Frowning, I wasn’t sure if I could buy that scenario. If Claudine was involved with Frank, surely she wouldn’t kill him. What fun would that be to knock off her lover? Unless he had just dumped her. Hell hath no fury and all that. Like Jack Mulholland had pointed out, the woman seemed to have ice water in her veins and it wasn’t at all hard to picture Claudine shooting an arrow into Frank’s heart, stepping over his lifeless body without turning so much as an eyelash and then running up the stairs to give Meryl Streep a run for her money. So Claudine was a definite contender.
Then there was Monica. It took a great deal of effort but I ordered myself to be objective about Monica, which was hard because I really didn’t like the woman. I try not to be judgmental—and usually fail miserably—but it had taken me all of three seconds to decide that I’d never want to have coffee or lunch or anything else with Eden Academy’s administrative assistant. Throughout the entire luncheon Monica had managed to simultaneously praise the food I had served while subtly knocking it at the same time, an art form that some people excel at. It’s called damning with faint praise and I loathe people who do it.
Unfortunately, I’ve met women like Monica before. The Monicas of the world love nothing more than tossing barbed comments up in the air and lobbing them over the net like fatal tennis balls at an opponent who never sees them coming. If Monica had been fooling around with Frank Ubermann and if Frank was also fooling around with Claudine, then the hell hath no fury scenario would fit her just as well—if not better—than it fit Claudine. Monica didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would ever lose anything gracefully—not a game of tic tac toe and most definitely not a lover.
I continued to mull over my murderous options as I poured one last cup of coffee. The only other people who had been at the luncheon were Simpson Ingalls and Junebug McClellan. Simpson had made it plain that he didn’t like his co-workers but he hadn’t said anything especially derogatory about Frank, at least not that I heard. After Frank’s body had been discovered, Simpson had even gotten a little weepy while he told me about Frank being his Boy Scout leader and all the fun they used to have roasting weenies around the campfire. Again it was a prejudice of mine, but Simpson seemed too smart to murder someone, plus he didn’t have a motive that I knew about.
That left Junebug. Thinking about the tiny woman in her Wild West outfit, I shook my head. Again, maybe I was prejudiced. Junebug was simply too old to have killed Frank with a bow and arrow in spite of her Annie Oakley outfit and somewhat coarse manners.
Then again, look at our neighbor, Helen Sirott. Helen’s in her early nineties and still mows her own grass and puts up her own storm windows every fall. Junebug might be a senior citizen like Helen, one who looked old on the outside but was still spry and full of vinegar on the inside, although Helen was a nice person and I wasn’t too sure if the same thing could be said about Junebug.
This was getting me nowhere. I drained my coffee cup and then carried it to the sink and rinsed it out. It was probably a silly waste of time thinking about poor Frank Ubermann and his unfortunate demise since I would obviously never be catering another lunch at Eden Academy. My only ties left with the school were to get paid and get my plate and silverware back from Ruth Sparrow. After that the entire luncheon could fade into a traumatic memory, along with the Thanksgiving dinner where I accidentally dropped the turkey on my mother-in-law’s head and the high school prom incident that still gave me nightmares.
Of course, those traumatic memories couldn’t hold a candle to this one but in time the luncheon at Eden Academy would become less painful and more unreal. Besides, with any luck no one would ever know that Classy Catering had catered Frank Ubermann’s last meal. No one paid attention to caterers anyway.
Feeling better, I headed upstairs to get dressed. I decided that I’d stop at the school for the things I’d left with Ruth and to make sure Eden Academy had my address so they could send me a check. It seemed a little crass to worry about money at a time like this but, crass or not, I really needed to be paid before the MasterCard bill arrived.
“That was a delicious meal. I loved everything—you’re a fabulous cook. Thank you so much for thinking of me. I have your plate and silverware right here. I washed everything too.” With rapid motions that reminded me of a baby bird hopping around its nest, Ruth Sparrow reached into a drawer and pulled out my plate along with the fork and knife I had given her. “I didn’t think I’d be able to eat a bite but as soon as you left I ate every speck of food. I’ve heard grief can do that to a person—make them ravenous.”
