Death at a Talent Show (Book 6 Molly Masters Mysteries)

by Leslie O'Kane

  Jack came back and returned Nadine’s key ring, giving me a barely perceptible shake of the head. Nadine gathered up her purse and box of personal items and left without another word.

  I turned to Jack, who was still somewhat red-faced. “My daughter will enter high school here in a few months. Is this the best we can do?”

  “I thought Nadine was an alcoholic and needed help.”

  “When you hire her replacement, can you at least make sure whoever it is has a sense of ethics?” I left the building, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  Chapter 14

  Tooth and Nail

  I came home feeling as though I’d been kicked in the stomach. Karen was doing homework on the dining room table. Nathan was in the kitchen, tossing soda crackers in the air and firing rubber bands at them, which made the cracker crumble in midair. BC was delighted with this cracker-skeet-shooting game, for she eagerly gobbled up the debris. I, however, had less cause for enthusiasm.

  Somehow I’d believed that Carlton High could escape the violence and menace that had crept into other schools, as well as into society at large. It was ludicrous to think that one’s own cherished places and people were somehow immune. But the knowledge that one’s hopes were unrealistic makes their being dashed no less painful.

  I took solace by entering my new sunroom and looking around. The room did look very pretty, as long as I squinted my eyes a little and blocked my view of the plywood flooring. And didn’t look out the window that faced the rocky area where we’d once had a redwood deck. And didn’t give any thought to how the door didn’t close correctly.

  I operated my new vertical blinds and immediately discovered something extremely frustrating. Danielle had installed the runners so they opened in the opposite direction as the sliding glass doors, which meant that, open or shut, the blinds were always in the doorways. She’d put up all six blinds backward.

  “I hate my life,” I muttered as I returned to the kitchen.

  Nathan looked at me, handed me a cracker, then went downstairs, no doubt to play computer games. BC, meanwhile, watched me with a hopeful expression on her canine features. The expression turned to disappointment when she watched me eat the cracker.

  “Sorry, dog-face. I’m from the don’t-fire-projectiles-at-your-food generation.”

  The doorbell rang while I was still weighing whether to call Danielle Underwood, reasoning that it might be less ulcer-inducing to simply reverse the vertical-blind tracks ourselves.

  “Some man’s out there,” Karen reported, looking out the front window. “It’s the sunroom guy you hired.”

  “Is he wearing a baseball cap?” I asked as I entered the room.

  “Yeah.”

  I decided not to instruct BC to be quiet, but rather to vicariously enjoy her incessantly barking at him.

  “Afternoon, Molly,” Chester said with a big smile that I couldn’t reciprocate. “I was just stopping by to see how things are going with your new room.”

  “Funny you should mention that. Have you used Danielle Underwood as a subcontractor for window treatments for quite a while now?”

  “Yes. She does a wonderful job.” He studied my face for what should have been longer than necessary, because it was obvious by my question and current demeanor that all was not well. He said hello to Karen, who’d returned to her homework, then asked me, “Why? Is there a problem?”

  “Most of the time, don’t people want their blinds to open the same direction as their door, so they can actually use the door?”

  “Of course. Let me take a look at your blinds.” He headed into the room, followed by BC and me. As if it were going to be a big revelation to me, Chester announced, “These are backward.” He stood with arms crossed and stared at the blinds. “Huh. She’s never made a mistake like this before. You must have caught her on an off day.”

  “Apparently. Unless she did this intentionally just to annoy me.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Oh, people can do all sorts of annoying things, intentionally or just because that’s the way they are. Speaking of which, have you noticed that we still have no deck?”

  “Yes, but you do have a sunroom and window coverings in record time.”

  “Which are installed backward. Plus the door is hung crooked. We’re not making out our final payment until your crew rehangs the door, replaces the window-well cover, and rebuilds our deck to our satisfaction.”

  “Understood.” Chester rocked on his heels for a moment, then said, “On another subject, the scuttlebutt is that you got Nadine Dahl fired. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know whose butt could have been scuttled this quickly, but the truth is she was looking for an excuse to get herself fired. Though, frankly, I’m surprised she wanted to walk away from her cash cow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shut the door to the sunroom so my children wouldn’t overhear, then replied, “Accepting bribes from you and other parents in exchange for helping their children’s class ranking.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. He said under his breath, “Now I see how Danielle could have gotten so ticked off at you as to hook up your blinds backward.”

  “As a mother myself, it bothers me that you think it’s okay to meddle in the school records. You’re using underhanded methods to gain the advantage over eighteen year-old school kids.”

  He jerked his palms upward in an angry gesture. “I have to do whatever I can to keep up! Look at what the other parents are doing. Danielle’s been supplying Nadine with free materials for her moonlighting business. Elsbeth writes her daughter’s music-theory essays. And did you really think that Olivia was fighting so hard to get her daughter back from Stephanie purely out of maternal love?”

  “Of course she was fighting for Jenny out of love. And at least Olivia wasn’t tampering with her daughter’s ranking at Carlton High like the rest of you.”

  “Guess again.”

  “The woman’s dead, for crying out loud. Exactly what are you suggesting?”

