by Gayle Leeson
The scent of popcorn wafted on the air as we found seats overlooking the thirty-yard-line.
“Is this all right?” Jason asked.
“It’s fine.” I spread out the thick blanket I’d brought for us to sit on—and to snuggle under if we got cold. It was October after all.
“This is nice,” he said, sitting on the blanket beside me. “I’m not used to actually being comfortable at these things.”
“Amanda! Ms. Tucker!”
I stood to look behind us to see who was calling my name. It was Zoe.
Waving to her, I yelled, “Zoe, hi!”
She was sitting with some girls I’d never seen before. I guessed they must not be associated with the play.
“I’ll come talk with you in a little while,” she said.
“Okay.” I sat back down.
Jason grinned. “You’ve made friends in the short time you’ve been a part of the Winter Garden High School world.”
“I guess I have.”
Moments later, a man’s voice came over the loudspeaker instructing us to stand for the playing of the national anthem. As the last strains of the song played, the man asked us to remain standing to observe a moment of silence.
“Sandra Kelly, a beloved teacher of English here at Winter Garden High School, was lost to us far too soon yesterday.”
Someone near us gave a snort of derision. I gaped at Jason, shocked at what I’d heard, but he was staring straight ahead.
We observed the moment of silence, the man thanked us, and told us to be seated. Then he welcomed us to the game and made a few other announcements. And then the game began.
WINTER GARDEN HIGH was up seven to nothing just before halftime.
Jason kissed my cheek. “I’m off to record Kristen’s big moment.”
“Have fun.” I watched him carefully wind around other people navigating the stairs and head for the football field. He’d barely made it to the bottom of the bleachers when Zoe came to sit beside me.
“What’s up?” she asked. “Is that guy your boyfriend?”
“Yeah, we’re dating. He’s going to take some photos of the homecoming court.” I smiled. “He’s a photographer and has a studio in the building where my shop is located.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen him around school some.” She fidgeted with the zipper on her jacket. “So...are you still doing costumes for the play?”
“I am. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “It’d suck if we only had grouchy old Mrs. Berry running the entire show.”
“I’m sorry about Ms. Kelly.” I wondered again why there was such a division in the way people felt about her. I wanted to ask Zoe what she’d thought of the woman, but I didn’t want to ask her here where we could be overheard.
“People around school today were saying she was murdered.” She moved the zipper up and down. “Was she?”
Lowering my voice, I said, “I don’t think anybody knows what caused Ms. Kelly’s death yet. And high schoolers are going to put the most morbid spin on her death that they can. I mean, who wants to listen to a boring story?”
“Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t just the kids—some of the teachers were whispering about it too.” She shrugged. “They’d hush when they thought any of us got close enough to hear, but we still got the gist of what they were saying.”
I didn’t know what to tell her. I wanted to reassure her, but I didn’t want to lie to her. Other than lying about where she lived, Zoe seemed to be a straight-shooter, and I was sure she could detect a load of hooey—as Max called it—in a millisecond. Before I could respond, one of Zoe’s friends shouted to her.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said before climbing the steps.
The band lined up in the end zone with the drum major poised to lead them onto the field. I dug my phone from my purse, quickly logged onto my social media page, and started my live feed.
“I’m at Winter Garden High’s homecoming where the marching band is about to take the field. Is anyone watching?”
Grandpa Dave immediately commented, “We are, and we’re very excited.”
Laughing, I said, “I’m excited too.”
“What’re you excited about?”
Zoe had returned.
“My grandpa and our friend were unable to attend tonight, so I promised I’d stream the halftime show for them,” I said. “Want to say hello?”
“Dave’s watching?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Sure, I’ll give Dave a shout-out. He’s super cool.”
I turned the camera toward her.
“’Sup, Dave!” She waved. “Can’t believe you’re not here in person. You’re gonna give everybody the idea you’re some old dude who goes to bed before nine o’clock.” She leaned closer to the screen to read his response and then threw back her head and laughed. “Listen to this—he says, ‘I stayed away because I was a football legend back in the day. I was afraid that if I came, they’d ask me to run the ball.’”
I joined in her laughter. “I’ve heard he was a pretty good player.” I started to turn the phone back toward the field.
“Wait,” she said, “he’s typing something else. ‘Normally, I’d jump right in and help the boys out. But, unlike you kids, I put in a full day’s work.’ Yeeowch! Your grandpa just gave me a third-degree burn!”
I looked into the camera. “Behave, Grandpa.”
He responded with, “Never.”
Zoe and I shared another chuckle as I panned the camera over to where the band was marching out to the center of the field before fanning into formation. Since the homecoming had a 1950s theme, the band kicked off their show with Rock Around the Clock.
“I’d better get back to my friends,” Zoe said.
I felt an unreasonable urge to ask her to stay. That was stupid—she should be with her friends. But I couldn’t help feeling I’d let her down somehow. Why had she come back? Had she wanted to talk with me about Sandra Kelly? The play? Her mom? Something else?
“Will you come back after the halftime show?” I asked.
“Sure, if I get a chance.” She stood as the band segued into a saxophone solo of Blue Moon. “Later, Dave.”
