by Sara Rosett
Gabrielle reared back from the counter. “Ace Burris? But he can’t be the prime suspect.”
“Why not?” Marie asked in a challenging tone.
“He was at a chamber of commerce breakfast meeting on Wednesday.”
“How do you know this?” I asked, thinking that the whole school system and everyone associated with it must have figured out that the time of Klea’s death was Wednesday morning.
“Because I’m a member—you really should get involved, Ellie. It will do wonders for your networking,” Gabrielle said in an aside. “Anyway, Ace was on the agenda to speak, but I absolutely had to be here to do my organizing work, you know, so I had to miss it. But one of my other clients, Crissy Monroe—she’s in the chamber, and she went. I talked to her yesterday about the meeting. She said Ace was there. As I said, he was the speaker.”
“How long do these meetings go?”
“Let’s see, the breakfast meeting starts at seven-thirty and ends about nine or nine-thirty. Since he was speaking, he’d need to be there early. Crissy said he had a PowerPoint and everything. He would have had to get there early to set it up. There’s no way he could have . . .”
A student walked into the office with a slip of paper. Marie hopped up and took the paper. “Thank you, Holly,” she said, and the girl left.
Gabrielle waited until the girl was in the lobby, then said, “There’s no way Ace murdered Klea. He couldn’t have.”
The three of us looked from one to the other. “That’s not good news,” Marie said.
I agreed. I wanted Klea’s murderer caught, and I wanted it to be someone not associated with the school. All through yesterday afternoon and last night, what Mrs. Harris had told me had been on my mind. I’d managed to convince myself that it didn’t really matter that Klea knew a secret about Mrs. Harris that the teacher’s aide wanted kept quiet.
I’d turned on the news this morning, hoping—half expecting—to hear that an arrest had been made. Not that I expected Mrs. Harris to be arrested, but I’d hoped that Detective Waraday might have turned up a suspect in his original line of investigation that he’d hinted involved someone off campus.
After learning about Klea’s soon-to-be ex and the restraining order, and seeing firsthand Klea’s DIY security measures at her house, the logical conclusion would seem to be that the murderer was Ace Burris. But if Gabrielle was right and he did have an alibi—and it sounded like an airtight alibi, at that—then it was looking more and more likely that the murderer was associated with the school. Vaughn and Detective Waraday had said Klea kept to herself. Without any close family or friends, where else could the murderer have come from but the school? Everything seemed so normal this morning at the school—kids crisscrossing the lobby, their high-pitched voices filling the halls, the aroma of Tater Tots wafting out from the cafeteria, and the faint sound of basketballs smacking against the blacktop as the first P.E. class of the day began. A cold feeling of dread washed over me at the thought that someone here at the school was a murderer.
Gabrielle leveled her gaze at me. “This listening and waiting isn’t working,” she said in a low voice. “We need to get serious and find out who killed Klea. The police don’t seem to be doing anything.”
“You know that’s not true,” I said to Gabrielle. “They’re working on it. They’re just not keeping us updated on their progress.”
Gabrielle gave an impatient toss of her head and returned to her normal tones. “But it amounts to nothing. Have they arrested anyone? No. What are they doing? Who are their suspects?”
“If Ace is out of the running, I don’t know who else could have done it. It’s not like Klea had . . . enemies,” Marie said.
Mrs. Kirk entered the office and our group immediately broke up, Marie moving to her desk, and Gabrielle going to sign in. I went to the teachers’ lounge to check on the food for the day, and was happy to see that the parents on the Tuesday Teacher Appreciation crew had come through. Snacks and drinks were spread across the table. A tray of homemade brownies tempted me, but I resisted, promising I’d treat myself to a Hershey’s Kiss. They were my Achilles’ heel when it came to chocolate, but at least they were small doses of chocolate.
Ms. McCormick was helping herself to one of the delicious brownies, and I thought of the list of names Klea had written down. Mrs. Harris’s name had been on it, along with her pen name, something she wanted to hide.
Ms. McCormick’s name had been on that, too. Maybe Ms. McCormick was hiding something as well? Her blue dress looked nothing like a ball gown, but with her blond hair up and the color of her dress making her eyes look even more intently blue, she reminded me more than ever of an illustration of a fairy tale princess.
She caught sight of me as she took a bite of the brownie. She put a hand over her pink lips and looked a little embarrassed. Swallowing quickly, she said, “I know it’s early, but I just couldn’t wait. They looked so good.”
“I’m not throwing stones,” I said, picking up some napkins that had fallen on the floor and throwing them in the trash. “I love chocolate. And the food is here for you—you’re supposed to enjoy it.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe that the parents bring in food all week. This really is the nicest school. The one I was at before didn’t do anything for Teacher Appreciation. Not even a card.”
“Really? I thought this was your first teaching assignment.”
For a second, a stricken look crossed her face and I had the funniest feeling that internally she was muttering a curse word. Moments later, her face transformed as she smiled brightly at me. “Oh, it is.” She picked up a few almonds and added them to her plate. “I mean, it is my first teaching job. I was a substitute before.”
I took more napkins out of a cabinet and placed them on the table. “Where was that?”