  “Not to speak ill, but since you asked, she was the worst of all of us. She was trying to keep Jenny from shining too brightly, despite the perfect score she got on her SATs. Olivia didn’t want to have to pay for her daughter to go to an Ivy League school.”

  “Oh, come on! I don’t believe that for an instant, Chester!”

  “We had the same lawyer. I happen to know about the provisions in the trust fund.”

  “The payouts from Jenny’s trust fund were tied to her academics?”

  He gave me a smug smile. “Indirectly. Olivia and Jenny have been living on a fixed income from the inheritance, and all of Jenny’s college costs are to be fully covered, no matter how high they are. But after she graduates from college, she was supposed to receive half the inheritance in a lump sum, Olivia the other half. Thing is, though, that if Jenny were to enter an expensive college, Olivia’s share would have been considerably less. And, if she lost custody of Jenny for those years, her fixed income would probably have vanished.”

  “None of this means…” I let my voice trail off. “How did you find out all of this, Chester? Did you bribe your lawyer’s secretary as well?” He didn’t answer, so I pointed out, “The terms of the will don’t mean she was actually doing anything to undermine Jenny’s standing in school.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s exactly what she was doing. Get a look at Jenny’s transcripts. The standings are based on the degree of difficulty of the course times the point system for the grade itself. Jenny would register for the classes she wanted, then Olivia would call the office with an excuse to switch her out of the higher credit courses. Your friend, Jack Vance, finally caught on and put a stop to it.”

  “How did you find that out? From Nadine? Or did Jenny tell you?”

  “Nadine. Fortunately, Jenny never found out what her mom was doing. Even though it wasn’t in my son’s best interest to do so since Jenny’s course ratings kept her below my son’s grade-point,
I…felt it was my duty to tell Stephanie. Figured it would be key evidence in the trial to show just what type of a parent Olivia really was.”

  “No wonder she lost custody.”

  “Except that information never came out. I went to the trial myself, so I know. Afterward, I asked Stephanie why she kept quiet. She said she decided not to reveal the information because it would have destroyed Jenny’s connection to her mom forever.”

  “That’s…awful. I mean, it’s one thing to decide that you can’t afford an expensive college for your child, regardless of how much money you have. But to try to keep your child’s grade-point down to eliminate the option is just appalling.”

  “You got that right. So don’t lecture me on my methods.” He brushed past me, let himself out of the room, and started to trudge toward the front door. “If you’d’ve asked me just two years ago if I’d’ve ever used questionable ethics to help my son’s grades, I’d’ve sworn up and down that there was no way. But just you wait.” He looked at my daughter, still working at the dining room table, and said quietly, “Wait’ll you find out your sweet little cubs are duking it out with the full-grown lions. Then we’ll see just how fast your claws come out.” He pivoted and said over his shoulder, “I’ll get my foreman out here to rehang the door and put up your deck.”

  He marched out of the house without another word.

  Was he telling the truth about Olivia Garrett? There was no way I was going to ask Jack about that now, under the circumstances. But I could check his story with someone else. I steeled myself, closed my bedroom door for privacy, and dialed Stephanie’s house. She answered, and after I greeted her, said, “Well, Molly. I hoped this would be somebody else. I’ll have to hook up my caller ID again. What can I do for you, my dear?”

  I massaged my temples with my free hand and decided to simply plow forward with my questions about Olivia. Was it her use of “my dear” while she insulted me, or just her constant air of superiority that made me instantly want to do bodily harm to the woman? “Chester told me that Olivia had been sabotaging her daughter’s grades, and I wondered if that was true.”

  “Yes. Chester told me about that at the beginning of the school year when this custody battle first erupted, and I immediately verified that in a private discussion with Jack.” She paused. “You’re not thinking that any of this had anything to do with Olivia’s murder, are you? I know how you make these murder investigations into a hobby of yours.”

  “Yeah, well, I never learned how to knit.” Wishing to avoid a discussion of the killer’s motive with Stephanie, I asked, “How’s Jenny doing? Dave Paxton asked me to express his condolences.”

  “She went to school today. She seems to just be going through the motions, but I have to believe that her decision to go on with her daily schedule is a good sign. I’d better get off and get some things done.” She sighed heavily. “Take some advice from an old—” She paused. “Take my advice, Molly, and do us all a favor. It’s high time you did take up knitting.” She hung up.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and pondered the situation. Chester had told me the truth. Were his predictions that I would be changing my tune in a few years also valid? What would I do if I learned that a parent was cheating to raise his child’s grade-point so as to finish ahead of my child’s?

  I could see myself perhaps confronting the parent or school officials, but despite Chester’s dire predictions, there was no way I would resort to cheating myself. Of course I would fight tooth and nail—be that with fingernails or with carpentry nails—for my children’s sake. But that didn’t mean I would ever resort to Chester’s underhanded methods. Some simple truths remain in effect throughout all stages of child rearing. Parenting is largely done by example, and if you want your child to stay on the right side of any given line, you don’t cross it yourself.

  My children might grow up to be incorrigibly nosey, but they weren’t going to learn how to cheat from my example.

