by Judith Ivie
“As you say, you surmised these things already. Did you learn nothing new?”
“One thing jumped out at me from a photo taken earlier, maybe half an hour after Mindy, Ariel and Joanie came in together. They were sitting at their table and had punch cups in front of them, but Mindy had a Poland Springs water bottle, too. Now why would she be drinking water if she already had punch?”
“You will remember she had already had a lot to drink, and you believed the punch to have liquor added to it, did you not? Perhaps she was simply trying to slow down.”
“Hmm, maybe, or maybe it wasn’t really water in that bottle.”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “That would explain why she was so very drunk. Are you quite certain the bottle belonged to her?”
“Fairly sure. It was between her and Ariel but close to Mindy’s right hand. Besides, Joanie and Ariel had teeny tiny evening bags. They were exactly alike, remember? Mindy was the only one with a purse big enough to hold a bottle.”
“So she may have been adding vodka to punch already spiked with it and gone too far.”
“Which isn’t to say someone couldn’t have dropped a couple of Ambien tablets into her punch cup, as well.”
“Why do I believe you have a theory about who may have done that?” he asked, smiling.
I returned the smile. “As a matter of fact, I do, and it explains a couple of odd things, such as why Ariel has gone missing after supposedly finding an anonymous letter in her locker at work. Carrie couldn’t possibly have delivered that one.”
“You are thinking that Miss Ariel added the sleeping pills to Mindy’s punch and later put a note in her own locker to direct suspicion elsewhere,” he said, totally stealing my thunder. “I am sorry, Cara, but I do remember what your friend Harold told us about the sad competition that can occur between young women.”
“Mean girls,” I told him sourly. “Yes, I remembered that, too, although not as quickly as you did.”
Prudently, he didn’t gloat. “Does this mean you have identified the killer?”
“Not at all. I don’t believe Ariel killed Mindy any more than Carrie did. She was just one more contributing factor, and at this point, my ideas about what she may have done that night are entirely unproven. Somehow, I have to find Ariel and get the truth out of her.”
“I am sure you will do that, but do you think we might have our dinner first? I am very hungry.”
I was shocked to realize I’d been so involved in our conversation that I’d been oblivious to my own hunger pangs. This dieting business must be getting easier.
“Coming right up, handsome.” I jumped up and started to the kitchen. “After we eat I think we’re going to have a little entertainment. Strutter left me a message, something about a You Tube video produced by Charlie’s sociology class. She says there’s a link on her Facebook page, and we won’t want to miss it.”
Before I went onto Facebook I checked my emails for incoming messages from Harold, Agnes or Mitch but found nothing. Disappointed, I punched Joanie’s number into the phone, hoping to get news of Ariel’s whereabouts. I needed to have a frank conversation with Ms. MacAfee in the very near future.
“She’s home, but she doesn’t want me to come over,” Joanie reported.
I gave her the same discreet report I’d given to the reunion committee on the anonymous letter writer, concluding with, “So Ariel doesn’t have to be afraid someone’s out to get her anymore.”
Joanie accepted my story quietly, then asked, “But how did this woman get a note into Ariel’s locker at work?” Obviously, there was a good mind at work beneath Joanie’s carefully careless hairdo.
“I have the same question.” Remembering Joanie’s reaction when I had suggested she might have written that particular note, I was reluctant to say more. As it turned out, I didn’t have to.
“You’re thinking Ari planted that note in her own locker, aren’t you? I’ve been wondering about that myself. Everybody has a computer and white paper.” She was silent for a moment, thinking things over.
“There’s something else odd I need you to help me with, Joanie. When we were going through the reunion photos today, I saw one that showed the three of you sitting at a table. You all had cups of punch, but it looked as if Mindy had a water bottle, too.” I paused, wanting to tread softly here. “Was it really water in that bottle, Joanie? Mindy would have had a lot of trouble getting drunk enough on punch to pass out.”
This time Joanie was quiet long enough to make me wonder if our connection had been broken.
“Are you still there?”
She blew out a sigh. “Yes, but give me a minute. I’m trying to decide how much of this you really need to know. Ari and I have been friends for a lot of years.”
“Take your time,” I told her, although my heart was racing. At length, my patience paid off.
“Okay, I’ll level with you, but only because I’m so worried about Ari. She didn’t sound at all good on the phone, Kate.”
“I don’t want to add to her troubles. In fact, I may be able to help her, but in order to do that, I need the truth.”
“I know you do. This situation has been going on for a long time, and now it’s out of control. I can see that.”
I waited some more, hardly daring to breathe.
“Ari’s an alcoholic, Kate. She has been for nearly all the time I’ve known her. At first it was the usual party drinking, but even in high school she was becoming dependent on the stuff. Mindy was no help. In fact, I’ve often wondered if it was Mindy who got Ari hooked.”
“Mindy knew?”
“Oh, sure. She used to keep Ari supplied with liquor and god knows what else. It made her easier to keep in line,” she observed with bitterness.