“I’ve heard that too. It has something to do with being grateful for being alive, I think.”
“I’ve also heard that some people react to grief by wanting to have sex.” Ruth sighed. “Not me. I turn to ice cream for comfort. I suppose that’s a good thing since I’m not married and don’t have a boyfriend at the moment. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a handsome husband like you do, DeeDee.”
“Yes, well––”
“I mean it. Take care of your man. You never know what’s going to happen and you might end up like me—eating a pint of ice cream by yourself at night with nothing to wrap your arms around but a hot water bottle.”
Feeling a touch embarrassed by Ruth’s voluntary peek into her personal life, I accepted the plate and silverware and tucked them into my oversized handbag. “I’ll do that,” I said, lingering in Ruth’s doorway. While I knew it was none of my business, I couldn’t help being curious about Eden Academy, Frank Ubermann and the rest of the staff and I was dying to talk to someone who actually worked there and had the inside scoop on the school. Ruth seemed like my best bet. Plus, as the receptionist, I was sure that Ruth Sparrow knew everything that happened at Eden Academy. The third point in Ruth’s favor was that she was by far the friendliest person I had encountered since walking into the school. Feeling a bit like a bull in a china shop, I plunged ahead. “How’s everything going today?” I asked. “Pretty rough?”
Ruth shrugged. She was an attractive woman in her early fifties but that morning she looked tired and much older than she had on Friday. “It’s been a nightmare, if you really want to know,” Ruth said. “The phone has been ringing off the hook all morning long. This is the first time it’s been quiet since I got here at seven-thirty.”
“The press is calling you, I suppose?”
“The press, parents of students, community members. The school is closed today in honor of Frank’s memory and naturally parents want to know if we’ll be open tomorrow.” Ruth sighed deeply. “Frank was so well known in town and everyone wants to know what happened. Did you know that he was a Boy Scout leader for over twenty years?”
“Simpson mentioned that to me,” I replied, noting how almost reverent Ruth’s tone had become as she recalled her late boss. Et tu, Ruth? I wondered.
“He used to take the Scouts to Jamboree every single summer. He looked mighty handsome in his uniform too. Those shorts were just made for him. I feel so sorry for all the kids he’s mentored over the years. They’ve lost their leader. And his wife! My heart goes out to her. Do you know Sylvia Ubermann?”
I shook my head.
“She’s a lovely woman. She’s also quite the volunteer—always helping out with one cause or another and is a star member of her weaving club.”
The idea that Frank left a wife behind, presumably a grieving wife as well as a stellar weaver, made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t fathom life without Steve in it every single day, couldn’t imagine waking up one morning and not seeing him lying next to me in our double bed and suddenly my little game of finding out whodunit seemed less like a game and more like something that truly mattered.
“How sad for her to lose him like this. Did they have children?” I asked, hoping that they did. Children, even grown ones who no longer lived at home, would be a comfort to Frank Ubermann’s widow.
“No.” Ruth’s expression became closed. “Frank told me once that that was why he enjoyed
scouting so much as well as working in a school—so he could be around kids.”
“Oh, wow, the kids. In all of this I completely forgot about Eden Academy’s students. I suppose you’ve arranged for grief counseling?”
“Not really. Claudine thinks each teacher should deal with his or her students since the teachers know the kids best.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” I agreed. “I’m still in shock,” I added to prod Ruth back into the conversation. “I only met Frank on Friday but I liked him.”
“Everyone liked Frank,” Ruth replied. For a second, Ruth’s words sounded almost cynical but as I studied the receptionist’s still tear-stained face I decided that Ruth was being sincere.
