Back To School Murder #4

by Meier, Leslie

  “Mel Costas?” asked Lucy, remembering the accident report Jewel had filed just before deadline.

  “That’s it,” said Ms. Kinnear. “Mel Costas. He seems like a pretty good candidate for the murder, if you ask me, but they say he has an ironclad alibi. He’s coming clean about the bombing because he’s so upset about Carol.” She sniffed. “Sounds pretty suspicious to me.”

  “Me, too,” said Lydia. “No one will ever convince me that Josh Cunningham would do a thing like that.”

  “It’s as if she’s reaching out from the morgue—as if she didn’t cause enough grief when she was alive,” said Ms. Kinnear, with a little shudder.

  “I don’t suppose you want to go on the record with any of this,” said Lucy. “I’m filling in for Ted.”

  “Good Lord, no,” said Sophie. “As far as The Pennysaver is concerned, we’re shocked and grieved by Ms. Crane’s tragic death.”

  Lucy dutifully wrote down the quote in her notebook. “What about this parental notification bill that DeWalt is sponsoring?” she asked.

  Sophie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Completely impractical. Expensive, too. Can you imagine the work involved in notifying parents whenever a teacher plans to include a ‘sensitive topic’ in a lesson plan? And who decides what’s sensitive and what isn’t? Most teachers will end up avoiding anything they think might be controversial.”

  “It will stifle free expression in the classroom,” said Ms. Kinnear. “Say we were talking about families and a child said he had two mothers or two fathers. Well, we couldn’t talk about that unless I’d warned the parents in advance, so I would have to cut off discussion.”

  “Do topics like that really come up in second grade?” asked Lucy, a bit surprised.

  “Oh, sure,” said Ms. Kinnear. “The kids see TV news, they hear their parents talking. Gosh, the kids whose families attend the Revelation Congregation are always talking about the poor murdered babies.”

  “It’s true,” agreed Lydia. “One of my kindergarteners was in tears the other day—she was convinced an ‘evil ‘bortion doctor’ would kill her brand new baby sister.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Lucy.

  “The poor things hear all this rhetoric and don’t know what to think, and if you try to tell them the truth, you get in trouble.” Lydia sounded bitter.

  “Teachers have to be very careful even now, without the law. Can you imagine how restricted they would feel if it went into effect?” said Sophie. “Especially since it could be used to punish teachers who hold liberal views.”

  “Punish? What do you mean?”

  “Nowadays, thanks to tenure, teachers can’t lose their jobs simply because they’re unpopular with a certain segment of the community. But if this law is adopted, it will give those people a tool. They can complain that a teacher violated the parental notification law, and it could be grounds for dismissal.”

  “And it will be almost impossible to comply with it—there are bound to be slipups,” said Lydia.

  “It almost seems like it was designed to entrap teachers,” Lucy said slowly.

  “It sure does,” said Lydia, dark eyes flashing. “I’m beginning to feel like an endangered species.”

  “Look what they’re doing to Josh,” said Ms. Kinnear. “DeWalt is demonizing him; he isn’t even waiting for the trial to find out if he’s guilty or not. If they can do that to him, they can do it to any of us.”

  The others nodded silently in agreement.

  Lucy thanked Sophie for her comment and hurried off, mulling over what the teachers had said. She was shocked at how vulnerable they felt, and couldn’t decide if their fears were justified or not. These days, everyone seemed to be paranoid when it came to their jobs.

  The little clock in her car told her she was running late, and the day-care center was due to close in just a few minutes. Zoë was the only child left when she arrived, which made her feel terribly guilty.

  Finally turning into her own driveway, she was relieved to see that Bill’s pickup truck was not there, which meant he wasn’t home yet. He must have had to work late, too. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with his foot-tapping impatience as she prepared dinner.

  She had no sooner got out of her car than the kitchen door flew open, and she heard Toby’s call for help. Running up the steps, with Zoë clutched to her chest and her purse and diaper bag swinging from her arms, she flew into the kitchen. There she found Elizabeth unable to catch her breath.