“Oh, it was in another state. Look, someone made a fruit tart—I just adore those.” She moved a wedge of the tart onto her plate. “So you’re”—she checked my name tag—“Livvy’s mom. She’s great.”
“Thanks,” I said, noticing how fast she’d changed the subject. She really didn’t want to talk about her other job.
“I enjoy having her in my math class.”
“How is everything going . . . after Klea, I mean? Do you think the kids are okay?”
“Oh, yes. Now that we’re back in a routine, the kids are fine. Well, you know what I mean. It’s hard to have a routine the last weeks of school, but I think they feel safe and that’s the important thing.”
“Yes, it is. That’s what we all want, to feel safe, but I can’t help worrying. Did you know Klea?”
“No.” She shook her head and leaned back against the counter as she cut a bite of the tart. I could have sworn she looked completely at ease. She didn’t mind discussing Klea at all. “So horrible what happened to her. I mean, I never even talked to her, but to think about that happening . . .” She shivered.
Gabrielle poked her head in the door. “Ellie, there you are,” she said in an accusatory tone, as if I’d been hiding from her. Peg followed her into the room and picked up a plate.
Ms. McCormick stiffened, and her face changed back to a guarded look. She gave me a quick nod. “Nice chatting with you,” she said, and left the room. I glanced between Gabrielle and Peg. It seemed that just the arrival of one of the women had caused Ms. McCormick to leave the room immediately. Which one was it?
“I had to check and make sure everything was set up here,” I said to Gabrielle. Peg didn’t say anything, just filled her plate and left the room without looking at either one of us.
Gabrielle watched her go. “Well, she must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“I’m glad I don’t work in the office.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of work, I have to go.”
Gabrielle held up a hand. “Oh, no. You can’t just run out of here. We need to talk. What have you found out? I’ll walk with you.”
“Gabrielle—” I sighed. “I
don’t have anything to tell. It seemed like Klea’s husband might be . . . involved, but apparently not. That’s all I know.” I wasn’t about to tell her about Mrs. Harris’s pen name, and the only other bit of information that I’d picked up—the list of names—was so vague that I didn’t want to mention it. Gabrielle was the sort to charge ahead without thinking, and I didn’t want her to do anything that would endanger herself—or make Detective Waraday angry with me. “All we can do is try and find someone with a connection to Klea—someone who was either angry enough or scared enough of her to want her dead.”
Gabrielle had been walking with me as we spoke in low voices. We paused in the lobby, and she sent me a frustrated look. “There’s got to be more we can do.”
I decided the only way to deal with Gabrielle was to handle her the same way I did when the kids were determined to help me do something—usually with something that I didn’t want their assistance with, like painting a room. “Okay, here’s something. See if you can find out if anyone at the school was close to Klea. As far as I can tell, she didn’t have any friends.”
“Not have any friends? How could that be?”
“She kept her distance.”
“That’s . . . weird,” Gabrielle said. Clearly keeping people at a distance was a foreign concept for her. “Okay, I’ll ask around.”
The faint sound of a horn honking repeatedly filtered through the closed doors at the front of the school as someone’s car alarm went off.
“Well, weird or not, that’s how she was,” I said. “See if you can find anyone she talked to or confided in.”
Gabrielle nodded. “I can do that.”
“Subtly,” I said.
“Pshaw,” Gabrielle said with a wave of her hand, and moved down the hall.
I’d never actually heard anyone use the southern expression pshaw, except in old movies, and I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but I had a feeling from Gabrielle’s attitude that it translated loosely to something along the lines of don’t be an idiot.
I shook my head and went into the office to sign out. Peg was there, her plate of food on her desk. She didn’t look up from her monitor. Marie, on the other hand, smiled at me as I signed out. I motioned to her with a tilt of my head, and she hopped up from her chair and walked with me across the lobby. “Do you know anything about Ms. McCormick?” I asked as I pushed open the heavy door. Humid air swept inside and the volume of the car alarm, which was still going on, increased.
“No, just that she’s from somewhere out of state.”
“Is this her first teaching job?” I asked, to see what Marie would say.
“Yes, I think so. I can do a . . . little digging, see what her application says. Discreetly, of course.”
I smiled at her, knowing that she would keep anything she found to herself. “That would be great. I don’t know anything, but I have a feeling it might be important.”
“Gotcha. Check in with me tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Marie tilted her head and looked over my shoulder out the door I held half open. “Isn’t that your minivan?”
I turned. The taillights of the van were flickering on and off in time with the honking horn. “Yes. How embarrassing.” I felt my pockets for the key. “I probably pressed the panic button on the key fob somehow.”
I found my keys, clicked the button, and silence fell for a moment until the school bell rang. I waved to Marie and headed across the school property to walk along the chain-link fence by the side yard, but when I rounded the side of the van, I stopped in my tracks. A spider web of cracks covered the driver’s-side window around a gaping, concave hole.
Chapter Eleven
I don’t know how long I stood there, stunned by the vandalism. This was a nice, safe neighborhood. Things like windows getting broken—especially in the middle of the day—didn’t happen. I shook myself out of my frozen state and took a few steps closer to the door. I peered inside the van though the hole radiating out from the hole.