“Did you like him, Ruth?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What was he like to work for?” I wasn’t quite sure what I would say if Ruth wanted to know why I was so curious about the late Frank Ubermann and his management skills but thankfully Ruth didn’t ask. Instead she began playing with a pile of paper clips she had on her desk.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. Was he difficult to work for?”
“Difficult?” Ruth slowly repeated.
“Did he micromanage you?” I asked, using the same expression I’d heard Jack Mulholland use the day before.
“I suppose you could say that Frank was a difficult man to work for, perhaps a micromanager,” Ruth said after a few moments of reflection. “He was very demanding.”
“How so?”
“Well, for example one time we were sending out a mailing, not a very big one just twenty or so letters. I was in a hurry so I guess I slapped the labels on pretty quickly before I put them in the box for the mailman to pick up. Frank saw them and he just had a freak out. He was so mad at me! I never saw him that mad before. He took them out of the box, waved them in my face while he gave me a lecture on being ‘unprofessional’ and then made me redo them just because I hadn’t put the labels exactly in the center of the envelopes. I pointed out to him that it would cost the school more if I printed new labels and used new envelopes—we’re on an extremely tight budget—but he said that he didn’t care and he made me redo the entire mailing using a ruler so I found the exact center.”
“That must have upset you,” I murmured.
“It did at the time but I got over it. He was right, anyway. Those letters did look pretty sloppy. I apologized and promised it would never happen again.”
“You apologized?”
“Of course. It was my fault.”
Interesting. Up until that point, I was totally buying Ruth’s beaten down employee act but now I wasn’t so sure. Ruth was just a teensy bit too beaten down to be believable. I looked around Ruth’s tiny office trying to get an idea of what the rest of the woman’s life was like. A large silver picture frame dominated the top of a row of file cabinets. Casually, I walked over to examine it more closely. It was a picture of Ruth and a pretty young girl, both dressed in bright Christmas sweaters and wearing red bows in their hair, the kind people stuck on top of packages. “What a lovely photograph,” I said, picking it up so I could see it more clearly.
“That’s my daughter, Amanda,” Ruth said proudly. “Of course, that picture is several years old but I can’t seem to take it down.”
“I don’t blame you. You both look very happy.”
“We were. That was the best Christmas we ever had.” A note of wistfulness entered Ruth’s voice making me guess that the following holidays hadn’t been nearly as joyous.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is. She’s a sophomore at the University of Illinois. She’s majoring in physical education.”
“Simply lovely,” I said again as I carefully put the picture back in its spot. “I suppose the rest of the staff is still quite upset over what happened,” I said. I wasn’t sure why Ruth hadn’t kicked me out yet but I wasn’t about to ask. It was highly possible that Ruth enjoyed having a little company. No one else had popped in to say hello in all the time that I’d been in Ruth’s office. Come to think of it, no one other than Maxi had come in the other day.
“Oh, my, yes. After all, they’ve lost their leader.”
“I wonder why Frank decided to go down to the archery room,” I said. “I thought he said he was leaving for a camping trip with his wife after lunch.”
Ruth shrugged. “Maybe he was going to borrow some of the school’s camping equipment to take along with him. He usually does. But it really isn’t odd that he went there. Archery was his passion.” Ruth stopped herself. “Well, one of them.”
“One of them?”
“One of Frank’s passions. He was a very passionate man.”
Ruth’s complexion took on a rosy glow and she dropped her gaze to the oversized calendar on her desk. Watching her, I wondered if it was possible that Ruth had been infatuated with Frank Ubermann too, along with Claudine and Monica. She certainly defended him like she might have a little bit of a crush on him. One thing was crystal clear: Frank Ubermann had charisma to spare.
The telephone on Ruth’s desk rang. “I should go,” I said as Ruth reached for the receiver but lingered nonetheless while I waited for her to finish the telephone call. I had remembered one more question for Ruth, a very important question at that.
When Ruth hung up, I said, “I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you, Ruth. I know you have a lot of work to do and I’m being a pest. It’s just that I’ve never been around before when a murder took place. The whole thing has me a little rattled.”
