Death of a PTA Goddess

by Leslie O'Kane

  I forced a smile, still desperately hoping I could somehow bluff my way out of this. “I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You figured out who taught my husband how to dance.”

  My face felt red hot and wet with perspiration. “Susan Embrick?” I bluffed.

  “Patty Birch. He’d taken dance lessons from her as his anniversary gift to me.” Once again, tears started to run down her cheeks. “Only that’s not what I thought when that awful woman confronted Aaron and me in the parking lot of Lucinda’s. And you found out about her, somehow.” She winced, but then lifted her chin as if in defiance. With her free hand, she indicated our surroundings. “This is my last chance. I’d been waiting for you to come back here, hoping you’d be here late. Deliberately told you judging started an hour later than it actually did.”

  Desperately clinging to the notion that I could talk my way out of this, I muttered, “Let’s just go home and discuss this in the morning. Okay, Jane?”

  As if she didn’t hear a word, Jane continued: “That woman told my husband frequent customers like him were keeping the place in business. I pretended like I hadn’t heard her. After dinner, Aaron asked me to dance. That’s when he was going to surprise me. If only I’d said yes, none of this would have happened.” She grimaced. “I was too upset to dance. I claimed I wasn’t feeling well. I was so certain he was having an affair. But he’d just been sneaking out of the house for dance lessons.

  “It wasn’t my fault, not really. I couldn’t have known. That damned Patty always had to do everything her way, to be the star. I recognized that dreadful woman’s voice on the tape, calling us amoral. I put that together with some slips-of-the-tongue from Aaron and knew it was Patty Birch he’d been seeing.”

  She swiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her free hand. “I didn’t mean to kill her, Molly. I just . . . hated that woman so much. And when I doubled back and confronted her that night, she just kept using that ohso-superior voice of hers . . . telling me it wasn’t what I thought. That I needed to ask Aaron. So, I asked if I could call him. I went into the kitchen and grabbed the knife.”

  “Jane, stop. I don’t want to hear this.”

  She ignored me, fury now marring her tear-stained features. “I came back into the living room with the knife.” Jane’s eyes were glassy-looking. She looked almost inhuman. “Patty was just looking at me like I was some kind of fool. Even afterward, she almost . . . she laughed at me, Molly. She was laughing at me.”

  Jane had me so spooked, my knees shook. “I’ll help you with the police, Jane. If you’ll turn yourself in now, you can—”

  “No, Molly. That’s not the way this ends. I can’t go to jail.” She took a steeling breath.

  She looked straight at me. “It wasn’t my fault, and I’m not going to pay for that woman’s arrogance. I mean . . . what would any woman think under the circumstances?” She paused, expecting me to respond.

  “Right. Any woman would have thought her husband was having an affair.”

  She grimaced. “You know what’s funny, Molly? On our way home from Chad’s studio, that time he surprised me, you know what happened? Aaron pulled out this little note card from his jacket. He said he was going to give it to me on our actual anniversary, but never got the chance . . . and now he wasn’t sure he should even show this to me, considering who wrote it to me, but decided that I’d want it as a keepsake.”

  She let out an eerie laugh. Her eyes looked wild with fright or, perhaps, rage. “It was a note from Patty, in flawless calligraphy, of course, wishing me a happy anniversary, and thanking me for letting my husband secretly get lessons. Can you imagine how that made me feel?”

  Not really. Learning that you’d killed somebody for no reason? “Jane, please think about what you’re doing. It wasn’t premeditated. There were all sorts of extenuating circumstances. You’ll be able to get help. And I’ll vouch for you with the authorities.”

  She shook her head determinedly. “I’m in too deep, and so are you. Everyone’s always saying how you solved a couple of murders some time ago. I kept trying to warn you off . . . crashing into you on the ski run . . . the notes. You just wouldn’t quit. You’re just like Patty. Thinking you’re so much better than I am that you don’t have to listen to anything I say.”

  She lowered her arm to her side, but whatever weapon she hid there was still out of my sight in the fabric of her broomstick skirt.

