“Yes. It’s an administrative thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Anyone who has ever been a teacher, known a teacher, or laid eyes on a teacher knows better than to talk down to one. Even if Deena hadn’t already been suspicious of Metz’s motive for asking, she had no intention of handing over the photographs now. “Well, let me think.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I remember Carl put those on a flash drive for me. Now what did I do with it?” She shuffled some of the papers on her desk.
Deena didn’t like to lie, unless she thought it was necessary. In this case, it was absolutely necessary. “I think they are at the house. That’s probably where they are. I’ll bring that flash drive to Principal Haskett first thing tomorrow morning.”
“No!” Metz practically leaped out of his loafers. “I don’t want you to bother the principal with this. He put me in charge. He has his hands busy with Homecoming.”
Like that wasn’t suspicious. The principal would never turn over dealing with the death of a student’s parent on school property to a green-horn brown-noser like Metz, while he himself dealt with the brutally tedious job of making arrangements for Homecoming. What could be so important about those pictures that made Metz want to get his hands on them?
He puffed out his chest. “So I’ll come by before first period and get them from you, okay?”
“I look forward to it,” Deena said facetiously and waved.
He turned on his heels to leave.
“By the way, Mr. Metz,” she said, “there aren’t any shots of the Baldwins, if that’s what you’re wanting.”
He looked over his shoulder. “That’s fine. I still need them.”
I’m sure you do, she thought. But the question is, why?
• 3 •
Butterfly Gardens was a planned community on the outskirts of Maycroft. People scoffed when residents referred to it as a suburb since Maycroft proper housed only about 12,000 people. But because it had its own name and there were some land restrictions or deeds or something, it was technically its own little town.
And like other suburban neighborhoods, it had its own share of drama.
The population was split between retirees with grandchildren and young couples with families. Gary and Deena were an anomaly. They were one of the few couples in the neighborhood without children. That made them easy targets for requests to support fundraisers for everything from Little League to church mission trips. Deena had wanted to put a “No Soliciting” sign on the front door, but Gary thought it wouldn’t be neighborly. Actually, he worried teenagers—or their parents—would egg their house at Halloween.
Consequently, it wasn’t unusual to have people dropping by for a quick visit and sales pitch during the evening. This practice particularly annoyed Deena since she liked coming home and slipping into her jammies after a long day at school.
She was just getting into her favorite plaid flannels when Gary came in from work.
“You’re home early,” he said, noticing the empty wine glass on the dresser.
“You’ll never guess what happened. The police showed up in my classroom today.”
They moved the conversation into the den, and she proceeded to tell him about Detective Evans and Carl’s pictures and Justin Metz.
“Why didn’t you just give Metz the flash drive with the pictures?” Gary asked, pulling out the footrest on his recliner. “Couldn’t you have saved a copy on your hard drive?”
“Are you kidding? What about the First Amendment? What about Freedom of the Press?”
“What about insubordination? We’re talking about school property, right?”
Gary was such a stickler for rules. That’s probably why he was such a successful financial adviser.
Deena crossed her arms. “If you had seen the way Justin Metz had acted, you’d be suspicious of his motives, too. And that malarkey about Mr. Haskett wanting him to take care of the situation? Give me a break.”
“You’re right about that. Haskett has never been very hands off,” Gary agreed. “Do you think he knows about the detective coming to talk to you?”
“Maybe. Probably. All visitors have to check in at the office, but I’m really not sure.”
Gary frowned the way he did when he disagreed with the on-air sportscaster. “It seems to me like you’re trying to hide something. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, of course not.” She slumped back into the sofa. “But you know how I am.”
“You mean stubborn?”
She sneered back at him. “Very funny. You know that I don’t always trust authority.”
“Because of your journalism background?”
“Actually, I think it’s because of my mistrust that I went into journalism in the first place. Media is the fourth branch of government. We’re the watchdogs there to keep people honest. But really, I think it all started when my uncle went missing back in the sixties and the police never could find him.”
“But you were just a kid then,” Gary said.
“I know, but living all those years with that uncertainty has an effect on you. And then there was the Kennedy assassination, of course.”
“Good grief. Not more conspiracy theories, I hope.”
“As a matter of fact, I was watching this thing on YouTube the other night, and—”
The doorbell rang.
“Saved by the bell,” Gary said and looked at Deena.
She motioned to her outfit, causing him to roll his eyes.
“I’m worried you’re going to start wearing those pajamas under your work clothes and just shed them like Superman in a phone booth.”
She stuck out her tongue playfully as he walked by to see who was at the door. The chatter from the front room didn’t sound like the usual toddler-preneur and helicopter mom panhandling for donations.
Gary returned. “It’s some kids from your school saying they want to talk to you.”
“What? Now?” She headed to the bedroom and quickly threw on jeans and a t-shirt. When she came out, Carl and two others sat in the den. Gary excused himself to the bedroom, probably to watch SportsCenter.
“Sorry to bug you at home, but we didn’t think it could wait,” Carl said. “This is Lacy Baldwin and that’s Derrick Parks.”