I didn’t touch anything because a network of jagged cracks radiated out from the hole, but I saw that a brick rested on the driver’s seat. Tiny chunks of glass pooled around it, glittering in the sunlight like diamonds. I twisted around and scanned the street and surrounding houses, but the front yards were empty of neighbors—not a single person moving a sprinkler or weeding a flowerbed. Faint shouts from the kids at recess were the only sounds.
With a sigh, I took out my phone. I’d already rescheduled once with Margo when Gabrielle convinced me to search the school with her on the morning of Muffins with Mom. Now I called Margo to tell her I needed to postpone our appointment again.
* * *
“Random vandalism?” Mitch asked later that night, disbelief heavy in his voice.
“I know,” I said. “I don’t really believe it either.” I sat down on the bed and held the phone in place with my shoulder while I tied the laces of my tennis shoes. Dinner was over, the dishes were washed, and the kids were in their rooms doing the last bits of homework. There wasn’t much homework at this time of year, but the teachers were still sending a few assignments home for the kids to do in the evening.
Rex was prancing back and forth letting out low-level whines, sensing that a walk around the neighborhood was imminent. In Rex’s mind, footwear signaled a trip around the block, which was what I had planned, but the walk could wait while I talked to Mitch. I had no idea when he’d be able to call again.
“Ellie,” Mitch said with a sigh in his voice, “what have you been doing?”
I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan. “Just all the usual stuff—running the household, taking care of the kids, trying to meet with clients.”
“All the usual stuff,” Mitch repeated, “which, I know, means that you’re also keeping your eyes and ears open for anything that might be a tad off or strange. And possibly dropping a few questions here and there. Am I right?”
“Since we’re not on a video call, I should tell you that I’m rolling my eyes.”
“I know you are.” Mitch’s chuckle came over the phone. “Do I know you or what?”
“Yes, and that is both a blessing and a curse,” I said.
“I wish I was there with you,” Mitch said, his tone becoming more serious.
“I know. That would be really nice. How many more days?” Mitch was much better at keeping track of how many days he had left on his trips than I was. His constantly changing schedule was hard to keep up with, to begin with, and if he was gone on a long deployment, it was easier for me if I didn’t focus on the exact number of days until he came home. Anything over a week was a little depressing to contemplate. It was usually easier to roll with the punches until the trip was over.
“Ten days until I’m back, and we can have your delayed Mother’s Day celebration.” Mother’s Day had actually been last Sunday, but because of Mitch’s rather unpredictable schedule, we celebrated events and special days when we were together and that wasn’t always when those days showed up on the calendar. Since Mitch’s training exercise happened to fall over Mother’s Day, we postponed celebrating that day until he got back. We did the same with birthdays and holidays.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said.
Letting out another round of low whimpers, Rex pressed against my leg. I rubbed his side with my foot.
“So back to the car,” Mitch said. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes, and the insurance. It’s all covered. I have a copy of the police report, but the officer spent about as long on it as Livvy did on the first draft of her science report.”
“So about ten minutes.”
“Yep. Even after I told him about Klea’s death. He said he’d mention it to Detective Waraday, but I could tell the officer didn’t think it was related. Like I said, random vandalism was his assessment.”
“I don’t agree. Have you heard or seen anything that could make someone nervous?”
“Possibly,” I
said, thinking of Mrs. Harris. But she’d told Detective Waraday her secret—hadn’t she?
I should ask Detective Waraday and make sure she had followed through with him. But even if she hadn’t talked to Detective Waraday, I couldn’t see her throwing a brick through the van window any more than I could see her strangling Klea. Without giving away her secret or mentioning her pen name, I gave Mitch an outline of what Mrs. Harris had told me.
“And you don’t want to share names or specifics?” Mitch asked.
“No, I can’t. I promised, but I will check with Detective Waraday and make sure he knows. If he does know about the situation, what would be the good of tossing a brick at my car? The secret is already out—to a limited audience, granted—but it’s not totally hidden anymore.”
“Maybe this person changed their mind and regretted telling you the secret. Maybe it was a warning to continue to keep quiet. You know, no talking to the other teachers.”
“Kind of an unspecific way to do it.” Rex walked around to the foot of the bed and poked his nose over the edge, fixing me with the saddest brown-eyed expression that I’d seen since yesterday at this time.
“Oh, I think they got their message across.” Mitch paused a moment, then said, “Or maybe it was a completely different person. Any other tidbits you’ve heard or prodding questions you’ve asked?”
“Ms. McCormick is hiding something, I’m sure of it. But I don’t know specifically what it is.” I recounted my conversation with her as Rex kept his gaze fastened on me and whined a few times just to make sure I didn’t forget about him.
“Breaking car windows after a conversation like that would be going to quite an extreme,” Mitch said, “but it looks as if you’ve made someone nervous.”
“Or I’ve been the random victim of senseless vandalism.”
“Odd that I actually like the sound of that better. Look, there’s a chance this exercise may get cut short. Weather issues. I could be home in a day or two.”
