by Linda Reilly
Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure how to begin. “Andy, I didn’t go to high school in Whisker Jog, so I never got to know any of the teachers. My friend Sherry Bowker did, though.”
“I remember Sherry. She and her mom run the coffee shop.” He frowned, the lines in his face deepening. “Her mom baked the cookie Gladys supposedly died from. I say supposedly because, despite what the police say, I think the whole horrible mess was an accident.”
“That’s...very interesting.” Lara paused. “So, you have every faith in Daisy Bowker’s innocence?”
“I do, indeed,” he said.
Keeping her voice low, Lara leaned toward him. “Andy, what bothers me is that so many people seemed to have had a grudge against Miss Plouffe. I got the impression she wasn’t too well liked.”
Casteel remained stone-faced. He folded his hands on the table. “There’s some truth to what you’re saying, Lara. But I’m sure you’re aware that some teachers treat school like a popularity contest. They joke with the kids. They make their classes fun.” He made air quotes around the word. “If it works for them, and their students learn, then that’s great. More power to them. But for other teachers it’s not that easy. Miss Plouffe, I’m sorry to say, was one of the less popular teachers. Given that status, she took a much different approach to teaching—she had to be firmer than most.”
“Firmer,” Lara said quietly. “Wasn’t it a little more than that? Wasn’t she more of a bully? Especially to the boys?”
The principal’s face reddened. He stared down at the Koontz book. “All right look, Lara, I’ll come right out and say it. Without question, Gladys was always tougher on the male students than she was on the girls. She didn’t want boys taking her class, period. She was just too old-fashioned.”
“Then why didn’t she just resign? Retire early? Find a different career? This is the twenty-first century.”
Andy smiled, then shook his head. “Come on, Lara—you’re a smart woman. You know it’s not that simple.” He slid his hand across the table and touched her fingers. The gesture made her want to snatch back her hand, but she didn’t want to interrupt his momentum. “And, not that it was fair, but she didn’t have any patience for the girls who couldn’t sew, either. Sewing was Gladys’s first and only love. The culinary part of the class was just to satisfy the curriculum requirements. She couldn’t have cared less about cooking.”
That had to be why Miss Plouffe had poked fun at Sherry’s sewing skills. Sherry hated sewing, and therefore wasn’t a student worth teaching.
Lara pulled her hand back and clasped both hands in her lap. “You seem to have known a lot about her.”
Andy gave her an odd look, then glanced off at an imaginary spot on the wall. “I’ve known Gladys, knew Gladys, since I was a teenager,” he said, so softly she barely heard him.
He suddenly looked vulnerable, like a lost little boy. Gladys had meant something to him. Lara was sure of it.
Had they been involved romantically? Was that why Andy’s wife left him?
Somehow Lara couldn’t picture the two as a couple. But, as she’d learned the hard way, anything was possible.
Either that or Gladys was blackmailing him over something. Everyone had a secret or two, didn’t they? Lara’s was a cat no one else could see. Did Miss Plouffe know something about Andy Casteel that he didn’t want revealed to the world?
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Lara said. “Even with all the complaints against Miss Plouffe, she never lost her job. Why was that?”
Andy glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot, then gave a quick shake of his head. Lara waited. She sensed he was wrestling with a decision. To tell or not to tell—is that what he was thinking?
His eyes became glassy, and he cleared his throat. “Lara, I’m a fairly good judge of character. In my job I have to be. My gut tells me you’re a trustworthy person. Someone who can keep a confidence.”
Uh-oh.
“I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone, and I’m serious when I say that.”
“Okay,” she said, her pulse throbbing in her veins.
Andy apparently sensed her hesitation. He smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. It’s just a glimpse into Gladys’s history—and mine—that’ll help you see where I was coming from.”
Lara felt every muscle in her body relax. “Sure. Go ahead, Andy.”