  Chapter 15

  For the Birds

  Later that night, Karen and I drove to Elsbeth’s house for her rescheduled piano lesson. My eyes were immediately drawn to Elsbeth’s hands. Her wounds had healed, but my anxiety about how she’d gotten them in the first place still remained.

  Karen’s lesson went well, though I was a nervous wreck throughout. If the killer had scared off the doves that night as a diversion, Elsbeth was guilty. I couldn’t bear to think of my precious daughter spending time every week with a murderer. After the lesson, I gave Karen my keys and asked her to wait in the car, while I spoke to Elsbeth.

  The moment Karen shut the door behind her, I said to Elsbeth, “Did you hear about my exploits as Martin’s magician assistant the other day?”

  She grinned. “No, what happened?”

  “For one thing, the birds bit my hands several times.”

  “That must’ve hurt.”

  I waited, but she wasn’t volunteering the information. I pressed on. “I noticed you had similar cuts on your hands after Corinne’s murder.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t care for the implication, Molly. I got the scratches from the birds, yes, but it happened while I was trying to put them back into their cages after Nadine let them out. Like I already told you, she’s the one who opened the cages.”

  “But Nadine didn’t have any marks on her hands.”

  “Of course not. She was wearing those red gloves.”

  “So why weren’t your gloves on then, too? You were wearing them when you came onstage after Corinne was killed. All of the clowns had gloves on at that point, except for me.”

  Elsbeth sputtered, unable. to come up with a response. Finally she uttered, “Molly, I didn’t kill Corinne. Or Olivia. I’m innocent. You have to believe me.”

  “I want to.” Which was true, for heaven’s sake, she was the only one of the suspects who came into frequent contact with one of my children.

  She began to comb her hands through her wild, red hair then left them in place, her eyes wide open. “Okay. You’re right. I was the one who let the stupid doves out of their cages, and the rabbits, too. I don’t even know why I did it. It had nothing to do with the murder. I was just having a bit of fun. And I took my gloves off for a moment because I couldn’t work the latch on the cage with them on. It was a stupid practical joke. We all looked so inane, dressed like clowns, Martin pretending to be a magician. I thought, Oh, why not let all hell break loose on stage? Next thing I knew, it did. Only it was someone with a gun, firing real bullets.”

  “Then why did you make up a bogus story about Nadine being the one to let the doves out of their cages?”

  “That woman is destroying my life, that’s why. I’m certain she’s guilty.” She set her lips into a thin line and said nothing more.

  “I’ve got to get Karen home,” I muttered, and let myself out, feeling numb.

  I said nothing at first, my mind racing as I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. “Do you like Elsbeth as much as you liked your former piano teacher?” I asked Karen.

  “Why? Is she moving back to Carlton?” Karen asked, her enthusiasm at that possibility answering my question.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh.” A moment passed. “Tamara quit piano lessons completely.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “The high school has been using our auditorium, and I ran into Tamara at a school assembly last week. I do have a life, you know, Mom.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked out the window. Either her hormones were running rampant or she was reflecting the strains from the tension of the adults and teens in her life. We remained silent the rest of the drive home.

  When I walked in the door, Jim, transfixed by whatever show was on television, said, “Lauren called. She wants you to call her back.”

  “Okay. Thanks. How’s Nathan doing on his homework?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he
in his room?”

  I had surpassed the window of attention afforded to me, and he didn’t hear the question. I located Nathan in my basement office, blowing up spaceships in some computer game of his. We went through our usual tiresome script for the daily homework argument, which we did in fast-forward, due to time constraints:

  NATHAN: Why is there such a thing as homework? Why don’t they just make the school day longer and call it schoolwork?

  EXASPERATED MOM: That’s not up to you or me to decide, so just do your work and get it over with.

  NATHAN: But I just want to be able to relax and do what I want when I’m home.

  EXASPERATED MOM: After your homework’s done, you can relax all you want.

  NATHAN: It’ll be bedtime by the time I’m done!

  EXASPERATED MOM: Then you’d best get started, hadn’t you?

  (Nathan grabs his school backpack and storms off. Exasperated Mom grabs the phone, half wishing that it were a vodka bottle.)

  Lauren answered on the second ring and told me that she had a proposition for me. “We need some temporary help at the school office tomorrow. It’s report-card day for the second trimester, and I’m there all by myself. I asked Jack if it was okay with him to have you fill in, and he said yes. Are you willing?”

  “I suppose so. But couldn’t you just borrow someone already trained from one of the other school offices?”

  “Sure we could. But I figured you’d like to be on hand tomorrow. This reporting period determines the valedictorian. They waive the seniors’ last trimester scores, because the grades won’t be in until after graduation.”

  “That could prove interesting, all right,” I replied, thinking about the parents who’d been so cutthroat in their attempts to influence their child’s standing. “I’ll be there.”

  The next morning, Lauren stiffened in her seat beside mine in the school office. I followed her gaze and spied Elsbeth storming up the sidewalk.

  “Uh-oh,” Lauren murmured, barely moving her lips and not looking at me. “We gave out the report cards during homeroom. Tamara must have called home and reported her grades to her mother between first and second periods.”