“Later, kiddo,” Grandpa Dave typed.
After the band’s performance, they moved to the right side of the field and softly played the homecoming court on while their introductions were made. Kristen, as queen, was the last to be heralded and her accomplishments were too numerous to mention.
For real, the announcer gave Kristen’s name, the names of her parents—Dr. Maria and the Honorable Philben Holbrook—and then said, “Kristen’s numerous accomplishments include classically-trained pianist, president of the FBLA, and narrating fairy tales for deaf children.”
“I had no idea Kristen was so diversely talented,” I murmured, after seeing that my phone’s battery was draining and shutting off the live feed.
“She’s been training for her college education all her life.”
I started at the voice beside me but immediately recognized it as Zoe’s. Smiling at her, I said, “It sounds like it.”
She nodded. “I guess some of us were lucky enough not to be born to a doctor and a judge, huh?”
“Yeah.” I chuckled but felt disconcerted at the bitterness behind her words. “What do your parents do?”
“Dad was a machinist—he died in an accident when I was little. I can’t remember him very well.”
“And your mom?” I asked.
“She drinks.” Zoe burst out laughing at my expression, which I could only imagine reflected the horror I felt. “I’m kidding. She works at the grocery store.”
“You really had me going there for a second,” I said.
Laughing again, she said, “Yeah, I did.”
Was it my imagination, or did this laugh sound even more hollow than the first one? Was Zoe’s mom an alcoholic? Had that been what Sandra Kelly had alluded to when she told me she believed
Zoe had a sad homelife?
“Are you going to the dance?” I asked.
“Sure, I’ll check it out for a few minutes. What about you?”
“I’ll be there.” I nodded toward the field. “Since Jason was hired to get some photos of the homecoming queen, I’m certain that we’ll be there for some if not all of the dance.”
AFTER WINTER GARDEN secured the victory with a fourth-quarter touchdown and extra point, Jason suggested we get ahead of the crowd and go on to the gym. He wanted to get some shorts of Kristen before the rest of the students piled into the dance.
“Do you think she’ll be there already?” I asked.
“Definitely. No way were her parents going to risk her dress, hair, and makeup getting ruined. I’m pretty sure they kept her in the car until just before halftime and made her go back until the game is over.”
“That’s terrible!” Aware of other people walking near us, I lowered my voice. “She didn’t even get to watch the game?”
“I doubt that bothered her. She doesn’t strike me as caring all that much about sports.”
I didn’t reply, but it still bugged me. From the way Jason talked, Kristen couldn’t have watched the game if she’d wanted to...and that was apparently par for the course. I’d never met Kristen’s parents—she’d always attended fittings alone and paid with a credit card. How could they be so involved and yet uninvolved? I was anxious to see for myself what the Holbrooks were like.
As soon as we stepped into the gym, Kristen came up and threw her arms around me. “Amanda, hi! Thank you for doing that live feed—it was so cool. I saw the video in the car a few minutes ago. Didn’t the band do a fantastic job with the halftime show?”
Before I could respond, Dr. Holbrook pulled her daughter away from me. “Dearest, stop hugging everyone before you crush your corsage.” She smiled at me but didn’t offer her hand. “I’m Dr. Maria Holbrook. And you are?”
“Amanda Tucker. I own Designs on You.”
“Right. Well, you did a marvelous job on Kristen’s dress,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Holbrook had moved on. I wasn’t sure she’d even heard me. “Phil, stop bending Jason’s ear so he can take those photos. We need to wrap this up and be off soon.”
“I’d like to stay at the dance for a little while,” Kristen said. “Connor told me he’d drive me home.”
“You know you need to be at your SAT prep class early in the morning and that you have your recital in the afternoon.” Turning to Jason, Dr. Holbrook added, “We won’t need you for that, Jason. The videographer is handling the piano recital.”
I noticed Jason’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t say anything. I was guessing he hadn’t planned to attend the recital—at least, he hadn’t mentioned it to me—and resented the fact that Dr. Holbrook acted as if he were constantly on call for them.
“I won’t stay long,” Kristen was saying, “but I am homecoming queen. If I’m not here for a little while, it’ll look bad.”
“Fine. You may stay for one hour after Jason takes your photos,” Dr. Holbrook said. “If Connor isn’t ready to leave at that time, call and your father will come pick you up.”
Connor, a sweet-looking young man, joined us then, and Dr. Holbrook adjusted his tie before he posed with Kristen for a few shots.
As I waited for Jason to photograph the couple, I couldn’t help overhearing Dr. Holbrook and her husband murmuring to each other. They were discussing Kristen’s academic weaknesses. It appeared she was stronger in math and science than she was in English and history.
“Has anyone said who’ll be taking over her English class?” Judge Holbrook asked his wife.
“No, but whoever it is has to be better than Sandra Kelly,” she said. “I hate to sound callous, but her death saved me the trouble of getting her fired.”
{ }
Chapter Fourteen
G
randpa Dave called me just as I was walking into work on Saturday morning. “Hey, Pup. Have you seen Max yet?”