  “I can’t breathe,” the girl gasped, her chest heaving with effort. Her eyes were wide with panic as she broke into a high, barking cough. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the floor around her was littered with crumpled tissues, proof that her nose wouldn’t stop running.

  Lucy handed the baby to Toby and dropped her bags, kneeling on the floor beside Elizabeth. Checking the beds of her fingernails, she saw they were a healthy shade of pink.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she said, looking directly into her daughter’s frightened eyes. “You’re panicking and it’s making things worse. Try to breathe slowly and evenly, okay?”

  Elizabeth nodded, and tried to gain control of her rapid, shallow breaths, but succombed instead to a fit of coughing.

  Making a quick decision, Lucy turned to Toby. “I’m going to take her to the emergency room—I want you to take charge here, okay?”

  “Do you still want me to make supper?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Lucy, flustered. “You must be starving. How about some soup and sandwiches? Something like that—do what you think best. Come on, Elizabeth.” She pulled the girl to her feet and supported her by wrapping an arm around her waist. “Time to see the doctor.”

  During the drive to the cottage hospital, Lucy kept a nervous eye on her daughter. Her eyes were still streaming, and her breaths were ragged gasps in between fits of coughing and wheezing. Lucy did her best to hide her concern from Elizabeth, but she was frantic by the time they pulled up at the emergency room entrance.

  A nurse took one look at Elizabeth when they entered and led them immediately to a curtained cubicle. She quickly checked her pulse and blood pressure and within minutes they were joined by a doctor.

  “We need you to fill out some papers,” said the nurse, leading Lucy back to the front desk. “She’s in good hands.”

  By the time Lucy had finished filling out a health history, signed a consent form, and handed over her insurance card, Elizabeth was much improved. Her breathing was still rough and choppy when Lucy returned to the cubicle, but she was no longer gasping frantically for air.

  “This was a pretty typical asthma attack,” said the doctor. “Has Elizabeth been treated for allergies?”

  “Not really,” said Lucy. “I noticed she was allergic to our cat so we gave it away.”

  “People tend not to take allergies very seriously, but that’s a mistake,” said the doctor. “Allergies are very dangerous. She really needs to see a specialist to get this under control. I wouldn’t delay if I were you—I’d make an appointment right away. In the meantime, here are some antihistamines and an inhaler, in case she has another attack. I showed her how to use it. You did the right thing, bringing her in. I mean it,” he nodded seriously. “You can’t afford to ignore asthma. Children die from it every year.”

  Back in the car, Lucy tried to make sense of the episode.

  “Has that ever happened before?”

  “No, Mom. Honest.”

  “Do you have any idea what brought it on?”

  “No. Toby and I were fooling around, and he threw a pillow at me. I threw it back and we had a little pillow fight. Next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe. It was scary.”

  “Sure was,” said Lucy, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. She attempted a joke. “I can think of something scarier.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “Not having supper ready when your father comes home.”

  “Nothing’s scarier than that,” agreed Elizabeth, but she didn
’t join Lucy in a restorative laugh, as she normally would have.

  She’s afraid, thought Lucy, with a painful little stab of insight. She’s afraid to laugh because it might set off another attack.

  They had no sooner pulled in the driveway than the kitchen door popped open and Bill hurried out to meet them.

  “How’s Elizabeth?” he demanded anxiously.

  “She had an asthma attack—they gave her some medications and said we ought to see a specialist.”

  “Asthma?” He looked at Elizabeth suspiciously. “Nobody in my family has asthma.”

  Lucy shrugged. “A lot of kids have it nowadays—maybe it’s something to do with air pollution. That’s my theory, anyway.” She put her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder for a quick hug but Elizabeth shook it off and made a point of bounding up the porch steps. They heard the familiar sound of the door to her room slamming as they entered the kitchen. Soon the sound of Road Kill, Elizabeth’s favorite band, drifted down the stairs.

