“Karen’s a weanie,” Nathan said.
“I am not! You are a weanie wussy!”
“You’re a weanie wussy midget!”
“Enough with the name-calling! Karen just has delicate thumbs,” I said on her behalf. “Karen, why don’t you get something to help you? Use a rock or something.”
“I don’t have any rocks!” She was being surly and nothing I could say would meet with her approval.
My pulse rate was increasing with my rising agitation.
This was not a good sign. Forcing my voice to stay even, I replied, “Experiment till you can find something that you can use to push the coin. And Nathan, it’s time to put Spots back in his cage.”
Once the kids had left the room, Jim dropped down in the chair at the dining room table, giving himself a neck massage. He met my eyes. “How did everything go today with your father? Did he finally tell you about his dilemma?”
My internal warning flags went up. I hadn’t given Jim any notice that my father was supposed to come over today and explain things to me. “Uh, yeah. He did. What made you ask me that?”
“No reason.” There was a slight hesitation in his voice, as if he knew he was backing himself into a corner.
“How did you know he had a dilemma in the first place?”
“I…didn’t know he did. I just assumed.” His cheeks colored slightly and he averted his eyes.
“You’re not the type to assume anything about anybody. That’s what I’m always doing, and it drives you nuts. Did my father already talk to you about this?”
Jim cleared his throat and got to his feet. He went into the kitchen and dished up some food for himself, then sat down with his plate of food. I followed him, but he was avoiding my eyes.
“Yum,” he said, still chewing. “This is delicious.”
“You already knew. My father already told you and not me, or my sister, or my mom!”
Jim furrowed his brow. “Don’t get mad at me, Molly. It’s not as if l dragged it out of him and all the while chose to keep his secret from you. He visited me at my office last week, out of the blue. He…told me he had to talk to someone he could trust.”
“Meaning he didn’t trust me. I can keep a secret with the best of them!”
Jim frowned and darted a glance in my direction. “No, you can’t, Molly. You tell Lauren practically anything and everything.”
“That’s just because women…talk. We socialize. You men can spend three hours watching a game together and never say one meaningful word.”
“Exactly. And your dad didn’t want to be the topic of your next ‘meaningful’ conversation.”
“But I wouldn’t have told even Lauren anything that he didn’t want me to repeat.”
“Not verbatim, maybe. You’d have just given her enough hints that she could fill in the missing pieces.”
“So when my father came to you and told you all about him and his brother, it didn’t even bother you that you were keeping a secret from your wife?”
“Not especially, no.”
“So now we’re keeping secrets from each other? Don’t you realize that that undermines the very foundation of trust upon which marriages are based?” I stomped my foot. “Oh, damn it all, Jim! I didn’t want to get into an argument with you. We might as well have run around the table, trying to sniff each other’s butts!”
“How’s that again?”
“Never mind,” I growled.
“I’m not violating some…wedding vow. We’re not talking about my cheating on you or something important. It was his secret, not mine.”
“And it was my father, not yours. And furthermore, he’s suspected of murder. And yet you can’t even be bothered to get home on time.”
Jim returned to his meal and resumed eating with a vengeance.
“I’m going to the grocery store. You can get the kids to bed, for once.”
I stormed out of the house, but my anger had changed to despair before I could start up the car. This was the time for me and my family to draw together, not to be fighting, and yet I was taking my frustrations out on Jim. I’d long ago accepted the fact that he and I handle things differently, by virtue of our vastly different personalities. Which didn’t mean that one of us was fundamentally wrong and the other right.
My father had made the decision to keep his brother’s transgressions a secret and had held onto the decision through forty years of marriage. My parents’ marriage had held up just fine. So who knows? Maybe this “foundation of trust” thing was overrated.
Before even one street or piece of scenery mentally registered, I found myself in the parking lot of the grocery store. Surely if I’d run over anything, I’d have noticed. Time to stock up on food items that we didn’t especially need.
In the frozen-food aisle, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone start to enter the row, then quickly reverse directions. I got the impression that this was someone who didn’t wish to see me just now. Naturally, I gave up on my purchase and hurried down that direction.
I recognized the long-legged woman at the far end of the aisle: Michelle Lacy. “Michelle,” I called out.
She turned and feigned happy surprise at the sight of me. “Molly. How’s your father doing? I know he must be under even more pressure than my family and I are.”
“Yes, but he’s doing all right.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
I searched her pretty features and realized that, while I didn’t know her well at all, we often tended to agree on school issues, and I felt a sudden need for an ally on that board. Just to test her reaction, I said, “I talked to Sam Dunlap.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. He told me that he was investigating another board member other than my father.”
“I never doubted that.”
“Oh, good. So you realize that there was more than one person on the school board with a reason to want Sylvia out of the picture.”
“Molly, you needn’t worry about securing my support for your father. I’m certain he’s innocent.”
“You are?”
She nodded. “Charlie wasn’t going to gain anything by Sylvia’s death, and yet its timing made him look guilty.”
“Exactly. So who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know. Only that it wasn’t me or Charlie. That leaves Carol, Stuart, Kent, or Gillian.”