“No, but I’m only now going into the building. Were you able to see the live feed all right?”
“Were we ever!” Max materialized by my side. “It was amazing! We were here, but it was like we were right there with you. Wasn’t the band the berries? And all those kids looked lovely.”
“Did you hear that, Grandpa?” I asked.
“I did. It does my heart good to hear her being so cheerful and animated. Last night, she wept.”
“With joy,” Max clarified. “All these years my world has been limited to this house. Now I feel I can go anywhere—or, at least, anywhere you can go.”
I sat Jazzy’s carrier onto the floor and unlocked the door to the atelier.
“I’d better run, ladies, I see a customer approaching.”
“That’s right—you’re at the farmers’ market,” I said. “Well, good luck!”
“Our silver fox doesn’t need luck—he has talent.” Max chuckled.
After getting the cat situated with kibble and water and myself situated with a cup of coffee, I unlocked the reception room door and sat on one of the navy wingback chairs near the window to chat with Max. “Tell me what you liked best about the halftime show.”
“I loved it all!” In her excitement, she paced so much that Jazzy could barely keep up. “The band was darb—it took me back to my own high school days, except this band had a lot more talent than we did.”
“Oh, were you in the band?” I couldn’t picture Max in a band uniform.
“No, but I dated a trumpet player for a very short time.” She flicked her wrist. “Tasty set of lips but not much else to recommend him.”
I chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not as sorry as I was.” She finally sat on the chair beside mine, and Jazzy joined her. “I adored seeing all of the girls—and the boys too, but it was especially fun to see the dresses you created out in the real world.”
I agreed with her wholeheartedly on that point. “And what did you think of Zoe?”
“She’s lovely—spunky as all get out. She rather reminds me of me at that age.”
Smiling, I said, “She reminds me a bit of you too.” My smile faded as I remembered her comments about her mom.
“What is it?” Max asked.
“Right after I ended the live feed, Zoe told me her father is dead and that her mother works in a grocery store.” I backtracked. “Initially, when I asked what her mom does, she said, ‘she drinks.’ She played it off as a joke, but I’m not so sure.”
“Didn’t you say Sandra Kelly told you she thought Zoe had an unhappy homelife?” Max asked.
“She did. And that might explain why Zoe gave me the wrong directions to her house when I offered to drive her home.” I sighed. “I feel bad for Zoe’s mom. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be a single mom and a widower. I wonder if she has any nearby family members or some friends nearby that she can rely on to help out and support her.”
“No clue, but she shouldn’t be making a bad situation harder by not caring for her child.” Max placed an index finger on her chin. “If Sandra Kelly thought that’s what Zoe’s mother was doing—neglecting her or abusing her—she might’ve contacted child protective services.”
There was a tap on the reception door before an auburn-haired woman opened it and poked her head inside. “Hey, there. I’m just making sure you’re open.”
“I sure am. Please come on in.” I placed a restraining hand on Jazzy in case she decided to bolt. “I keep the door closed so Jasmine here doesn’t wander out.”
“She obviously missed the big sign on the door pointing that out,” Max said. “I’m off, darling. See you later.”
“The woman came inside and closed the door behind her. “I don’t blame you a bit. I wouldn’t want this little sweetheart running off either.” As the woman came closer, Jazzy hopped off the chair and sashayed into the atelier.
I stood and properly welc
omed the woman to Designs on You before asking, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“I saw you at the football game last night.” She wandered over to the pret a porter racks and began looking at the clothes. “I thought your suit was really cute, and my friend told me who you were. She said you’re doing the costumes for Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s right. Do you have a child in the play?”
“Not me—my kids are out of school now, thank goodness. My friend does, though.” She looked at the price tag on one of the suits, and her eyes widened.
Ignoring her reaction to my prices, I asked, “Did your children go to Winter Garden High?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She blew out a breath. “Sorry. For the most part, it’s a good school, but you know what they say about one bad apple spoiling the whole bunch.”
“That’s true.” I nodded. “It seems there’s always that one person who ruins everything no matter where you go.”
“I mean, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but that Sandra Kelly was a piece of work.” She looked over her shoulder to ensure she and I were still the only people in the shop. “They say she was having an affair with one of the math teachers and that she’d give her classes an assignment and then go stand out in the hall and chat with that other teacher for the majority of her class time. Can you imagine?”
“I can’t.” Even though I’d heard the students talking about Ms. Kelly having an affair, I found it nearly impossible to believe that people would know this was going on and not do something about it. “Didn’t anyone report them?”
“If they did, it didn’t make any difference,” she said. “All I know is that my husband told me he saw Ms. Kelly and Mr. Talbot giggling like a couple of teenagers outside her classroom one day during second period.”
“Your husband?”
“Oh...yes, he’s the bookkeeper at the school. Sorry, I thought I’d mentioned that.”
Shaking my head and trying to maintain my smile, I remembered the exchange between the bookkeeper—Mr. Kramer—and Sandra Kelly the first evening Grandpa and I visited the school. The two obviously didn’t get along. That could explain my customer’s dislike of Sandra.