  “I don’t think she’s too thrilled about this,” said Lucy, spreading the inhalers and medications out on the kitchen table. “She has to take all this every day.”

  “Just say no,” said Bill, attempting a joke at the impressive assortment of drugs that included blue, orange, and pink inhalers, nasal spray, and several bottles of pills.

  “Don’t you dare tease her about this,” warned Lucy. “Promise?”

  “Promise,” agreed Bill.

  “Has everybody eaten?” Lucy asked hopefully.

  “Yup. Zoë’s had a bath and is in bed. Toby’s doing homework and Sara is watching TV. Everything’s under control.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Lucy, collapsing into a chair and propping her elbows on the kitchen table.

  “Can I fix something for you?” Bill was hovering over her, unwilling to leave her alone. Lucy could tell he was upset, too. Normally he would have been in his usual after-dinner spot, the recliner chair in the family room, flipping through the channels with the remote control.

  “Peanut butter and jelly would be fine, with a big glass of milk. Comfort food.”

  “You got it,” said Bill, setting to work. “How about Elizabeth?”

  “You can try, but I don’t think she’ll eat anything.”

  Bill yelled up the stairs, trying to be heard over Elizabeth’s CD player. “Do you want some supper?”

  “No!” came the unequivocal answer.

  Lucy gave Bill an “I told you so” sort of shrug as he set her sandwich before her. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and sat down beside her.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay,” he said.

  “I hope so,” said Lucy, taking a big bite of peanut butter and jelly. “I hope so.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  On Monday morning Ted was back at work.

  “You did a good job on that story about the parental notification bill,” he told her.

  “What about my Carol Crane story?” asked Lucy.

  “It’s great stuff,” said Ted, “but I can’t use it.”

  “Why not?” asked Lucy, crestfallen.

  “Well…you make some pretty serious allegations and you don’t back them up.”

  “It’s just common sense,” sputtered Lucy. “The fire and the bombing couldn’t be coincidences.”

  “I agree,” said Ted. “But nobody official filed any charges against her. There isn’t a hint of suspicion about the Bridgton affair.”

  “Well, what about the stuff Professor Rea told me?”

  Ted smiled slowly. “I think he told you what he wanted you to know. He gave you his perspective. What politicians call spin control. If Carol is even half as manipulative as you suspect—well, I bet the story he didn’t tell you is a lot more interesting than the one he did.”

  “I can’t believe I was so stupid,” said Lucy, recognizing the truth in what Ted said. “I let him lead me by the nose. I didn’t question a thing he said.”

  Lucy started on the pile of press releases that had accumulated on her desk, but her mind wasn’t really on the next meeting of the Village Garden Club or the fact that the Broadbrooks Free Library was switching to winter hours and would no longer be open on Tuesday evenings. Instead, she kept thinking of her conversation with Dr. Franklin. Had he been holding something back, she wondered. After all, Carol had upset a lot of people in the Tinker’s Cove schools—she must have had a similar effect in Bridgton.

  Checking Carol’s résumé, which was beginning to get a bit worn about the edges, she gave him a call. This time, he was home, apparently taking a break from the campaign trail.

  “Dr. Franklin? This is Lucy Stone, from The Pennysaver. I spoke to you at the coffee for Bob Angus.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I wonder if you’re aware that Carol Crane was involved in an incident here in Tinker’s Cove that was very similar to the fire in Bridgton? Instead of a fire, we had a bomb in the school, and Carol saved a little boy who was locked in a supply closet.”

  “That’s an amazing coincidence.” Dr. Franklin’s voice seemed to waver a bit.

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all,” said Lucy. “I suspect Carol planned them both.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I’ve done some research and it seems to be part of a pattern. She used these crisis situations to become a hero and to gain power. Does that sound at all plausible to you?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. “There were rumors about her but I put them down to jealousy. When Carol got so much attention it seemed to put a lot of people’s noses out of joint.” He paused. “This is all off the record, of course. A lot of folks here will simply not hear anything negative about Carol.”

