The Skeleton Takes a Bow (A Family Skeleton Mystery)

by Leigh Perry

  “If you mean our so-called murder investigation, nothing.”

  “Can’t a devoted mother ask her beloved daughter about her day without bringing murder into the conversation?”

  “Sorry. Sid has been so focused, and it’s kind of getting on my nerves. I asked him to race me on Mario Kart, but he wanted to go up and work on his dossier.”

  “Sid can be pretty single-minded,” I admitted. “So any non-murder-related news?”

  “Some new faces at school today. Well, actually they’re old ones. A bunch of former students showed up—they’re on spring break from college. I totally don’t get it. Don’t they have something better to do with their time than to visit the high school they probably couldn’t wait to get away from?”

  “Nostalgia starts early for some,” I said. “Besides, they want everybody to see how cool they are now. And some people like their teachers enough to visit them and tell them how they’re doing.”

  “But none of these people had a teacher as awesome as Dr. Georgia Thackery.”

  “A fair point.”

  “Anyway, Tristan’s big brother showed up at rehearsal, and he is nothing like Tristan.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Bad. For one, he’s not too bright—he’s on his fifth year of college. Tristan says he comes home and parties just about every weekend, which is why his grades suck. Plus the guy is a total creep. He kept joking about drama fags.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Madison nodded. “Becca asked him to stop after the third time he said it, and he actually made a joke about it being her time of the month.”

  “I hope she let him have it.”

  “She was about to, but Tristan dragged him out of there even though rehearsal wasn’t over. He was so embarrassed to have him around that he left early.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  Madison paused. “I know you and Aunt Deborah don’t always get along, but did she—”

  “No. Deborah never made fun of me in public. Or vice versa. We have always kept our sniping private, or at least only in front of immediate family members.”

  “Good. I mean, I didn’t think she’d have done anything like that, but I’m glad to know she didn’t. I just felt so bad for Tristan. How can his brother be so awful when he’s such a sweetie?”

  “How sweet is that, exactly?”

  “Mom!”

  “What? I can’t ask about my daughter’s new friend?”

  “Yeah, I’m totally sure you were asking about him as a friend.”

  Maybe Sid wasn’t the only single-minded person in the house—my interest was just different from his.

  Since Madison was finished with her homework, I dragged her away from Mario Kart to help me broil chicken, steam broccoli, and mash potatoes. Sid came down just as we got food onto the table and started filling our plates.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  He said, “I have Googled my phalanges down to nubs, but I cannot find anything that connects Robert Irwin to PHS. As far as I can tell, he’d never so much as driven through town before the day he disappeared.”

  “You look pretty perky for somebody who hasn’t found anything useful.”

  Sid held up one finger, which looked as long as ever despite his early comment. “Good detective work takes time, my dear, but fortunately I have plenty.”

  “You’ve got about three and a half weeks,” Madison said. “That’s when we have our show.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “You can leave me in your locker for the rest of the school year—I don’t mind.”

  The look Madison flashed me showed that she minded, even if he didn’t.

  Sid went on. “My next step will be tracking down information on the PHS Five.”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Those five teachers-slash-employees we haven’t been able to eliminate yet. If they were ever so much as in the same town as Irwin, I’ll find out about it. If I can’t find the connection that way, I’ll move on to other frequent visitors to the school. And then on to the rest of the town.”

  “Sid, you’re talking about an inordinate amount of work,” I said, exhausted just from hearing about his plans.

  “True, but I’m not getting any older. I don’t mind. Besides, I’m hoping my young apprentice can help.”

  Madison looked confused. “Do you mean me?”

  “Who else would I mean? While I continue listening in during the day and hitting the Web at night, you can work on gathering data.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like which students have deep voices, as a start. And has anybody ever lived in Medford or one of the other towns near there. I can get you a map of the area. Focus on the students whose parents are active in school functions, like Samantha. Her mother coordinates the monthly bake sales. And Jo’s mother is helping her with the costumes for the play, so she’s around a lot. Oh! Oh! There were two parent members of the search committee that interviewed Irwin—see if you can find out who they are!”

  Madison had progressed to alarmed. “But, Sid, I can’t—”

  He patted her arm in what he probably meant as a gesture of comfort. “You’ll do fine. Just remember to take notes about anything you find out.”

  “But—”

  “Now if you two don’t mind, I think I’ll get back to it. Lots to do before school tomorrow!” He clattered up the stairs.

  “Mom!” Madison said. “I’m not going to ask Samantha if her mother murdered somebody, or ask Mrs. Sinta if she had anything to do with a man disappearing.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I’ve got the play, I’ve got homework and projects and Byron to take care of, and now I’m supposed to take notes about my friends? Even if I wanted to snoop around, I’ve got a life!”

  “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll talk to Sid and explain that you’re already doing as much as you can.” I paused. “But you do still believe he heard a murder, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I believe it—I’m just not sure I believe we can do anything about it.”