  “No, Jane, that isn’t true,” I said, backing away. “You’re not gaining anything by hurting me. You won’t get away with this. It’s too late. I already told”— I paused, needing to keep Stephanie’s name out of this in case Jane would go after her—“Tommy Newton earlier tonight. He knows I’m here. He’ll send the police here for me any second now if I don’t get home. There’s no way for you to cover your tracks this time.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, that you hadn’t figured everything out, but one look at your face tonight and I knew this was my only chance. I’m leaving town tonight. By the time they find you, it’ll be morning, and I’ll be long gone. With you out of the picture and me on the lam, they’ll never know for certain it was me.” She lifted her right hand. She was holding a hatchet.

  “Oh, my God! Jane . . . you can’t possibly . . . use that on me! We’re friends!”

  “No. I have no friends. Just my husband and kids. She took them from me. I’ll have to leave them now. I’ll go back to the mountains, make a new identity for myself. I lived that way before, and I can do it again.” She glanced at her hatchet. “I’ve used this to rough out my wood sculptures. Now it’s going to help me carve out a new life.”

  Oh, Jesus. Help me! Why hadn’t Officer Bob taught us how to defend ourselves against an ax-wielding maniac? How could I get away from her?

  He’d said to use the element of surprise—not to hesitate to be the one to strike first. I didn’t have the nerve to try that now. She was too well armed.

  Keep calm. I knew there was a fire alarm near this door. She was blocking it, but maybe there was a second one by the rear exit.

  I backed into the table of displayed items behind me. Shit! Of all the useless categories for me to be near at a time like this—needlecraft. All I had to use in self-defense here were pot holders and quilts and knitted baby blankets.

  “Jane, you’re not a cold-blooded killer. You don’t want to do this.” Afraid to turn my back on her, I worked my way blindly down the long row of tables.

  Jane was content to match me step for step. She must have figured that she would back me against the wall, then make her move. I kept backing down the aisle, dragging my hand along each of the tables. Still nothing but cloth items.

  I was unable to take my eyes off the glinting sharp blade of the weapon in her hand. My God. With one blow of that monstrous thing I would, at best, be maimed for life. “Jane. Please. Think about your children.”

  “I am thinking about them. They will not be raised by their dad, their mother locked away in jail. I can’t do that to them.”

  I felt dizzy, all but faint with fright. Mindlessly, I babbled, “But you won’t be there for life. Not if you put a stop to this right now. You’ll serve your sentence and get home to them. If you kill me and run, you’ll never see them again.”

  Jane looked like some madwoman from a bad movie, her nostrils flared, her teeth gritted. She gave her head a little shake. “Maybe I’ll bring them. We’ll manage.”

  I was almost at the last table in this row. This had to be the second to last. Then I might have to turn and run. Yet my instincts warned me that the only reason she hadn’t struck me already was that she was waiting for just that—for the moment when I turned away.

  Damn it! Still just cloth goods. Did every woman in this entire goddamned town except me have to sew? Where in hell was something solid! And sharp!

  “You won’t be able to run forever, Jane. You know that’s true. Besides, I already told Tommy ab
out the woman at Lucinda’s. He got a description of your husband from the employees. By now, he already knows everything you told me. It’s too late, Jane.”

  At last, I touched something hard. It was a small glass jar. Probably preserves.

  I talked louder, hoping to distract her with my words. “You know you can’t run forever.”

  She kept slowly coming toward me. I threw the jar at her head as hard as I could. I whirled around without waiting to assess the damage.

  She let out a cry of pain and surprise. I ran for all I was worth. A jar whizzed just past my ear, and I darted around the corner.

  Instinctively, I dodged behind a partition and into another aisle.

  At last—sculptures!

  Jane shouted, “Molly, you’re the one who can’t run. Face it. You’re overmatched.”

  At least she had hard-soled shoes on to my tennis shoes. I could hear her footsteps more easily than she could mine. I took off at a dead run down this aisle. Though the partitions blocked all view to the other aisles, I could hear her just on the other side of this row. She was shadowing my movements.