  “But you’ve heard negative things?”

  “Actually, yes. Our police chief advised me that Carol had been involved in a police call. Neighbors complained about a woman screaming in the night. It was Carol, fighting with a man. He said he was her husband, but Carol insisted he was an unwanted guest. It was never repeated, and Carol left soon after.” He paused. “I have to admit, I was relieved when she left. I was beginning to suspect she was something of a troublemaker.”

  “And that’s why you gave her such a glowing recommendation?” Lucy was shocked.

  “That’s the way it’s done, my dear. That’s the way it’s done.” Dr. Franklin suddenly sounded like a very old man. “You just pass the problem along, and then it becomes somebody else’s problem.”

  Saying goodbye then replacing the receiver, Lucy decided to give Sophie a call. She just couldn’t believe what Dr. Franklin had told her.

  “Sophie, Lucy Stone. I just had the oddest phone conversation with Dr. Franklin, the Bridgton superintendent. He told me he gave Carol a good recommendation to get rid of her. Could that be true?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all,” admitted Sophie after she had digested Lucy’s question. “In fact, it’s getting so bad that the better a teacher’s credentials are, the more suspicious I am.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well,” explained Sophie patiently, “because of tenure and union contracts and all that, it’s very expensive for a school system to fire a bad teacher. There has to be a hearing and the teacher is entitled to a lawyer and the whole thing drags on for months and even then the teacher isn’t fired. Usually they’re just required to take a remedial classroom management course or something. In truth, the only way you can get rid of them is to get somebody else to hire them.”

  “But if everyone knows this, how come it works?” asked Lucy.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t,” said Sophie. “But Carol was hired by a search committee made up of parents and school committee members, DeWalt included. They were awfully impressed with her credentials.” Sophie sniffed. “I knew she’d be trouble from the get-go. She started after Mr. Mopps her very first day.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I don’t know. It was almost as if she just couldn’t stand the
man. I never understood it.”

  “Now that she’s no longer on the scene, couldn’t you hire him back?”

  “I tried,” said Sophie. “His brother told me he left town, went back to Brooklyn.”

  “That’s interesting,” began Lucy.

  “Lucy!” roared Ted, from across the room. “I need those town news items and those obits Now!”

  “Gotta go. Thanks, Sophie,” said Lucy, hanging up the receiver and reaching for the keypad.

  Lucy typed steadily for the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday, working her way through the huge stack of press releases and classified ad forms she had neglected in favor of her investigative reporting the week before. Finally, at three on Tuesday afternoon, she left to take Elizabeth to the allergist.

  “You can let asthma control you,” the doctor told Elizabeth, “or you can control it. The way you do that is by taking your medication every day.”

  Elizabeth nodded meekly as he explained her daily regimen of pills and nasal spray and inhalers, but exploded after they had left the office and reached the car.

  “‘I’m not gonna do it! I’m not gonna fill my body with all that stuff,” she declared as she fumbled with her seat belt.

  “It does seem like a lot,” sympathized Lucy. “But he said he’d review it at your next appointment. I think you have to give it a try.”

  “It’s ridiculous! I don’t see how all those chemicals could be good for me. And I am not going to carry an inhaler wherever I go like some sort of geek.” She finally snapped the buckle into place.

  “I know how you feel—I think natural is better, too. But sometimes our bodies don’t quite do what we want. Remember how scared you were? Wouldn’t it be better to try and avoid that happening again?”

  “It won’t happen again,” said Elizabeth. “I won’t let it.”

  “You can’t control it,” said Lucy, her voice rising. “When he gave you those patch tests, could you stop the reaction? It’s the same thing, only it’s your breathing. Don’t be stupid. It’s not fair to put me through another attack—”

  Elizabeth looked at her, her eyes widening in surprise.