“Hi,” the two teens said simultaneously.
Deena’s heart wrenched at the sight of the poor girl. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Lacy. If there’s anything I can do for you or your family, just ask.”
“Actually, there is,” Lacy said. She looked at Carl with weepy eyes.
“I don’t know if you heard the rumors going around today at school, but people are saying they think Derrick killed Lacy’s mom.”
“What? Why?” Although it wasn’t the first time that day it had been suggested that Mrs. Baldwin’s death hadn’t been an accident, it was shocking to hear it come from the mouths of babes.
Derrick wrung his hands in his lap. His adolescent face turned bright red. “Because of something I did a couple of weeks ago.”
Deena waited.
Lacy intervened. “My mother was trying to break us up. She told me I couldn’t go out with him anymore. Then I snuck out and got caught, so she grounded me. Then she called up Derrick’s uncle and said he needed to keep Derrick away from me.”
“I see,” Deena said. It was a clear case of a modern-day Romeo and Juliet scenario. She looked at the boy. “So what did you do?”
He lowered his head. “I slashed her tire.”
“That’s not all,” Carl added. “He threatened her on Twitter.”
Derrick found his voice. “I wasn’t really going to do anything. Honest. I was just pissed off.”
“So that’s why the rumors started,” Deena said.
Derrick nodded.
Deena’s instinct was to lecture them on the evils of social media. She wanted to explain the importance of words and actions and reputation. But she knew now wasn’t the right time. “What do you want me to do?”
&nbs
p; “Those pictures I took Thursday night at the game. I was hoping one showed Lacy’s parents when…you know…”
“I see.” Deena took a deep breath. “I looked through all the pictures this afternoon, and I’m sorry to say that none of them showed Lacy and her parents.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be in the picture with my parents,” Lacy said. “I’m a JV cheerleader. I was on the sidelines and Derrick was in the stands a few rows up from where I was, right?”
The young man’s face was still the color of a freshly boiled lobster. For a minute, he appeared as though he might pass out. He nodded again, but this time less perceptibly.
“If there’s a picture of Derrick in the bleachers at the end of the game, it would prove he couldn’t have pushed Mrs. Baldwin over the rail,” Carl said. “I know I took at least one reaction shot of the crowd. I just need the flash drive.”
“Pushed?” Deena asked. “Do you really think she was intentionally pushed? Don’t you think it was an accident?”
The three kids exchanged glances, but no one answered.
The sideline photograph was in her school bag. She tried to recall the image, but no details came to mind. When she had looked at it earlier and realized the Baldwins weren’t in it, she hadn’t paid it much mind. She wanted to see it again for herself before sharing it with the three conspirators.
Besides, something just didn’t sit well about their story. “If you were forbidden to see Derrick,” she asked Lacy, “why was he sitting by you at the game?”
“He wasn’t. He was sitting with some other friends. My mom probably never even saw him.”
In Deena’s experience, a cheerleader’s mom always sat ringside any time her daughter was performing so she could snap a hundred pictures for the family’s Christmas newsletter. “I’m curious, why were your parents sitting way up at the top of the bleachers instead of down by you?”
Lacy shook her head. “My mother had been banned from the sidelines by Ms. Andrews, the cheerleader sponsor.”
That didn’t sound like sweet Ms. Andrews. “Banned for what?”
“For being so obnoxious.” Tears threatened to rain down from her eyes and she brushed them away.
Deena thought it best not to press the issue. “Here’s what I can do. When I get to school in the morning, I’ll take a look at the pictures. If any of them are relevant, I’ll let you know. Deal?”
“We were hoping you could go up and get them now,” Carl said. “I wanted to post a picture on Instagram showing Derrick—”
“Are you serious? Social media is what got you into this mess in the first place. You can’t…”
Who was she kidding? It was a new age and a new era. Taking a deep breath, she said, “We’ve talked about this in class. Not everything is best served on the internet.” By the look on Carl’s face, she knew it was like talking to a blank screen. “Look, it’s dinnertime and I’m tired. I’ll get the pictures in the morning. It’s not like the police are going to come knocking at your door tonight or anything. Derrick, go home and think about the consequences of your actions. Lacy, go be with your father.”
“Whatever,” Lacy grumbled. “He seems fine. Mrs. Osborne and some other ladies were at the house when I left.”
Deena looked back at Carl. “We’ll talk more about this in class tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thanks, Mrs. Sharpe. We knew you would help us. You’re one of the few adults I know I can trust.”
A lump stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she should feel flattered by the remark or sorry for the little trio. Spending years working with teenagers had proven to her how tough an age it really was. She patted Carl on the shoulder as she showed them to the door. “It will all work out,” she said as they left. “Remember, the truth shall set you free.”
As she closed the door, she let out a deep sigh. At least, I hope so.
• 4 •
With the much-prized flash drive in her satchel, Deena felt like she was carrying the president’s bag of nuclear codes as she entered the school Tuesday morning. She had debated concealing the little device in her bra, but it would be just like her to lean over a kid’s desk and have it fall out—the flash drive, that is.