  I stopped at the next display. It was metalwork. Some artist had crafted a stainless steel end table. I grabbed it by one leg and held the table like a baseball bat and waited for her to turn the corner. I tried to keep silent, but was panting for air. If she could hear my hard breathing, she would hack me with that hideous ax and it would all be over for me.

  “Molly? I can hear you. I know where you are.”

  Her voice was directly on the other side of this partition, which looked flimsily constructed. I held my breath.

  The table in my hands was heavy, and I couldn’t keep my arms cocked like this for long.

  I turned around and gave the second-to-last partition a thrust-kick. The partition teetered for a moment, then toppled over into Jane’s aisle. Praying that she would still be looking at the fallen makeshift wall, I raced around that corner and into her aisle.

  I swung at her head with my heavy little table just as she was starting to turn back toward me. The corner cracked into her temple with a sickening thud, but again I didn’t stop to see what had happened to her. As she crumpled to the floor, I ran for the nearest exit.

  Something hard and heavy skittered down the cement floor at me and clipped me in the ankle. I hollered in pain and fell, afraid that she’d hurled the hatchet and had struck my leg with the blade.

  Despite the pain, I scrambled to my feet and caught a look at the weapon she’d thrown. It was a large, sun-shaped, metal discus. The thing was heavy, made of steel, perhaps.

  Jane charged at me so fast, there was no hope of my outrunning her.

  I dived back down and grabbed the sun sculpture, rolling over onto my back.

  Jane let out a scream and swung the hatchet down at me. Gripping the sculpture with both hands, I held it over me.

  The ax blade clanged into my shield, sending horrid aftershocks down my arms. The impact threw her off balance. I managed to get to my feet. I kneed her in the stomach before she could strike again. She doubled over, and I smacked her in the side of the face with the metal sculpture. I staggered toward the front door.

  My vocal chords were making an animal-like moan as I limped across the room. It was as if I’d lost control of my own voice.

  I threw the alarm. The shrill noise was the most welcome sound I’d ever heard.

  A partition came crashing down. Jane stomped over the top of it like Godzilla gone mad. Blood poured from her temple and her chin. She was breathing hard, holding her hatchet in one hand, by her side.

  Jesus, God! Did this woman have nine lives!?!

  “You’re gonna die, damn you!” Jane shrieked and rushed toward me.

  My back smacked against the padlocked doors. No place to go, I charged at her. I grabbed her forearm before she could strike again with the hatchet. We barreled into a folding table. The displayed candles clattered to the floor.

  The table held for a second or two. Jane dropped her hatchet. She threw her forearm into my neck. The table collapsed beneath our weight.

  Jane took the brunt of our fall as I landed on top of her. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed her weapon, and raced to the window. I swung at it, shattering the glass.

  There was a noise behind me. I turned.

  Once again, Jane had risen.

  She still looked wild with rage, ready to charge at me. I prepared to swing her hatchet, gripping it firmly with both hands. “Stop!” I cried. “I’ll kill you!”

  She took another step toward me. Her breaths were coming in half groans.

  She put a hand to her eye as if confused why she couldn’t see clearly. Then she looked at her own blood on her fingertips.

  Her demeanor changed. She seemed to sag a little.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I again warned. “I’ll use this if I have to.”

  Outside, a police or fire engine siren wailed. Its reassuring cry grew louder.

  “It’s over, Jane.”

  She gave a glance at the shattered window. She’d heard the sirens, too.

  Jane slowly dropped to her knees. She curled into the fetal position and cried like a little girl. Moving as quickly as possible without cutting myself on the glass shards, I climbed outside through the shattered window.

  A firetruck turned the corner onto this road. I dropped the hatchet and waved both arms as the headlights caught me in their steady beam.