  I was starting to doubt it myself, but I’d promised Sid, and I couldn’t go back on that. “I’ll talk to him,” I said again.

  It didn’t happen that night. As soon as we were finished eating, I had work for the next day’s class plus the seemingly never-ending stack of essays to grade. By the time that was over, all I wanted to do was sleep. And of course there was no time the next morning as Madison and I rushed around getting dressed and fed and so forth. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait until that night.

  But as it turned out, I didn’t have to. After my morning class, I called Mr. Dahlgren at PHS to check on the situation with Madison’s SAT prep class, and in the course of that, I got an idea that I was sure would take care of everybody’s problems. We exchanged more calls and various e-mails, and by the end of the day, it was all set.

  Sid and Madison were going to be so pleased!

  17

  Neither my daughter nor my skeletal pal was pleased.

  “Mom! Have you gone insane?” Madison asked.

  “She must have,” Sid said. “Or maybe she’s sick. Check her forehead for a fever, Madison—I’ll go get the thermometer.”

  “I am not sick!” I’d waited until we were at dinner to share what I thought were glad tidings: while Mr. Chedworth was out on leave, I was going to be teaching SAT prep at PHS.

  “Then Madison is right,” Sid said. “You’re insane.”

  “What is the matter with you two? Madison, didn’t you tell me just last night that you don’t have time to do detective work?”

  “But I didn’t mean for you to do it!” Madison protested.

  “And Sid, didn’t you say that you need somebody to gather data?”

  “Yes, but—”

&
nbsp; “So it makes perfect sense for me to take the job.”

  “You already have a job,” Madison said.

  “I won’t be teaching at PHS full-time—just two classes for juniors on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where I have a gap in my schedule anyway.” I’d taught SAT prep courses at Kaplan during dry spells in my academic career, and I had substitute teacher credentials dating back to a particularly awful dry spell. “Plus it’ll only be for a few weeks, until the kids take the SAT.”

  I gave them another chance to applaud my ingenuity, but it wasn’t happening. “Come on, guys. This is perfect. It gives us another set of eyes at the school.”

  “But, Georgia,” Sid said, “you’ve barely got enough time to take a breath now. You’re not like me, you need to breathe!”

  “I breathe just fine, thank you.”

  “What about sleep? When was the last time you got a full eight hours? In a row?”

  “I know, I know, I’m pretty busy—”

  “Georgia, you know what you get when you work your fingers to the bone?” He waggled his at me. “Bony fingers!”

  “Sid, you’ve spent the last week trying to hear something that’ll clear this up, and you’ve drawn a blank.”

  “I’m doing my best!”

  “I know you are.” I patted his scapula. “You’ve been great, but there’s a limit to how much you can do hidden away backstage and in lockers. We need somebody who can walk around and rattle cages. Madison can’t, so it has to be me.”

  “Don’t blame me for this crazy idea,” Madison said.

  “I’m not, I just—” I stopped. “Look, this was my idea and my decision, and since the last time I checked I was running this household. You two are just going to have to accept that.”

  It’s funny—the two of them look nothing alike. Madison is curvy, with green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Sid is, well, a skeleton. Yet when I looked at them, they had the exact same expression on their faces.

  It was neither a happy expression nor an approving one.

  The rest of the meal was not particularly convivial.

  Once it was over, Madison pointedly announced that she’d be doing homework in her bedroom, though at least Sid hung around while I did the dishes and wiped down the kitchen.

  It was only when I was starting to think about bed that he said, “Georgia, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you think you can do that I can’t?”

  “I can actually ask questions instead of just waiting for somebody to say something worthwhile within my hearing. That ought to count for something.”

  “What are you going to ask? ‘Excuse me, but did you perchance recently bash somebody over the head in the auditorium?’”

  “Oh, let me write that down,” I said. “I most definitely want to learn from your vast experience.”

  “I’ve got as much as you do.”

  “Again, I point out that I can ask questions, which is kind of what detective work is all about.”

  “Hey, I’ve been working hard!”

  “I know you have been, Sid.” I sighed. “Look, I realize that you’re doing everything you can, but the only thing we’ve found out is who died. We have no idea who did it and we don’t even know where the body is. Think about what that means.”

  “That I suck at this?”

  “No! It means that the killer is smart. From what you heard, that murder wasn’t planned. It’s like somebody lost his temper and hit the guy—maybe he didn’t even intend to kill him. Most people would freak out if that happened. But not this guy. No, he calmly calls for help to move the body and then cleans up any evidence. After that, he hides the body well enough that it hasn’t been discovered. The police don’t even believe that a murder has taken place!”

  “He must have nerves of steel,” Sid said.

  “Exactly. And knowing that somebody like that has access to the school—has access to my daughter—scares me. I don’t know that I can do any more than what you’re doing, but I’ve got to try something.”

  “Okay, then. I didn’t want you to think I was milking this for attention.”

  “Of course not. Who said anything like that?”