Before showing the pictures to Detective Evans or Vice Principal Metz or Carl or anyone else, she wanted to make a copy. She would copy the contents to her hard drive, copy it from there to a new flash drive, and then delete it off her hard drive. There might be an easier way, but that was the only way she knew how in her limited quest to manage technology.
But first, she wanted to talk to the principal. She entered the main office. Mrs. Rice, the school secretary, was on the phone.
Deena mouthed, “Is he in?” and pointed to Haskett’s closed office door.
Mrs. Rice covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said, “He’s in a meeting.”
Deena nodded and walked out. She was at work earlier than usual, and a cup of coffee from the teachers’ lounge was just what she needed.
“Mrs. Sharpe,” a voice from behind her called out.
She turned to see Justin Metz, his face stern, his bow tie crooked. No use telling him, she chuckled to herself. He’ll figure it out eventually.
“Do you have it?” he asked in a low voice.
She needed to stall. “What? The drugs?”
He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “No. The flash drive.”
She slapped her forehead. “Oh, that! I completely forgot.” She reached a hand into her satchel and pulled it out empty. “You know what? I must have left it at home. I cleaned out my school bag last night. It was starting to smell. Turns out there was half a tuna—”
“Mrs. Sharpe,” he said, holding his hand up like a crossing guard stopping traffic, “those pictures are vital to our investigation. There’s insurance and liability and culpability to consider. I need those pictures today.”
Deena leaned in as though they were girlfriends sharing a secret about their latest crush. “Is Mr. Baldwin threatening to sue the school district or something?”
Metz flashed his eyes at her, but not in a cute, flirty way. His words came out strong and measured. “Perhaps I can cover your first-period class while you return home and get the flash drive.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” She swallowed hard, trying to think of a way to get out of this. She wanted to talk to Haskett before she did anything else. “I know, I can run home at lunch and get it. I’ll be cutting it close with just a thirty-five minute lunch break, but I should be able to make it.” She grinned. “Okay?”
He dropped his shoulders. “I suppose that will have to do.” He turned and scurried away in a huff.
She had dodged a bullet.
When she walked into the teachers’ lounge, it was more crowded than usual. Three PTA moms wearing visitor tags stood behind a long table as they handed out orange juice and donuts.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” one of the teachers said.
One of the moms shook her head. “We thought you all might need a little pick-me-up after Thursday night’s terrible tragedy.”
Deena’s ears perked up. She listened as she waited in line for coffee.
“Natalie Baldwin was one of my best friends,” the woman said. “I can’t believe she’s gone. You’d never meet a nicer lady or more loyal friend. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” one of the male math teachers said and hurried out of the room.
Deena moved up to the front of the line.
The woman kept talking as people do when they are grieving. “We did everything together. Our daughters were best friends. When we were at the game…”
“Now, Judy, this isn’t the time for that,” one of the other moms said.
Maybe this Judy woman saw something at the game. If she was a witness, Detective Evans might want to talk to her. Deena took a donut and glanced at the woman’s name tag. “Mrs. Osborne, would you mind if
I talk to you for a minute, in private?”
“Call me Judy,” she said and reached across the table to shake hands.
Deena set down her cup to return the gesture and then pointed toward the supply closet. Judy followed her.
“I’m so sorry about your friend,” Deena said when they were alone inside. “Such a terrible accident.”
Judy dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what? That she’s gone or that she fell out of the bleachers?”
“Both! I mean, one minute she was there, and the next minute she was gone.”
“So you saw her fall?”
“Oh no. I was watching the game, of course. And my daughter. She’s a cheerleader.” She beamed as she said it.
“Do you sit up at the top of the bleachers, too?”
“Heavens, no. Ms. Andrews loves me. It’s just Natalie who she didn’t like.” She sniffled. “Sometimes I would go up and sit with her and Brad just to keep her company, but I was sitting down near the front with my husband when the accident happened. Poor Natalie just couldn’t let things go. She was a cheerleader herself in school, you see. I think she tried to relive her youth through her daughter. But now, she won’t be living any life at all.” She dabbed at her eyes again.
The steam from the hot coffee drifted up into Deena’s face as she waited for the woman to compose herself.
“Is Lacy Baldwin one of your students? Is that why you’re asking questions?”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what happened. I teach journalism, and we might be doing a story for the school paper.”
“Oh, and you want to know who might have seen her fall? I see. Obviously, her husband would be the most likely person, of course. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Vice Principal Metz had been hanging around after all that mess that happened at the start of school.”
Deena looked surprised. “What mess?”
“Uh-oh.” Judy covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Since most of my friends know, I just assumed you teachers would all know. Anyway, it’s not surprising Brad wants to leave Maycroft after Natalie and Justin Metz—”
“Excuse me. I need to get a package of highlighters.” It was the new chemistry teacher.
Sharpe Image: Prequel Novella (Maycroft Mystery Series Book 0) Page 2