Ruth gave me a small smile. “You haven’t been bothering me, DeeDee. I enjoy talking with you and I certainly appreciated your thoughtfulness in bringing me a plate of food the other day. That was a first. I’m usually the forgotten woman around here.”
“I’ve enjoyed chatting with you too,” I assured her. “Maybe we could get together for lunch some time.” I meant it, too. I did like Ruth and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. “Could I ask you one more question?”
“Shoot.” Ruth said and then immediately cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that but it just slipped out. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say ‘shoot’ again without thinking about poor Frank. I meant to say go ahead. What’s your question?”
“Who would I see about getting paid?”
“Paid?”
“For the luncheon I catered,” I explained. “Claudine hired me but it was all so last minute that we never got around to having a contract other than a verbal one.”
Ruth bit her lower lip. “Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just that—never mind. I’m sure it will be all right.”
I wasn’t sure if I liked the sound of that. Ruth was holding something back and whatever it was sounded ominous. “Should I talk to Claudine about getting paid or should I go to Monica?”
“Monica?” Ruth asked with raised eyebrows.
“Well, yes. She was Frank’s assistant so I’m assuming that she handles all the bills and everything financial that happens at the school.” I didn’t add that I’d overheard Monica and Claudine squabbling over money at the luncheon. I also didn’t bring up how Monica had been watching the electric bills and wanted Jack Mulholland to kick in for what his electric kilns were costing the school. I didn’t want Ruth to think I was a complete eavesdropper. “Should I go to Monica for my check?”
Ruth laughed, a hard, short bitter laugh that seemed completely out of character for her. “That’s a toss up,” she said. “It’s also an excellent question. Both Claudine and Monica think they’re in charge of everything financial around here—along with everything else—and they’ll fight each other tooth and nail to prove it.” Her brown eyes grew darker. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now that Frank’s gone. He was always able to work with both of those women and everything always turned out all right. Now that he’s not here to act as a buffer, who knows what will happen? We’ll
probably be shut down by the end of the semester.”
I planned on getting paid before that dire scenario played out. “So who would you recommend I talk to about getting paid?” I pressed. “Claudine or Monica?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. I suppose Claudine is your best bet since she hired you. Besides, I do think Claudine is a little more ethical than Monica.”
“Oh?”
“I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I’m afraid that Monica might not have a problem with not paying you since you don’t have a written contract.” She shook her head. “The things I’ve heard over the years—we’ve had people begging to get paid and Monica has actually threatened to take them to court for harassment.”
“Why? Were they lying about what the school owed them?”
“Not as far as I know but Monica has always gone out of her way to save a dime wherever she can just so she could shine even more brightly in Frank’s eyes. He thought she could do no wrong.” Ruth’s phone rang again. “Claudine’s in her room if you want to drop in,” Ruth said as she reached for the phone. “Go up the stairs. Her room is the second one on the left.”
“Do you think that she’d mind?”
“I don’t think so. They’re all trying to get back to normal.”
I waved good-bye and then left Ruth’s tiny office and headed down the hallway toward the staircase at the end, my mind still on Ruth Sparrow. If I didn’t have Steve to depend on, I could very clearly envision myself in a dead-end job like the one Ruth had, so demeaned and marginalized that she didn’t even protest when left out of things like staff luncheons and probably raises too. I was glad Ruth had a daughter she clearly adored. Having a life outside of work made even the most dreadful jobs a little easier to take.
Chapter Nine
I found Claudine’s classroom easily. Every room had a bulletin board outside of it and Claudine’s had been made to look like a theater marquee. Large black letters outlined in rhinestones spelled out: YOUR LIFE!!! STARRING YOU!!! A huge professional photograph of Claudine wearing a slinky silver outfit was placed front and center and next to it were pictures of sulky looking teenagers who I assumed were Claudine’s students.
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