Phyllis’s voice trailed off as she saw the look on Frances’s face.
“Too much?” she said, then put her fingertips to her forehead and closed her eyes for a second as something else occurred to her. “So many people know that I’ve been mixed up in all those murder cases. And some of them have been pretty bloody. I guess . . . that wouldn’t be in the best taste, would it?”
“It’s not just that, Phyllis. You know how school administrations are these days about anything controversial.”
“Yes, there’s nothing you can do that somebody, somewhere, won’t complain about.”
“I’m afraid somebody might see cookies like that as promoting violence,” Frances said. “I know, it’s crazy to think that somebody could believe that about any kind of cookie . . .”
“But it could certainly happen,” Phyllis agreed, nodding. “And what’s the point of taking the chance, when I could make plain sugar cookies instead.” She smiled. “I’ll bet the kids would have liked the ‘bloody’ ones, though.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that!”
“What about the black cat brownies? Too controversial? Will basing something on a superstition be considered, I don’t know, promoting Satanism or something?”
“I hope not. But you’d better let me check with Mr. Shula.”
“Of course. I’m a little surprised they let you advertise it as a Friday the Thirteenth dance.”
“Well, if you look at the posters we put up,” Frances said, “they don’t have any pictures or graphics on them, just text. I figured that would be safe.”
Phyllis hadn’t noticed that, but she was sure she would the next time she saw one of the posters.
They chatted for a few more minutes, then Phyllis went back to her room to finish getting ready for the next day’s classes. While she was doing that, her cell phone chimed its text message tone. She picked it up from the desk and read: Going home w/u K? She would have known the message was from Ronnie even if the phone hadn’t shown her name on the display.
Okay, Phyllis responded, typing out the whole word. I’ll be done here in about 20 more minutes.
K
Phyllis wondered idly if everyone in her generation who texted took the time and trouble to spell out words and punctuate correctly. That slowed down the process, but she had realized very quickly that she would never master the technique of using her thumbs and composing messages with blinding speed, the way most of the kids could. It was like those math team kids punching keys on the calculator, as Sam had mentioned. Some skills were just beyond people her age, and there was no point in feeling guilty about it.
She could still do a lot of things most of these youngsters couldn’t, she thought, then grinned wryly. Maybe she was closer to being a geezer than she had claimed to Sam.
◄♦►
When she was finished getting ready for the next day, Phyllis locked up the classroom and walked along the hall toward the doors closest to the faculty parking lot. At this time of day, with a lot of after-school activities going on, all the entrances were unlocked, of course. All the kids involved with band and athletics and other extracurriculars were still here, as were many of the teachers. The school wouldn’t really clear out until six or seven o’clock, and even after that there were liable to be a few people around other than the custodians.
When Phyllis stepped outside, a flash of something blue caught her eye off to the right. The attached gymnasium loomed in that direction, up a slight, grassy hill. Where the gym met the main building, there was a small alcove where a service entrance was located. A concrete walk along the back of the gym led to that area. Supplies on dollies could be wheeled in that way.
At the edge of that alcove was where Phyllis had seen the flash of blue. She wouldn’t have thought anything about it, if the color hadn’t been an exact match for Ronnie’s hair.
Of course, there could be other things that same color—a shirt, a jacket, a backpack. Ronnie wouldn’t have any reason to be around that service entrance.
As Phyllis paused, though, she realized she had finished with her preparations for the next day’s classes a little sooner than she’d expected, and sooner than she had told Ronnie. Ronnie might believe she still had a few minutes before she needed to meet Phyllis at the parking lot.
Which still didn’t explain what she was doing up there . . . if, indeed, that was her Phyllis had seen.
The simplest thing would be to go on to the car, Phyllis told herself. She could ask Ronnie about it, if she decided to be that nosy. But she wasn’t the girl’s grandmother, so maybe it would be best for her to just mind her own business.
She might have actually done that if Ray Brooks hadn’t come around the corner where he could see along the walkway into the alcove at that moment. Brooks stopped for a second, then strode quickly toward the service entrance that Phyllis couldn’t see from where she was. His attitude clearly indicated that something was wrong.
If there was even the slightest possibility Ronnie was involved in whatever it was, Phyllis knew she couldn’t ignore that.
She started up the little incline toward the gym.
By the time she reached a point where she could see, Brooks was already at the alcove. She heard him say in a loud, angry voice, “All right, that’s enough.”
Brooks was confronting two students who stood in the alcove. One was a dark-haired, medium-sized boy who looked vaguely familiar to Phyllis, as if she had seen him in the halls but didn’t have him in any of her classes.
The other student was Ronnie.
The boy said, “We weren’t doing anything—”
“I saw what you were doin’,” Brooks interrupted. “I don’t care what you horny little bas—” He must have caught sight of Phyllis approaching from the corner of his eye, because he stopped short for a second and then went on, “I don’t care what you do other places, but you’re not gonna do that on school property.”
Phyllis’s first thought was that Brooks must have seen Ronnie and the boy smoking. But there were no cigarette butts on the concrete floor inside the alcove, she noticed, and no smell of tobacco—or anything else that could be smoked—in the air.