“I grew up in the same neighborhood as Gladys. My folks didn’t have much, but they were hard workers. There was a nine-year age difference between my younger brother and me, so I always got stuck babysitting him after school. I hated it. To make matters worse, Artie was the most hyperactive kid you ever saw. He was like a jumping bean, always in constant motion. I swear, I wanted to put a leash on him.”
Lara smiled, encouraging him to continue.
“Anyway, being your typical, self-centered teenage boy, I always did the least amount of work I could get away with. So this one day, after school, I dragged Artie with me to the park. Some of my buds were there, shooting hoops. I plunked Artie on the grass with a couple of his action figures and told him to play quietly and stay put.”
“Oh boy.”
“Yeah, oh boy. So anyway, I’m having a great old time shooting hoops with my friends. We got kind of rowdy, like we always did. I never even saw Artie disappear. Next thing I know, there’s a squeal of brakes that made my heart jump into my throat. I look toward the street and see this pink box flying through the air like a missile. And there’s Gladys Plouffe—she’s racing across the roadway toward Artie, who’s walking directly into the path of an oncoming car. Lara, you should have seen her. She tackled him like she was an NFL linebacker. They both landed on the grass at the edge of the park. That car missed my brother by a cat’s whisker.” He held up his thumb and forefinger and pinched them together.
“I think my heart would have stopped!”
“Mine dropped into my sneakers. Worst of all, I couldn’t even see Artie. Gladys’s compact little body was covering his entirely, except for one shoeless little foot that stuck out from under her leg.”
Lara pictured the scene in her head. “You must have been so terrified. I can’t even imagine it.”
“I was beyond terrified.” He chuckled and shook his head. “My insides froze up like one big Popsicle. And the driver of the car, when he finally got out, was shaking uncontrollably. ‘Who’s supposed to be watching that kid?’ he screamed at me. By that time, my buddies had all rushed over to check out the commotion.”
“It must have been sheer chaos,” Lara said.
“What scared me most was that Gladys hadn’t moved. For one horrible moment I thought she and Artie were both goners. I reached down to pull her off Artie when she stiff-armed the ground and hoisted herself upward. I’ll never forget her face. It was red with fury. She reached down and jerked Artie up by the collar, pushing him around until his feet were planted on the ground. ‘Which of you morons is supposed to be watching this little twerp?’ she sputtered out.”
Lara couldn’t help smiling. Miss Plouffe’s snarky personality had apparently been cultivated at an early age. “What about Artie—was he okay?”
“Oh, he was fine, the little monster. A bit numb from shock, with two badly scraped knees.” Andy’s expression sobered.
Wow, Lara thought. Miss Plouffe as lifesaver—who’d have imagined it?
“You mentioned a pink box. What was that all about?” Lara asked him.
Andy sighed. “Poor Gladys. It was her precious sewing box. I found out later she’d been on her way to catch the bus to Mrs. Thryce’s house. She did a lot of sewing for the old woman.”
That got Lara’s attention.
“Did her sewing box survive the ordeal?”
Andy winced, as if the memory hurt. “I retrieved it from the side of the road and handed
it to her. She snatched it out of my hand like I was going to contaminate it. I’ll never forget her face that day, Lara—it was actually kind of pretty back then. She opened the box so tenderly I thought the crown jewels must be in there. When she saw the jumbled mess inside—needles, threads, you name it, all clumped together—her face collapsed, and tears fell down her cheeks. I asked if I could help her straighten it out, but she slapped my hand away and told me to go...well, you can fill in the blank.”
Lara could. Easily. “Did she at least have a decent home life?”
“No, I’m afraid she didn’t. It was just her and her mom, and her mom drank. A lot. If Gladys hadn’t taught herself to sew, they’d have probably been homeless. Gladys kept the family together, such as it was, doing alterations and making clothes for people. Sad part? Everyone said the mom was a super nice lady. She just couldn’t get sober, no matter how hard she tried.”
“That is sad,” Lara said. She suspected that Mrs. Thryce had paid Gladys well for her sewing services. Was it the generosity of the Thryce family that had kept the Plouffes’ heads from sinking below the water?