I thought back to the photo and the placement of the Poland Springs bottle. “The night of the reunion, it was Ari’s water bottle, not Mindy’s, and it was filled with vodka, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Joanie confirmed sadly. “Mindy carried it for her in her purse, just like the old days.”
I didn’t want to push Joanie any further, but I needed to know one more thing.
“I’m sorry to have to ask this. I know it’s painful for you, but is Ariel addicted to anything other than alcohol, some kind of medication, say?”
Joanie thought about that for a minute, not seeming to take offense. “You mean like Vicodin or something? No, not that I know of. She’s never broken a bone or had surgery, so she’s never been prescribed pain pills, thank goodness, or who knows? As a matter of fact, despite all the booze, Ari’s only health problem so far has been insomnia. From time to time she has a lot of trouble sleeping, but a couple of Ambiens usually do the trick. She carries them with her all the time.”
I kept my mouth shut and waited for that clever brain of hers to put it together.
“Oh, my god, Kate. Ari doctored Mindy’s punch with her sleeping pills, didn’t she? No wonder she’s been terrified. She thinks she killed her.”
Sixteen
The video opened on Duane, seated in front of his computer in what appeared to be an average teenager’s room, i.e., a mess. He was playing a computer game with ferocious arm action and muttered comments. In a few seconds he lost and swiveled around to look into the camera, disgusted.
“I’m Duane, and I’m not having a great night, but let me tell you, it’s not the worst one I’ve had this week. That was New Year’s Eve. There was a big dance at our high school, and I went with my best friend. He’d just gotten his license, so his driving us there was kind of a big deal. But I couldn’t let that be enough. I had to choose that night to come out to my friends.” He laughed.
“I know a lot of you out there are in the same situation. You’ve known who you are for a good long time now. You’re tired of pretending to be someone else, somebody you think your family and friends will like better than the real you. You want to be honest, be yourself, so you decide to get it over with and tell them.
“A lot of pe
ople you’ll meet a little later on are going to give you some good advice on how to do it right, maybe share some mistakes they made so you won’t make the same ones. Man, I wish I’d had that kind of help before I embarrassed myself, my best friend and about half the people around us on New Year’s Eve by asking my friend to dance.” He slapped himself on the forehead. “Right?”
The camera panned to the right and revealed Charlie slouched in a shabby futon chair, scowling at Duane. His long legs dangled over one side as he looked into the camera. “I’m Charlie, this fool’s best friend. There was no way that was going to work. Mistake number one was assuming I was down with the fact that he’s gay, which I totally was not. Now I know the dance thing was his lame idea about how to come out to everybody else. He thought he’d be a funny guy, make a joke of it and put everybody at ease with a laugh. But I was basically clueless. I mean, I’d wondered about it a time a two, but the girls were always flirting with him, and guys don’t talk about that stuff. So we walk in, all dressed up and looking good, the ladies checking us out—and he asks me to dance! It was like everybody around us froze solid to the gym floor or something.”
The next scene showed an attractive girl standing in front of her locker and twirling the combination. Soft curls framed her mocha-colored face. She yanked open the locker door and looked into the camera, other teens swirling through the hall behind her.
“Or something is right.” She picked up the story, her eyes snapping. “I’m Marlene. Picture this: I’m at the dance, standing with my girls and wondering if this is the night Duane’s finally going to pay me some attention. I mean, I’ve had a crush on him since forever, and I could never understand why I wasn’t getting anywhere with him. There are a few guys in this school who would think my liking them was a good thing, you know? So I’m giving him the big eyes, thinking this is it, and he turns away from me and asks Charlie to dance.” She made a face. “I wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground, and judging from the expression on Charlie’s face, he felt exactly the same way.”
A brawny young man with a shaved head and a football player’s build moved into the shot and draped a sympathetic arm over Marlene’s shoulders. “Bad gay-dar, huh? Yeah, a lot of women have trouble picking up the vibe, guys, too. Me, I’ve always known about Duane. There were clues, like he never bragged about making it with a chick. He hung out in groups all the time, never made a move on any of the fine ladies at this school.” He winked at his companion, who swatted him with good humor.
“Like you couldn’t have clued me in?” she demanded.
“Sorry, babe. I guess I assumed everybody knew. It was no big deal to me one way or another, so why would I bring it up?” He shrugged. “But I could not believe that scene at the dance. What was the man thinking? Ms. Kozinsky looked like she was going to pass out.”
A teacher appeared in the doorway of her classroom. The camera followed her back to her desk, where she perched on the front edge. A trim sixty-something, she wore her gray hair cropped short around her pleasant face, and reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her expression was bemused.
“Hello, I’m Betty Kozinsky. Chaperoning dances is one of those extra duties a teacher has to take on now and then, and this year it was my turn to be at the New Year’s Eve dance. It’s never been a favorite assignment for me, but I knew Bill Biederman would be there. He’s always pleasant company, and I thought it would be kind of fun to see the kids all dressed up for a change. It actually was for about ten minutes. Then Charlie and Duane showed up, and Duane put his foot in it but good.”
