You were all wrapped up in Mitch and your own life that year. I’m sure you heard rumors; you’ve just forgotten. Luckily, when Mindy got around to preying on Mitch, you were a lot tougher than … Kathy? Nancy? I can’t remember. Anyway, Dave left Brewster very soon after that. Went to a private school in Massachusetts, I think it was, so he wouldn’t even be in our yearbook. Why is this important now? It’s not as if he was at the reunion, so he couldn’t be a suspect.” She signaled the waitress for a check and glanced at her watch.”
I took the hint and reached for my purse. “I’m not sure, but something tells me there’s a connection. It’s nothing concrete, just a feeling I have. You don’t remember the girlfriend’s name either?”
“Just that she was a year behind us when we were seniors. Listen, I’ll get this check. I want to try Ari again. What are you going to do next?
For once in this bizarre investigation, I knew exactly what I was going to do—call Mitch and Agnes.
Having successfully resisted the
siren call of Max’s food, I delayed my chat with Mitch and Agnes until I’d consumed a very small, skinless chicken breast, a tossed salad and fresh green beans. I chewed slowly, savoring every bite, and rewarded myself with a small glass of postprandial Pinot Grigio. As I ate I went over Joanie’s story of Dave and Kathy, or maybe Nancy, in my mind. It was a tawdry little tale, and while my compassionate self sympathized with the heartbroken girl, a part of me was disgusted with her for doing such an awful thing to herself, her parents, even poor Dave. Because of what, I snarked, the Queen of Mean and what had probably taken ten minutes in the back seat of a car? Mindy had done the very same thing to me, and I can honestly say suicide never once crossed my mind—homicide, for sure, but not for long and never seriously. I had been enraged and sick with disappointment, but I’d gotten over both. What had prevented Dave’s girlfriend from doing the same?
I posed that question to Mitch and Agnes after asking what they remembered about the high school tragedy. Agnes spoke to me on their kitchen phone, while Mitch chimed in on an upstairs extension. In the background I heard the sounds of youngsters roughhousing to the accompaniment of the TV.
“Grandkids,” Mitch explained, and I laughed.
“They make all this adolescent angst seem very long ago and far away, as it should be. Yet here we are, lo these many years later, trying to make sense of it,” Agnes mused.
“Do either of you remember Dave’s last name or who his girlfriend was?”
“Engle,” Mitch said promptly.
“That’s right, Dave Engle, and his girlfriend was Kathy Schuyler. She was a junior when I was, and she was in my fourth period geometry class. We were all so impressed that her boyfriend was a senior,” Agnes remembered.
“What else can you tell me about them?”
“Dave was kind of a loner,” Mitch explained, “nice enough and all, but he kept pretty much to himself. I guess being dragged from school to school your whole life will do that to you.”