That just left one reasonable possibility.
Ronnie looked surprised and upset to see Phyllis, but there was a note of determination in her voice as she began, “This isn’t Chase’s fault—”
“Don’t give me that,” Brooks said. “I know what kind of kid he is.”
“You might not know as much as you think you do,” the boy said tightly.
Although young man would probably be a better way to describe him than boy, Phyllis decided. He had to be a senior, but something about his eyes, the way he carried himself, spoke to a maturity greater than that. She saw that in rare students. She had seen it in her own son Mike, who was now a Parker County deputy sheriff.
“What’s going on here?” Phyllis asked.
Brooks glanced at her, looking annoyed that she had interjected herself into the situation. He jerked his head toward Ronnie and said, “Isn’t this your granddaughter?”
“No, she’s my friend Sam Fletcher’s granddaughter.”
“I knew there was some connection. If you’re Coach Fletcher’s friend, you’d better warn him that his granddaughter doesn’t have any more sense than to be slutting around with a punk.”
“Hey!” Ronnie said. “You can’t say things like that!”
“You were makin’ out with Hamilton here, weren’t you?” Brooks demanded.
“You don’t know what you saw,” said the young man, whose name, evidently, was Chase Hamilton.
Brooks shook his head and sneered. “I’ve worked around schools long enough to have seen it all, kid. Don’t waste your breath denying it.” He pointed with a thumb. “Get outta here.”
Ronnie said, “This is public property. You can’t—”
“It’s school district property, and I sure can. In fact, I’m pretty sure one of the resource officers is still here, and I
can call him if you want.” Brooks reached for a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
The resource officers were actual police officers assigned to the school, and Phyllis didn’t particularly want one of them called in to handle a problem that involved Ronnie. She knew Sam wouldn’t want that, either.
Chase Hamilton appeared to feel the same way. Before Phyllis could say anything, he told Brooks, “All right. I’m sorry. I’m going, Mr. Brooks. No need to make this any worse.”
“I won’t be the one makin’ it worse. You did that already.”
“Okay.” Chase glanced at Ronnie but didn’t say anything or make a move to touch her. He walked away quickly.
“This isn’t fair!” Ronnie said.
Brooks grinned, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “Whoever told you life was fair was full of it, kid.”
Ronnie looked at Phyllis and said, “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“There’s really nothing I can do,” Phyllis said. She didn’t like Ray Brooks, but she didn’t know anything about Chase Hamilton except that he was older than Ronnie and shouldn’t have been in the alcove making out with her. “Why don’t you go on to the car? I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ronnie managed to look worried and defiant at the same time. “Are you going to tell Gramps about this?”
“We’ll see.”
Ronnie blew out a disgusted, angry breath and stalked off toward the parking lot. Even though there were still quite a few cars there, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding Phyllis’s Lincoln. There was a good reason Sam sometimes called it a gunboat. It was a large, distinctive vehicle.
Phyllis started to follow the girl, but Brooks stopped her by saying, “I meant what I said. If Fletcher’s your friend, you’d better warn him. He doesn’t want his granddaughter hanging around with Chase Hamilton.”
“I agree, they shouldn’t have been doing what they were doing, but . . . they’re teenagers. Like it or not, Mr. Brooks, we knew there’s going to be a certain amount of that going on around a school. There always has been, and I suspect there always will be.”
“Yeah, I’m not just talking about the makin’ out. It’s the bunch Hamilton runs with that oughta worry you and the girl’s granddad.” Brooks paused for a second. “They’re responsible for just about all the drug dealing that goes on in this school.”
Chapter 5
Phyllis stared at him. Worry suddenly felt like a trapped animal lunging around inside her.
“Drugs?” she repeated.
“That’s right,” Brooks said.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m around this school all day every day. I see what goes on in the parking lots, in the woods over there on the other side of the soccer pitch, in the out of the way corners inside the buildings . . . Do I have proof I can take to the cops? Not yet, maybe. But I know what goes on.”
Phyllis had no reason to doubt him, other than his surly nature that might make him more suspicious than was called for, as well as what seemed to be a natural dislike for the kids. But none of that meant that he was wrong.
Like he said, he was in a position to see what went on.
“I just thought that the young man didn’t really seem like the type—”
Brooks let out a contemptuous snort and waved a hand. “You can’t tell anything by looking at them! Well, some of the really bad ones you can, but I’ve seen plenty of the clean-cut types who are just as bad. Or even worse. I promise you, Hamilton’s right in the thick of it. I’m not just talkin’ about weed, either. That bunch is dealing pills, meth, maybe even harder stuff. Blue-haired weirdo or not, that girl doesn’t need to be around that.”
Under other circumstances, Phyllis might have been angry at him for calling Ronnie a blue-haired weirdo. And she probably would be upset about that, later. But right now she was too concerned with other things.
“I’ll speak to Sam,” she said.
“Good. Tell him to keep a tighter rein on the girl.”
