There was no mention of cause of death, and the donations in lieu of flowers gave no clue. This was unusual and struck me as a deliberate omission, which might indicate that the cause of death was not something the family wished to reveal.
I scrolled back to the front page of that edition and discovered a headline: WOMAN’S DEATH RULED SUICIDE. A phrase leapt out, “was despondent over her recent separation from her husband…”
The fax had warned me to look for Sam Dunlap’s sister and to look in the obituaries. Now here was the suicide of a woman with the same last name as Sylvia and with a brother named Sam. This was too big a coincidence for me to swallow. There had to be some connection.
How could I find out? Hire a second private investigator to check out PI Sam Dunlap’s real name and personal history? If my doing so allowed me to ferret out who was threatening my family, it would be worthwhile.
I pondered the matter for a few minutes and developed such an outlandish theory that I felt compelled to run it past someone else and dispel the whole notion. I called my husband at work. His voice sounded cheerful when he answered.
“Hi, Jim. I want to bounce something off of you.”
“Go ahead, so long as it’s not a brick.”
He was stealing my lines these days, but I decided not to object. “If you were out to get somebody, and you wanted to make them look bad, could you pass yourself off as a private investigator and feed them a batch of libelous nonsense about their peers?”
“I don’t follow. What good would that do?”
“The person you were out to get would make public knowledge of all of the libelous malarkey you concocted, thereby discrediting themselves and setting themselves up for a winnable lawsuit.”
“But why would I do that? Why be that circuitous about everything? The information that this PI fed to Sylvia about your father was accurate, as far as anyone but your father himself knew.”
“True, but that might be exactly why it was the perfect opportunity for the PI. You get one true story to give to the person you’re setting up. Now the person believes everything you tell them, even when they’re bald-faced lies. Only what you don’t realize is that there is someone with a horrible secret. Someone willing to commit murder to keep it hidden.”
“But, Molly, why wouldn’t I just confront the person directly and punch him in the nose?”
“Because it’s a woman, and you wouldn’t feel good about punching a woman in the nose.”
“So I’m a guy, right?”
“Right, but the person you want to punish is a woman.”
“So, if I’m a guy, why am I acting like a woman? Why am I acting underhanded and devious instead of going the direct route—taking direct action?”
“Men can be just as underhanded and devious as women, you know.”
“Yeah, but not as a rule.” He added under his breath, “I hope nobody from the office has been listening to my end of this conversation, or I’ll never live it down. What’s this about, anyway?”
“I got a fax today about Sam Dunlap, that private investigator, and I’m beginning to suspect that he bore a big grudge against Sylvia Greene.”
“Molly, what are—” There was a voice in the background and Jim replied, “Just a minute.” He got back on the phone and said irritably, “Do us both a favor and keep Sergeant Newton fully informed. Give him the fax and let him handle it. I’ve got to get back to work.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I put a couple of quarters into the microfiche machine and printed out the page from the newspaper, retrieved the fax from my house, and brought them to Tommy, whom I found in his minuscule office at the police station. I asked if he’d noticed the email that I’d forwarded to him a couple of days ago. He winced, and said, “Dang it. I meant to talk to you �bout that. It just didn�t strike me as bein� all that out of line with the general crank mail school-board members get now ‘n’ again. I should�ve taken it more seriously, though. Did you get another one?”
“A fax.” I handed it to him. After giving him a minute to read the fax and retrieve the email, I said, “I’m not especially worried. I’m choosing to believe that whoever’s sending them is doing so because she or he thinks they’re helping me. What I don’t understand, though, is how could someone else have known about Sam’s identity, and yet Sylvia didn’t know herself?”
Tommy drummed his fingers on his desk and, not meeting my eyes, grumbled, “Maybe she did know. And didn’t care. Figured he wouldn’t hold anything against her for the past. Meantime, you’ve gone and inserted yourself smack in the middle of another one of my investigations.”
“Not intentionally, Tommy. It’s just that my father’s an innocent suspect. Would you mind calling the guy and asking if he’d meet with us?”
“Us?” Tommy sighed and pushed back from his desk, eyeing me. “The way I see it, there are two ways you can go about this, Moll. You can keep stirrin’ up trouble, which is, I know, always your first inclination. Or, you can try doin’ things the legal, sane way that anyone in their right mind would choose. You can stay home, keep your mind occupied on other things, and let me and my men solve this murder.”
“You make it sound as if I’m just getting in your way. You never give me any credit for the valuable information I give you.”
“Uh-huh.” Tommy combed his fingers through his hair, then leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. “I’m glad you brought the subject up. There’s a reason for that. See, the information you just gave me here?” He lifted up the fax. “I’ve already got this in my file.”
“Oh. Well, if that’s true,” I said so pointedly, because of course, it wasn’t true with regard to the fax, “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” My cheeks blazed and my voice was tight. “How close are you to arresting Sylvia’s killer and vindicating my dad?”
“We’re…making progress. The investigation is right where it should be.”