Here she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, remembering. “I was shocked, all right, but not because of Duane’s gender preference. I’m not quite the sheltered maiden lady students believe me to be, and I was already well aware of that.” She laughed with genuine amusement. “No, my dismay was rooted in the unnecessary drama Duane caused by choosing to come out so publicly. If only he had talked to one of us first, we could have given him some advice, helped him do it less drastically. There are many resources available today for gay teenagers, not like when I was young. I’ve had a bit of experience in that regard over the years. You see, I’m a gay woman.”
A series of quick close-ups ensued of everyone who had appeared in the video so far.
“Huh?” said Duane.
“No way,” protested Charlie.
“I knew that,” shrugged Marlene. “Guess I’m better at psyching out women than men.”
“I never thought about Ms. K.,” admitted her football player companion. “I mean, she’s, like, old.”
Back in the classroom, Ms. Kozinky made a face at a comfortably rumpled male colleague who had joined her. Both were chuckling.
“Bill Biederman here, sociology teacher and Betty Kozinsky’s friend and coworker for nearly twenty years. As you’ve heard, we were both witnesses to the New Year’s Eve debacle of 2012 and its aftermath, which is why we invited Duane and Charlie and some of their friends to participate in this You Tube project. We call it, ‘How Not to Come Out to Your Friends and Family’ …”
“ … or ‘A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to the Dance,’” finished Ms. Kozinsky.
There followed a sequence of brief vignettes in which gays of both genders in their teens and twenties told hilarious stories about their own big reveals.
“The funniest moment I can remember was when I was basically out to the whole school,” a young man recalled. “One of my basketball friends came up to me and asked if I was gay, because he’d heard rumors. I said yes, and he was like, ‘Cool. Just don’t hit on me.’ No big deal, but funny, right?”
Another young man took his place. “I told my Dad around Christmas time when I was home visiting from college. He always wants me to rub his back, because he does heavy lifting at his job, and I have really strong hands. So I did that, and when I was finished I said, ‘Are you all relaxed now?’ He said, ‘Yup,’ and I blurted out, ‘Good, because I need to get something straight with you. I’m not.’ He sat there for about half an hour in total silence, staring at the TV, but then he started talking again. He was actually pretty cool about it, but I probably could have done it better.”
A pretty teenager had this story: “It was the fall of my junior year, and I was sitting with one of the other girls from my soccer team on the curb. We were waiting for our mothers to pick us up, and I don’t know why, I just told her. She sat there for a few seconds, not looking at me, and I thought I’d really freaked her out. Then she said, ‘Can I set you up with my cousin? She’s gay, too.’ I couldn’t help laughing because she was dead serious. Just because we were both gay, she was sure her cousin and I would be perfect for each other.”
A studious looking boy told a story about coming out to his best friend at around the age of sixteen. “So I got around to saying I was gay, thinking she would be shocked, but she totally burst out laughing, couldn’t stop for like two full minutes. Finally, she looked at me and saw that I wasn’t kidding. ‘Oh my god, you really mean it,’ and she screamed at the top of her lungs and got out of the car. It was weeks before she’d talk to me again, mostly because I blindsided her like that, but we’re still friends to this day.”
More stories followed before the camera returned to Mr. Biederman and Ms. Kozinky, who were both laughing. Biederman spoke first.
“Now that you know how not to make your big announcement, here are a few guidelines: First, talk it through ahead of time with an adult you trust. You never know. Sometimes people over thirty can have something helpful to say. Next, tell people individually. You can’t predict how they’re going to react, and nobody likes to be put on the spot in a public setting. Finally, don’t try to make a joke out of it. This is an important aspect of your personality, and the telling of it needs to reflect that.”
Ms. Kozinsky continued, “Some people will be shocked. Many won’t care. It’s a new era, and most people are at least sensitive to the variety of gender
preferences there are in the world. Chances are some of the folks who have known you for a while will already be aware of your predisposition, but others will be surprised. Most of us, and especially teenagers, are so focused on ourselves that we don’t pick up these things in those around us. That will change with time.”
Back to Biederman. “Most importantly, treat yourself and everyone else in your life with respect. As someone a lot smarter than I am once said, if you give it, you’ll get it. And remember, you’re not alone.”
Betty Kozinsky held up a poster board decorated with a big rainbow. On it were listed several websites. “We hope you’ve enjoyed our presentation, but our intention is to make things just a little easier for those of you who may be contemplating telling your friends and family about your sexual orientation. Before you do, we hope you’ll check out these terrific resources I wish had been available when I was your age.”
Bill Biederman had the last word. “Then turn off the computer and go do your homework,” he said with mock severity. “Class dismissed.”
Seventeen
Thursday dawned gray and gloomy, and the weatherman’s prediction of heavy snow before nightfall did nothing to improve my outlook. As usual when my brain was struggling to make sense of something, I’d spent most of the night thrashing and then fallen into heavy slumber from which my alarm clock tore me at six forty-five.
Knowing I wasn’t expected at the office, I was tempted to bury my head under my pillow for another hour, but guilt and Gracie combined to drive me into the shower. My partners were generously covering my duties for yet another day, and Gracie would lick my hands and bump me with her head until I obliged her with breakfast.