It wasn’t easy to keep a tight rein on teenagers, and in many cases, not even desirable to do so, Phyllis thought. But this might be one of those times, considering Ronnie’s recent history of erratic behavior and clashes with her parents.
Phyllis nodded to Brooks and walked toward the parking lot.
When she reached the Lincoln, Ronnie was slumped in the front seat on the passenger side, her head down and an angry glare on her face. Phyllis got in and closed the door, and Ronnie said without looking at her, “I suppose I’m in trouble now.”
“I’m not your grandmother,” Phyllis said. “If you’re expecting me to scold you, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“But you’re going to tell Gramps, and then he’ll yell at me. He’s liable to send me back to Pennsylvania.” Ronnie’s head came up. “But I won’t go. I’ll run away for real this time.”
“Sam’s not the sort to yell unless there’s a really good reason. And I can’t imagine him sending you away . . . unless he believed it was the best thing for you.”
“And what about what I think is best?”
“Evidently that includes letting some boy paw you in an alcove.”
“He didn’t—! Chase wasn’t pawing me. What an old-fashioned word.”
“I’m old . . . and old-fashioned,” Phyllis said. “And he was kissing you, wasn’t he?”
“No, he wasn’t,” Ronnie insisted. She took a deep breath. “If you have to know, I was kissing him. Chase didn’t start it. And I think he was just as surprised as you were when you walked up.”
Phyllis frowned. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yeah. I was on my way out here to the parking lot when I saw him up there talking to somebody on his phone. I made a detour, okay? I went to talk with him, and maybe I got carried away—”
“You kissed him.”
“All right, yeah, I already said I did, didn’t I? He’s just so . . . cute . . . and nice and brave . . .”
What she was hearing made Phyllis feel slightly relieved. Ronnie sounded like a lovestruck junior high girl now, instead of the ironic, hipster-y attitude she usually displayed. Phyllis said, “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”
Ronnie glared down at the floorboards and muttered, “It’s nobody’s business if I do.”
“It might be somebody else’s business if you act on it.”
“Gramps, you mean?”
“Actually,” Phyllis said, “I was talking about Chase. You said he was surprised when you kissed him.”
“Yeah, and he was already annoyed that I’d interrupted his phone call.”
Because he’d been setting up a drug deal? Phyllis asked herself.
She didn’t say that. Instead she asked, “He’s never asked you out or anything like that?”
“Well . . . no. I talk to him every day, though. At least I try to.”
“But he’s not interested?”
“He’s always nice! I’m sure he’ll start to like me . . .”
Not all of Phyllis’s worries had been eased, by any means, but at least she felt better about the situation now. Ronnie had a crush on Chase Hamilton and had been pursuing him, but from the sound of it, he didn’t return her feelings. However, he was a teenage boy, so . . .
“I suppose when you kissed him, he didn’t try to make you stop?”
“Well, no, not really, but like I said, I took him by surprise, and I suppose he would have gotten around to it sooner or later.”
Probably later, Phyllis thought, if the security guard hadn’t interrupted them. There was no telling how far things might have gone if Ray Brooks hadn’t spotted them.
And there was still Brooks’s accusation about Chase being involved with the kids selling drugs to consider, as well.
“You know that this boy doesn’t have the best reputation, don’t you?”
“What do you know about him?” Ronnie asked. “When you first walked up, you looked at him like you’d never even seen him before.”
“But you didn’t know who he was!” Ronnie flung up her hands in frustration. “You’re just going by whatever that guy Brooks told you!”
“Mister Brooks may have mentioned that Chase is part of a bad crowd—”
“A bad crowd,” Ronnie interrupted her. She shook her head and laughed scornfully. “What, like the Sharks and the Jets?”
“You haven’t read The Outsiders, but that reference you know?”
“The drama department at my old school put on West Side Story,” Ronnie said. “Chase is not a member of a gang, okay?”
“But is he friends with people who are?”
“I don’t know who all his friends are.”
“Maybe you should,” Phyllis said.
“And maybe you should—” Ronnie stopped herself.
Phyllis waited for her to go on. When Ronnie didn’t, she said, “Maybe I should what?”
“Never mind,” the girl muttered. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have got mad. I know you’re just trying to help.”
Phyllis suspected Ronnie was just parroting things she thought she’d want to hear. She was even more sure of that when Ronnie went on, “I wish you wouldn’t tell Gramps about this. It’s really no big deal, and there’s no reason to worry him and get him all upset.”
“What if Mr. Brooks makes an official report about it? If he writes up you and Chase, the school will have to notify your parent or guardian, and right now that’s your grandfather.”
Ronnie shook her head. “Brooks . . . Mister Brooks . . . won’t write us up. He hardly ever does. It would be too much paperwork. He just likes to hassle the kids, everybody knows that.”
Phyllis didn’t, but her interactions with the security guard had been very limited. The general dislike for the man among the faculty seemed to be repeated among the student body, though.
“I can’t promise not to tell Sam,” she said. “But I suppose I don’t have to tell him right away.”
“Is this blackmail? Are you saying you won’t tell him if I stay away from Chase from now on?”
Baker's Deadly Dozen Page 3