“That’s bull, and we both know it! Do you mean to tell me that you don’t think you should have already arrested the killer by now?”
“Sure. But then we got extenuating circumstances. Such as you messin’ up our evidence.”
As far as I knew, I hadn’t “messed up” any evidence whatsoever, but I didn’t want to call Tommy on it, for fear that he’d have some example at his disposal that he could humiliate me with. Instead, I leveled a glare at Tommy and said, “Well, pardon me for caring!” I headed for the door, which was so close by I merely needed to rise from my seat and pivot.
“You’re pardoned, just quit doin’ it.”
Incensed at him for lousing up my exit, I marched out to my car, closed myself inside, and gripped the steering wheel.
Some how, some way, I was going to see to it that this killer was brought to justice. Even if I had to do so single-handedly.
Chapter 11
Just a little Greene
To my considerable curiosity, Carol Barr was waiting in her large silver-colored sedan in my cul-de-sac when I returned from the police station. Surely she didn’t have cause to chew me out for something, too, but the way my life had been of late, it struck me as unlikely that she’d come here out of mere courtesy.
I rolled down my window and called to her, “Are you waiting to see me?”
She poked her head out and gave me a smile. “Yes, Molly. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” I was “having” lots of minutes lately, but few of them were turning out to be either fruitful or enjoyable. And I was surprised that Carol had come to my house like this.
Before my father had been voted onto the school board, Carol Barr used to strike me as the one sane voice of reason on that board. Stuart Ackleman and Michelle Lacy always voted in kind, but it was only Carol who struck me as ready and able to push politics aside and put the children’s interests first. Quite a concept for a school-board member during these contentious times. Whenever I’d made citizens’ presentations to the board—which I’d done on occasion prior to Dad’s winni
ng a seat on the board but not since—I’d sensed in Carol a bit of admiration. Among the others, I’d gotten the feeling that they’d allowed me to speak only because the rules forced them to, but they weren’t actually listening.
I put the car in the garage and came out to join Carol at her car. She wore a purple sweatshirt and black stretch pants, which did not look flattering on her short, rotund form. But then, I was hardly a fashion plate myself. Unless a broken plate counted.
She sized me up with her brown eyes. “Hello, Molly. I hope I’m not interfering with your lunch plans.”
“No, not at all.” Though, now that she mentioned it, I was pretty hungry.
“I was at your parents’ place…just dropped in on them for a few minutes to see how your father is doing.”
“And how is he?”
“He insists that he’s fine. Typical male. Not saying much, I’m afraid. I’d hoped he would be a little more willing to discuss our situation.”
“Situation?”
“We appointed Stephanie Saunders, as you know, to take Sylvia’s place until another representative can be chosen in the next election.”
“Yes. I know Stephanie quite well.” Unfortunately. “We went to school together.”
“That’s what your dad said. We’re trying to get a feel for how she’s going to vote on the budget issue.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“The board members. Stuart and your dad and I are, of course, hoping she’ll be more in line with those of us who recognize the importance of the fine arts. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but, well, Michelle is wavering on the issue now, and we might really need Stephanie’s vote.”
“Yes, but I would think that Sylvia’s replacement would reflect her views, right? Much as I disagreed with them personally, those wrongheaded opinions of hers were what got her elected.”
“Please.” Carol rolled her eyes. “What got her elected was the big bucks she put into her campaign. She sunk tens of thousands of her own money into the signs alone. Remember: ‘Put a little Greene into your school board’?”
I chuckled. “Now that you mention it. I’m surprised Sylvia ever put up with being called ‘a little Greene.’ If anyone were ever to have called Sylvia that to her face, she would have demanded the person’s head on a platter.”
“True. Anyway, I’ve hoped to enlist your help. Could we speak inside? Not that this is top secret, or anything, but I’d feel more comfortable.”
“Sure. Come on in.” We headed up the walkway together. As I unlocked the front door for her, leaving my garage door open, my thoughts raced toward the condition of the house before I left. This would hardly be the first time that I’d invited someone to come into my natural habitat—a total mess.
Fortunately, Nathan had tidied the place up a bit before leaving for the bus this morning. Betty Cocker was thrilled to see me, though she barked some at Carol, who acted uncomfortable at the dog’s less-than-friendly greeting. I got BC to behave and offered Carol a seat on the couch, which she accepted, and sat down on the big chair myself, with BC pushed up against my feet.
“I hope you’re not thinking that I have any inside knowledge of the workings of Stephanie Saunders’s brain. That woman has perplexed me since day one. I remember a time she and I happened to be walking next to each other while changing classes during our junior year in high school. Out of the blue, she said to me, ‘Molly, don’t you just love to brush your teeth? I think it’s such a treat to be able to do something for yourself that makes you look better.’ That’s a remark which, twenty-plus years later, I still have no response to.”
Carol laughed and said, “You have no idea which way she’ll vote?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I called Stephanie myself after the de facto board meeting yesterday.” She paused, then murmured, “My God. I just used Latin. I do hope the Ghost of Sylvia hasn’t… Anyway, Stephanie told me that she hadn’t made up her mind yet.”