She gave a glance at the items on the nearest shelf, then began to search for something in earnest. It was nice to know that she at least was willing to proclaim my father’s innocence.
“Sugar cubes?” I said as she put a large box in her cart. I hadn’t realized that they were even available anymore. I’d assumed that in the bureaucratic backward way of handling things, sugar cubes would have been banned in the seventies as a way to stop people from dropping acid.
“My horse loves them.”
“You have a horse? You’re so lucky. I used to ride a lot when I was a kid.” My parents had paid for my sister and me to take riding lessons throughout most of our teen years. The classes stopped when the instructor started to give us repeated lessons on how to clean his horses’ stalls.
Michelle’s eyes lit up. “That’s a nice coincidence. Kent and I are going riding tomorrow. Sylvia was going to come, too. You should join us. We prefer to have a third person along. Makes it look less like something illicit is going on between Kent and me.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I know you’ve found out firsthand how unpleasant the press can be.”
Unappealing as it was to serve as the spoiler for press photo opportunities, this horse ride might give me the opportunity to find out what two of the board members were really like. “All right. I will.”
“Our horses are stabled at a ranch less than a mile from the Saratoga Battlefields. You can meet us at the stables, and I’m sure I can pull in some cards and get a free ride for you.”
“That’s nice of you. And I’m certainly never one to argue with receiving a free ride
.”
Michelle didn’t crack a smile. “Shall we say ten a.m.?”
“Sure. We can say that. You’ll need to tell me the name of this stable and the address, of course.”
She took a step back and scanned me at length, as if mentally measuring whether I’d make a suitable third’ wheel.
“The stables are English-riding only, so wear your jodhpurs. And a riding helmet is a strict requirement.”
Jodhpurs? Me? Was she serious? “My jodhpurs are worn out from overuse, and I haven’t had the time to restock my closet.”
Again she didn’t smile or even bat an eye, so I sighed and said honestly, “I’ve always rode western-style. Would it be okay if I just wear jeans?”
“I’m afraid that our riding stable is rather, well, image conscious, Molly.” She held my gaze for a long moment, probably noting the way my face was blanching. “There’s a strict dress code. Do you have boots?”
“Not exactly. I’ve got some red rubber galoshes, though.”
“A riding helmet?”
“Yes. Although mine was designed for bicycles.” She was giving me such a look of disgust that I added, “It’s got snazzy racing stripes, at least.”
“Tell you what. We can get around the dress code, so long as you don’t come to the stables. Wear whatever you wish, and Kent and I will simply pick up the horse for you and meet you at the Battlefields themselves, where we’ll ride. The west entrance.”
“Fine. I’m not good on directions, but I think I can figure out where the west entrance is.”
“And what an appropriate setting this will be,” she said under her breath.
“You mean because this is the battlefields, and you and Kent disagree on school issues?”
She gave me an enigmatic smile. “See you tomorrow, Molly.”
I shopped for some of my family’s typical staples: macaroni and cheese, chops, marinated chicken breasts, frozen ravioli, string cheese, ice cream. Then I grabbed two bags of prepared salad greens and headed for the checkout line. When that particular product had first been introduced, I’d wondered who on earth could be so lazy as to not want to tear up their own lettuce. Ironically, a few months later it turned out that the answer was: Me. In spades!
While waiting at the checkout line, I had a bizarre thought and ran back to grab a box of sugar cubes myself. What if Michelle was lying about her horse being the one that went for sugar cubes? Maybe Sylvia had had some bizarre habit of sucking on sugar cubes at the meetings—heaven knows that she was caustic enough that she could have used a little sweetening. If so, Michelle—or someone else—could have poisoned the cubes.
Alone in my car on the way home, my thoughts soon returned to my conversations with my parents and then with Jim. For all of my bad luck, meeting Jim Masters and having him fall in love with me had forever tipped the balance toward the good side. Add to that the fact that we’d been blessed with two healthy, amazing children. Maybe it was only fair, then, that there were some serious obstacles for us to overcome now.
Unlike last night, Jim was awake when I got home, and he put away the groceries while I went upstairs to say good night to the kids. Karen was in bed, her room lights out and her alarm already set.
“Are you asleep?” I asked quietly.
“No. ‘Night, Mom.”
“Good night, world’s greatest daughter.” We gave each other a hug, then I went to Nathan’s room.
Nathan was nowhere to be found—not in his room, my room, or the bathrooms. I went back into his room to double-check the closets, and when he wasn’t there either and Jim said that, no, he hadn’t come downstairs while I was in Karen’s room, I had that momentary panic I so hate.
“Nathan?” I called, and sighed audibly when he giggled and answered, “Down here, Mom.”
I knelt and looked under his bed, where he was lying atop his sleeping bag, his flashlight beam trained on some magazine he was reading.
I fought off a slight irritation at his having tricked me. “Are you all ready for bed? Teeth brushed and all of that?”
He didn’t answer, but asked, “Mom? Did you know that there’s only one atom in each centimeter of outer space? And if you’re in outer space without a space suit, your blood boils and you explode?”