“Andy, how old would you say Gladys was when she rescued your brother?”
Andy mulled over her question. “Well, let’s see. I was about fifteen. I’d say she was twenty-three, twenty-four?”
And she was still sewing for Mrs. Thryce.
“When did she start teaching?”
“Now that,” he said, “I’m not sure of. I went off to Plymouth State when Artie was in fifth grade, I think. Frankly, I lost track of her. I heard she left town for a while, too. I’m not sure how she even paid for college. There were rumors floating around, nasty ones. Some people thought she’d had a secret lover, but I doubt it was true. No one got close to Gladys. No one.”
Lara was stunned at how much she’d learned from Andy. Not that it had anything to do with Miss Plouffe’s death. That was still a mystery. But knowing Miss Plouffe’s history, what she’d endured as a kid and as a young woman, helped Lara gain a better perspective of her. She felt guilty, now, for having condemned the woman based only on the opinions of others—even if some of those others were Lara’s nearest and dearest.
“Make no mistake, Lara,” Andy said, his voice hoarse. “Gladys saved my brother’s life that day. If he’d been killed or crippled, it would have been my fault. And it would have torn my family apart.” He swallowed, his eyes burning into hers with a silent plea. “Does that help any? Does it help you understand?”
“It tells me everything,” Lara said. “I heard you mention to Gideon that you lost your brother recently. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. And Lara, I want to say one last thing. Please...please don’t think that I didn’t try reasoning with Gladys about her attitude. God knows I did, more times than I can count. And each time, she’d be better for a while. But then she’d backslide, right into her old ways. As I mentioned, she was unforgiving with the boys. But keep in mind, not everyone hated Gladys. A few of the girls, the ones who loved to sew, praised her name to holy heaven. Some of them said she was the best teacher they ever had. No matter what Gladys did, she always had a small cadre of kids who stuck up for her. For every student who hated her, there was another one who adored her.”
“All girls, I assume.”
He nodded. “All girls. Several years ago, one of the kids put a garter snake in her hand-sewn purse. The purse was a colorful, flowered thing she designed herself, with all sorts of hidden pockets and snaps. I wasn’t in the room when she found the snake, but I heard the scream from all the way down the hall. Afterward, I found out she burned the pocketbook. But even after all that, she didn’t quit. She switched to using a fanny pack, or whatever they call it, so no one could get to it. I never saw her carry a purse again. Gladys always found ways to put up walls to protect herself.”
Like eating alone in her classroom to avoid shellfish contamination.
Lara understood, now, why Andy had never been able to bring the hammer down on Miss Plouffe.
It also confirmed the connection between Gladys and Mrs. Thryce.
Mrs. Thryce—who died in the nursing home. Had any of her family members been present? Had Todd been there when she passed?
Lara glanced at the wall clock. Andy had been generous with his time. He answered all her nosy questions, and more. Nonetheless, she felt guilty for having corralled him into spilling his private story.
“Andy, did you know any of the Thryces?”
“Not really. They didn’t exactly travel in our circles. But there wasn’t much to the family, when I think about it. Todd’s dad and mom both died sort of young, and Todd ended up living with his grandmother. There was an uncle, as I recall, but he lived out of town. Rumor had it the old lady threw him out, but who knows? People love to gossip about rich people.”
“That they do.” She glanced again at the clock. “Oh good glory, I’ve taken up twenty minutes of your time.”
His gaze grew distant. “Ah, Lara, not to worry. I spend my evenings reading reports and answering complaints from parents. This has been a welcome diversion.” He rose from his chair and held out his hand.
The loneliness in his eyes trickled into his handshake. “Gideon is a very lucky man. I hope he knows that.”
Lara felt a surge of heat suffuse her face. “That’s a nice thing to say, Andy. May I ask one last question?”
“You surely may,” he said gallantly.
“Who teaches home ec at the school now?”