  “Nobody, but you know Deborah—”

  “Deborah! I love my sister, and her heart is in the right place, but she’s not my best friend. You are.”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, and then it was just, “Well, I better go work on the Irwin dossier—I’ve found a new way to sort the information.”

  That took care of half my family problems, so it was time to see what I could do with the rest. Madison had left her door open, which was usually a sign that she was approachable.

  She, her books, and her electronics were spread out on the bed, leaving just enough room for the dog to snuggle up against her.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Mostly done,” she said. “Just texting Samantha to see when the next test is.”

  “And maybe to complain about your crazy mother?”

  She gave me half a smile. “Maybe a little. Nothing about the murder or Sid or—”

  “It’s okay. I trust your judgment.”

  That turned the smile up to three-quarters full, but after a minute, my message sank in.

  “Oh. You’re saying that I don’t trust your judgment.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, but—” She stopped herself. “Yes, I trust your judgment, but I do worry about you. Are you sure that taking the PHS job isn’t going to be too much work? Or maybe even dangerous?”

  “If it’s too much work, I’ll quit. If it’s dangerous, then that’s all the more reason for me to be there to keep you safe. That is my job, sweetie.”

  “Okay, I won’t question your judgment again.”

  “Sure you will, but then you’ll listen to my explanation. And we’ll go from there. Okay?”

  “Okay. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I gave her a kiss, and just to make sure everybody in the family was happy, I took a minute to rub Byron’s tummy, too.

  18

  Principal Dahlgren had asked me to come to PHS Wednesday afternoon to fill out the inevitable paperwork, so I cut office hours short to take care of it. Mrs. Lynch, the school secretary, had a bundle of forms ready for me to fill out, and as many times as I’ve dealt with new-hire paperwork, it didn’t take me long to whip through them. Then she showed me Mr. Chedworth’s classroom, where I’d be teaching. Somebody had considerately emptied out a section of the closets lining the back of the room for me to use. I was touched—I’d taught at one college for three semesters without being given nearly that much storage space.

  Mr. Dahlgren had also invited me to attend that afternoon’s faculty meeting, and Mrs. Lynch sent me down to the auditorium as soon as I was done with everything else.

  I realized I needn’t have rushed through the paperwork. I was the first one in the auditorium, so I backed out into the hall. Every college I’ve worked at has its own customs for who sits where, and I didn’t want to sit in somebody else’s spot. Plus I couldn’t help remembering what Sid had heard happen there. Madison had been in there any number of times since, but I hadn’t, and it kind of weirded me out.

  So instead, I read over a selection of essays on Romeo and Juliet that had been posted outside the nearest classroom. They weren’t bad. A couple had cringe-worthy phrasing, but on the whole they weren’t any worse than what I got in freshman comp.

  A couple of minutes later, teachers started passing me on their way to the meeting. Most of them had two things in common. One, they were carrying coffee cups or water bottles, many of which had either the PHS lion or the apple motifs that mark most teacher gifts, and two, they gave me the hairy eyeball on the way past. Even the teachers I’d met through p
arent-teacher conferences for Madison just barely acknowledged my smile.

  The only exception was Ms. Rad, Madison’s favorite teacher. She was a perpetually cheerful firecracker of a woman, despite her specialty in Holocaust literature.

  “Dr. Thackery! I heard you were joining our little family.”

  “Please, call me Georgia,” I said.

  “Well, I usually make a point of being more formal with my students’ parents, but I’ll make an exception in your case,” she said with a wink. “Come on inside. Somebody should have warned you to bring your own refreshments. The budget in public schools doesn’t lend itself to extras like I’m sure you’re used to.”

  It wasn’t the time to explain the usual status for an adjunct professor, or lack thereof, so I just smiled and followed her.

  The faculty had scattered themselves throughout the auditorium, but there was one seat left empty in the front row, where Ms. Rad promptly sat. I’d been right in assuming people had accustomed spots. I took a seat in the row behind the rest of the teachers, figuring that would be safe. Then a foursome I recognized as math teachers wandered in, and I saw looks of extreme irritation on their faces before they pointedly took the row behind mine. Oops.

  No one spoke to me during the year that followed—or maybe it was only three or four minutes—not even Ms. Rad, who was deep in a discussion of the latest YA book phenomena. I’d have been happy to join the discussion, but the unwelcoming backs of too many teachers separated us. Finally Mr. Dahlgren came in, his own coffee cup in hand. His had an apple wearing a top hat, whose significance escaped me.

  I’d met him before, of course, but there’s a difference between the way I look at a principal and the way I look at a new boss, even a temporary one. Dahlgren was a tall, thin man, with a definite but not overwhelming mustache. Though he usually sported suits for school functions, he stuck with khakis and button-down shirts for everyday wear.

  He looked around, saw me, and said, “Ah, our new member is among us. A temporary member, it’s true, but no less welcome. Dr. Thackery, would you stand?”