“No, I didn’t. But did you know that it’s well past your bedtime?”
“But I’m not sleepy.”
“That’s unfortunate, but I’m too grouchy to accept that as an excuse.” I took his flashlight away from him and set it on his dresser. “Are you sleeping on top of your bed or underneath it tonight?” He got out from under his bed, giving me the silent treatment, climbed into it, and pulled up his covers.
“Good night.” I kissed his cheek, which was cool and soft.
He pulled the covers over his face. “You’re no fun.”
“It’s the result of all this gravity, sweet boy. See you in the morning.”
Again, he wouldn’t respond to his mean old mother, so I turned out the light, closed the door, and headed down the stairs.
Jim had finished putting away the groceries and was seated at the kitchen table, watching me. “I’m sorry I was late getting home tonight. Are you still angry at me?” he asked.
“No. And I was more angry at my father and myself than at you, but you were the only one I could yell at.”
“Are you going to play Molly Masters, Super Sleuth again? Try to rescue your father?”
I sighed. “I should give you a big song and dance about how I’ve learned my lesson and will sit quietly and wait for the real killer to be revealed and my father to be cleared. Can we just say that I know as well as you do that that’s what I should do, and leave it at that?”
“I suppose I have no choice. Let’s go to bed.”
“I’m going horseback riding tomorrow morning. I’m even getting a free mount.”
He laughed, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said suggestively into my ear, “Sounds good to me. But how much is your horse going to cost?”
This is one of the many reasons why I love my husband. Not only can he still make my heart go pitter-pat after all of these years, plus tolerate and understand me at my worst, but he—unlike certain school board members—has a sense of humor.
Early the next morning, before the sun had a chance to rise, I rushed outside in my slippers and robe and grabbed the newspaper. Frost had crisped the lawn, giving everything an ethereal glow. I shivered uncontrollably as I padded back up the driveway-probably due more to my nerves than to the chill.
Betty was whining as I shut the heavy door behind me with a noisy thud. She wanted to get out of her kennel, but I needed to see the article on my father before doing anything else.
I unfolded the paper and stood on the tile entranceway. Biting my lower lip; I held my breath as I opened it to the front page.
There was a file photograph of my father, a studio portrait showing his strong jawline and piercing eyes beneath the wire-rims, the semicircle of white hair on his otherwise bald head not looking quite as unkempt as it often did in person. The headline of the article was: BOARD MEMBER’S HIDDEN PAST.
I muttered a string of curse words under my breath and gave the article a quick read to assess the damage. It was shorter than I’d envisioned, only four paragraphs, in fact. The opening one was slanted so as to catch the reader’s attention:
Confirmed sources have revealed that, as a young man, school board member Charles Peterson was convicted of felonious mischief, which resulted in a woman’s death. Peterson was also caught cheating on a college-entrance exam.
In the second paragraph, the story went on to mention that he was a minor at the time and that the “conviction” was in regard to a traffic accident. There was little revealed in the article that my father hadn’t told me yesterday, with, of course, the notable exception of his brother’s role.
In a particularly shoddy job, the reporter had not interviewed other board members to get their reactions, and only a one-sentence mention was made th
at “Peterson could not be reached for comment.”
It was impossible for me to judge how I’d feel if I weren’t his daughter or didn’t know him personally. Except for the splashy headline, it was a reasonably fair presentation.
I set down the paper and went to the kitchen. As I made myself a cup of tea, I glanced out the window. The early morning sun cast a reddish hue on the whispers of clouds. The first line of a verse my father had taught me as a child came back to me: Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. I said to myself under my breath, “Good thing I’m going horseback riding and not sailing, hey, Dad?”
Chapter 8
Taking It All in Stride
Later that morning, after sending my children off on the school bus, I drove to the appointed rendezvous point within Saratoga Battlefields. The air was crisp, the sky cloudless. The leaves were their splendid array of fall colors, yellows to reds and every possible shade in between. I had to admit that this was the one season in which, in my opinion, upstate New York had my beloved Colorado beat in terms of beauty.
Kent Graham and Michelle Lacy were, indeed, in jodhpurs. This was the only kind of clothing that I could think of that deliberately ballooned around one’s thighs and yet was considered classy-looking.
The two of them were, in fact, a striking couple. They stood in front of the three horses, whose reins were tied to a gate. Michelle cut an especially dashing figure, her short hair tucked behind her ears. She was almost as tall as Kent. He had a mixture of white hair amid the once sandy-brown. Somewhat to my surprise, he looked equally at ease in his black felt British riding hat as he did wearing a coach’s baseball cap. In fact, Kent looked smashingly British in his red jacket, black riding helmet, and matching black knee-high boots. Michelle wore a soft, slightly fuzzy brown jacket with dark elbow patches and a white blouse.
In contrast, I was wearing loafers (not at all good footwear for horseback riding but I wasn’t expecting this to become a habit), blue jeans, a cotton blouse, and my bicycle helmet. Though Michelle wore an inscrutable expression. Kent blanched slightly at the sight of me, his gaze lingering on my helmet.
Death on a School Board (Book 5 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 8