  Chapter 20

  Épée Log

  Nathan scored a tenth touch, winning his sparring bout. He shook his opponent’s hand, who, as I learned when the red hair came spilling out from underneath her mask, was Kelly Birch. Nathan yanked off his mask, reached back, and unplugged the wire that enabled his épée to be connected to a scoring device, and came toward me. “Hey, Mom, is it all right if I have dinner at Kelly’s house tonight?”

  “It’s okay with me, but first we’ll have to make sure it’s okay with Kelly’s . . . with Amber.”

  Kelly overheard and trotted up to us. “I already asked her if Nathan could come over after fencing, and she said it was fine.” She leaned toward Nathan and said into his ear, “She’s making lasagna tonight, and I gotta warn you, she’s not exactly the world’s best cook.”

  “That’s okay. Neither’s my mom.”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I feigned resentment at his remark. “Actually, Nathan, I am, in fact, the World’s Best Cook. I’ve got an apron someplace in the pantry that says so.”

  Both kids chuckled.

  “Hurry up and get ready, guys. Karen is waiting for us in the car.”

  “Why?” Nathan asked.

  “She and I are going shopping after I drop you both off.”

  I returned to the car to wait with Karen, who immediately said, “Are they coming? We’re supposed to meet Rachie and Lauren at the mall in twenty minutes!”

  “Lauren and Rachel will wait for us even if we’re a few minutes late.”

  Karen fidgeted with her nails and said nothing. She needed a clutch purse to match her dress for tomorrow night’s festivities. A friend of Adam’s had asked Rachel to the prom, and so the two couples were double-dating. Through some extrapolation of teenage logic, that meant that they absolutely had to shop for purses together.

  A few minutes later, Kelly and Nathan kept up a steady patter of conversation in the backseat as I drove to Kelly’s home.

  Ignoring Karen’s plaintive cries about the time—if she’d had things her way, we’d have pushed her brother and Kelly out the car doors without even coming to a full stop—I accompanied them inside to double-check with Amber. Not only was Nathan invited for dinner, but Amber made my day by saying that, if this recipe proved to be any good, she and Randy would like to have us all over for dinner soon.

  I thanked her and returned to the car, keeping my eyes, as always, averted from the house directly across the street. The day would surely come when I would be able to look at that house without getting a lump in my throat, but
with just six weeks having passed since the murder, that day had not yet arrived.

  Last week, Susan had found the video of Patty spiking her drink and had shown it to me. Everything had taken place precisely as Susan had described, with Patty spiking Susan’s orange juice in what was apparently a desperate attempt to coax information out of Susan that Patty hoped could help her to win back her ex-husband. Nevertheless, Susan had surprised me by saying that her biggest regret was that she hadn’t forgiven Patty sooner— that she’d never told Patty how much her friendship over the years had meant to her.

  I, too, missed Patty terribly, despite having learned that she’d been just as far from perfect as everyone else. Maybe we love our friends in part because of their flaws and their willingness to reveal them to us.

  With my vision still down-turned, I opened my car door, only to find Karen in the driver’s seat.

  “Can I drive?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  I got into the passenger side. The moment I’d shut my door, Karen put the car in reverse, gunned the engine, and we shot down the driveway. Instead of negotiating the slight curve, she drove us onto the landscaping rocks.

  “Karen, turn the wheel!” I cried, grabbing the dashboard for support but looking over my shoulder. She turned, but in exactly the wrong direction. “Left! Not right!” We were now practically on their side lawn. “Stop! You’re going to hit the mailbox!”

  Karen hit the brakes. “Well, it’s not my fault!” she cried. “It makes me nervous when you yell at me!”

  She’d stopped the car half on the driveway, the other half on the landscaping rocks. She unfastened her seat belt and opened her door.

  “Do you want me to drive?”

  “Yes. But only when I have to go backward. I can go forward just fine.”

  I got out, too, to check for any tire tracks or other damage to Amber and Randy’s property. Everything appeared to be fine, but I intended to tell Amber about this after dinner when I picked up Nathan.

  As I returned to the driver’s side, I caught a full view of Patty’s house. The structure and its property were as well maintained and welcoming as ever, despite the for-sale sign in the yard.