“No one. One of the reasons I encouraged Gladys to retire when she did was that I knew the school board was going to drop it from the curriculum. Most schools don’t even teach it anymore. Or if they do, they call it something like Life Skills. Anyway, I sure as heck didn’t want to be the one to tell her the class was being eliminated. Easier to let her believe the board dropped the class because they knew that once she retired, she’d be irreplaceable.”
“You’re a kind man, Andy Casteel.”
“Nah. Just a former teacher who’s grateful for the good things life has given him.”
Lara thanked him again, and they parted. Aunt Fran was probably wondering what she’d been doing all this time. Not that she had to explain herself. Her aunt was good about respecting her privacy.
She had two final tasks to complete before leaving the library. With Andy having interrupted her at the desk, she’d nearly forgotten. She located a copy of Rebecca in the fiction section and pulled it off the shelf.
“Hey, Ellie, I’m back,” Lara said, sliding her borrowed book across the counter. “I’m turning this one in and checking this one out.”
Ellie tapped her wristwatch and scowled. “God, is it only seven thirty-five?” She gave Lara an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I’m extra tired tonight.” She eyed the cover of Treats for Your Cat and rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet this was a real page-turner.”
“It was actually helpful, but I want to ask you something. Would you be able to check your records to see who borrowed it in March of nineteen ninety?”
“Nineteen ninety? You mean like, almost thirty years ago?”
“Yeah, I know it’s a long shot.”
“Not just a long shot,” Ellie said. “Even if we could track it back that far, there’s a state law prohibiting us from giving you the info. Any special reason you need it?”
“Not really,” Lara fibbed. “Curiosity, mostly.”
Ellie took Lara’s card and checked out Rebecca, then returned her card to her. “Then I guess you’re out of luck. Sorry.”
“Hey, thanks, Ellie. I tried, right?”
“Yeah, no harm in trying.”
Lara thanked Ellie, then bundled up her jacket, tucking her scarf tightly around her neck. The weather app on her phone said it was nine degrees outside.
When she got into the Saturn, she cranked the engine. It groaned, but it started. T
hank heaven.
She was putting on her seat belt when her phone dinged with a text. She dug it out of her tote, pulled off a glove, and tapped it open. The message, accompanied by a photo, was from Aunt Fran:
No need to open the gifts from your mom. Valenteena did it for you.
Lara enlarged the pic, then laughed until tears spilled down her cheeks. The photo showed Valenteena stretched out on the floor, the spaghetti strap of a lacy red negligee draped over one furry ear. The rest of the garment was wrapped around the little cat like a flimsy, see-through blanket.
“Oh, Teena, my sweet little valentine, you definitely made my day.” She could only imagine the mess Teena had made ripping open the boxes.
One more thing to do, she told herself.
Lara stuck her phone back in her tote and headed for home.
Chapter 23
Lara held up the flimsy bit of nylon to the golden glow of the lampshade. She swung it back and forth like a flag. “Good glory, Aunt Fran. What was my mother thinking? I could read the paper through this thing!”
She’d rescued the nightie from Teena’s clutches, only to find it embellished with dozens of punctures.
Aunt Fran sat on the sofa with Dolce curled in her lap. Snowball’s head and forepaws nestled on her aunt’s shoulder, her back end resting on the top of the sofa. She gazed at Lara with her distinctive eyes, as if she were listening to every word.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” Aunt Fran said with a chuckle, “but Teena made that nightie even more see-through than it was.”
Lara folded the nightie into a neat square, which ended up about the size of a business card. A horrible thought gripped her. “Aunt Fran, the nightie was definitely from Mom, right? You saw the name on the tag?”
“Don’t worry, it was. There’s a gift labeled to you from Rodney, but it’s fairly heavy. There are two other boxes from your mom, but I rescued those before Teena got her teeth into them. I stuck everything at the top of the coat closet for safekeeping.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. Thanks.” Lara plopped onto her favorite chair and dangled her legs over the side. “I guess I’ll have to thank Mom...eventually. Maybe I’ll wait till after Christmas.”