I went to cross my legs, forgetting for the moment how close the dog was, who’d nodded off, and how sore my leg muscles were. I wound up inadvertently kicking the dog, which hurt me more than it did her. The accompanying unexpected pain caused me to let out a small groan.
Carol raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Are you all right, Molly?”
“More or less. My legs are killing me. I went horseback riding for the first time in years yesterday.”
“With Kent and Michelle?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“Sylvia used to make a point of chaperoning that pair’s little outing.”
“Did Sylvia herself used to refer to her riding with them as ‘chaperoning’?”
Carol gave me a sly smile. “Michelle and Kent have been…strange bedfellows for years now, dating back before either of them made it onto the board.”
So they were having an affair. That didn’t surprise me, but it did make me wonder why Michelle had invited me to join them. Maybe they’d broken it off and she’d wanted to make certain she wasn’t alone with him. “How does that affect their voting?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they feel that it has no effect. Nobody’s come straight out and asked them. It’s a secret, of course. Just happens to be the worst-kept one since Clinton’s tryst in the Oval Office.”
“Not even Sylvia has asked them? That sounds completely contrary to everything I know about her.”
“Oh, of course she asked them. During one of our closed-session meetings. No one has asked them publicly, though. Michelle essentially confessed to me one night, but when Sylvia confronted them at the private board meeting, Michelle denied that they’re having an affair. Furthermore, she told Sylvia that if she pushed things, she’d be committing professional suicide, since the charges were untrue.”
“Even if they’re not…lovers…they do spend a lot of time together, so I can’t see how Michelle could get terribly offended at the accusation. What does she say about their horseback riding?”
“That they’ve known each other from the stable where they have both boarded their horses for the past ten years. That they can be friendly, despite their opposite views on what’s right for the schools.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, keeping my opinions to myself. Kent and Michelle’s behavior was confusing to me. Even if I had a purely platonic relationship with a man, I personally would find a way to include the spouses often enough in our get-togethers, out of respect for Jim’s feelings. There’s plenty to be said for avoiding even the appearance of impropriety. That must explain why the two took such care to invite Sylvia and then me to join them. Which reminded me: This was a fine opportunity to learn how much others knew about the particulars of Michelle’s horse. “What’s the name of the stable that they use? I meant to ask them but forgot.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m sure there can’t be more than one or two right by the Battlefields, though. Why do you ask? Are you planning on getting a horse yourself?”
“No, just riding lessons for my daughter,” I lied. Come to think of it, Carol was far too intelligent to admit to me that she knew this information, if she had actually been the one to put that nail in Michelle’s saddle. A tack in the horse’s tack, as it were.
The wordplay had distracted me. Carol had started to say something, then she coughed and held a hand to her throat. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”
“Of course. I’ve probably got juice or soda, if you’d prefer.”
She shook her head. “Just water. With ice, please. If you don’t mind.”
Betty raced me into the kitchen, ever hopeful for treats, while I fetched Carol’s water, mulling things over. I couldn’t imagine that there was anything in the regulations strictly prohibiting board members from becoming lovers. Which was not to say that, if there had been, Kent and Michelle’s reaction would have been, “But wait! Regulation Ten-Fifty-Two-A specifically states: No smooching. Why, we’re not allowed to fall in love!”
When I came back into the living
room, Carol was standing by the roll-top desk. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but she seemed to be a little disconcerted, as if I’d startled her.
She made a slight stutter-step as if she were off balance as she reached for the glass, bumping into and shutting one of the drawers in process. Carol blushed from ear to ear. Was her visit here a ploy to search through my personal papers? If so, how utterly bizarre.
“Carol. You look like I caught you at something. Did something in my desk attract your attention?”
“No, no.” She gave me a sheepish smile. “I was just admiring your desk, that’s all.”
“I hope you didn’t open the roll-top. That’s where we hide our smaller messes. Having just one junk drawer is never enough.” We also stashed junk in the garage and two rooms in the basement, but no sense in being too candid.
She accepted the glass of water from me and took a couple of sips. “The more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m probably wasting your time with this visit. I was going to ask whether or not you thought you could exert some influence over Stephanie’s decision.”
“Not a positive influence, no. Though it’s possible that if I were to tell her I wanted her to vote to fully fund the sports budget, she’d likely do exactly the opposite.”
Carol handed back her mostly full glass of water.
“I’d be more than happy to see you give that a try. This is a serious matter, Molly. The future of the children in this district depends on keeping our arts and music programs fully funded. It is the single most important issue facing our society today.”
I nodded, thinking that, while I agreed with her, I half expected to hear a soundtrack of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” in the background. “All right. I’ll talk to Stephanie. But I can’t make any promises.”
“Nor am I asking for any. I’m just hoping you’ll feel her out, give me your best guess as to which way the wind is blowing for her.”
Death on a School Board (Book 5 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 12
