by Wendy Tyson
“You must have been talking to Dr. Star. Lies. Ask him about Cat Mantra. Or Ollie Olswager. Or Denise Byer-Helms. Or your boy, Dillon Brown. Theft. Destruction of property. Attempted rape. Fire setting. Murder. In that order.”
Megan chose to ignore the mention of Dillon. “Those are kids, Donna. Confidentiality. How did you get their names?”
Lewis sat there smugly. “You didn’t see their names in print. Next question.”
Annoyed, Megan moved on. “What makes you so sure Dillon is guilty?”
“For the same reasons most people believe he’s guilty. He was found with the murder weapon. We know Chase left to find him. No one else was present.” She gave Megan a sly smile. “And there is one other small piece of information I got from a source.”
“Which was?”
A pause. “You promised. Remember that. The police report indicated that the killer was most likely left-handed.”
“And Dillon is left-handed.”
Lewis nodded. “Smart girl.”
Megan mulled this over. King hadn’t mentioned a word about the killer being left-handed. But then, maybe the police were sitting on that piece of evidence and he couldn’t share it.
“You have a source inside the Winsome police?”
Another sly smile. “You know I can’t say.” Lewis glanced at her watch. “I have to go soon, Megan. What else you got for me?”
“In the article you wrote about the school, you mentioned the history of the building and the fact that the school was started not that long ago by a wealthy benefactor. Do you know who the benefactor was?”
“It was actually a small group of benefactors, most of whom had children who needed somewhere to go. Self-interested bastards. I don’t have names, but they could probably be found if you know where to search. County records and the like.”
Megan nodded. She could see what she could find. “Why do you dislike the school—and Dr. Star—so much?”
Lewis seemed to sink into her chair. She made a fist with one hand and rubbed her knuckles into her thigh. “I don’t dislike them. That implies personal interest, and this isn’t personal. I don’t think it’s fair when rich people get away with things because they’re rich. I really think it’s unfair when rich kids get away with things because Mommy and Daddy have money.”
“Like the things you mentioned. Destruction of property, etc.”
“Like that.” Lewis lowered her voice. “When I first moved to Philadelphia, I was asked to write about a kid from Strawberry Mansion. Been there?”
Megan shook her head.
“No surprise. Rough neighborhood. Kid born there is already a few football fields behind their peers in the game of life. Anyway, I was covering a young black man’s journey to prison. He’d spent most of his life in juvie, and it all started when he stole a pack of gum from a local store. Gum. His first three offenses were all minor—shoplifting, loitering, graffiti.”
Lewis shook her head. “Look, I’m not condoning theft or any other crime, but as I was writing that story, I was alerted to another story in Bucks County. Young girl arrested for vandalizing and torching a public area in the town of Blessings. The story isn’t about her—she’s underage and goes to a special school—it’s about how bad things can turn good because the town got a new bird sanctuary out of it.”
Cat Mantra. Megan listened, understanding Donna Lewis’s outrage.
“My Strawberry Mansion kid gets beat up in juvie, joins a gang, goes down a path that leads him to prison. Mommy and Daddy didn’t have the money or wherewithal to buy him out of trouble. Young woman runs away from hoity-toity school, causes thousands of dollars in property damage, and she gets away scot-free. Now she’s running from homeless shelter to half-way house, a burden on the system.”
“Life’s not fair,” Megan said. “I see that every day.”
“It’s not. But unless someone is willing to point it out, it won’t get any better.”
“And Dr. Star?”
“He’s their puppet. Send Junior to Dr. Star. He’ll arrange for some nice calming medication, a diet worthy of a four-star restaurant, and plenty of fresh air. And if Junior should try to rape or kill someone along the way?” Lewis shrugged. “Dr. Star can take care of that too.”
Megan didn’t doubt what Lewis was saying. Things weren’t fair. Politicians and bankers avoided jail time for fraud, and poor people went to prison for possession of pot. Lewis’s bitterness seemed disproportionate, however. She said it wasn’t personal, but it sure felt personal.
Megan said, “They say they don’t use medication, except when absolutely necessary.”
“They lie.” Donna adjusted her face from a frown to a sardonic smile. “They house sick kids, Megan. Some of them need medication. For some, it probably makes them easier to handle.”
“Do you mean warehouse?”
“Your word.” Donna Lewis stood. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. You see, the answer is simple. Someone paid for Dillon to go to that school. After all Dillon had been through, he was a time bomb. He should have been in a psych unit, not out on a camping trip. It was just a matter of time before something like this happened.”
Megan also stood. She towered over the diminutive reporter, and she used her size to stall Lewis’s exit. “You said someone paid his tuition. I thought the school had a scholarship fund.”
Donna laughed. “They did at one point, but look into the last time they had a scholarship student. It’s been forever. I told you, these people are in it for themselves—not to help others.”
Megan thanked her and watched her leave. Who had paid Dillon’s tuition? Eloise? The boys’ parents? But would their money even be available given the circumstances of his mother’s death? She should be able to find that out easily enough—she just needed the courage to ask Eloise directly. If there was still a scholarship fund, she’d think a boy like Dillon would be a shoe-in. And again, she wondered about BOLD’s funding for students who completed the mentoring program. If everyone was rich, no one needed that college money. What was the point? She could ask Martine about that.
Regardless of the answers, something seemed very odd about the whole arrangement.
Twenty
Lou Tillery worked out of a three-floor walk-up in the center of New Hope. New Hope, a charming small Bucks County town along the New Jersey border, was home to an artsy crowd, as evidenced by the small boutiques, art galleries, and craft shops. But there was a practical side to New Hope, and Lou was a stalwart who’d been practicing in the hamlet since before it became trendy. His office was cramped and smelled faintly of pipe tobacco, the kind that wafted off a person who smoked a lot, and curry from the Indian restaurant downstairs.
Lou’s elderly receptionist/tax preparer/handywoman greeted Megan at the door with a smile. “The boss is on a call, Megan. Is he expecting you?”
“No, Bernice. But I was in the neighborhood and thought maybe I’d catch him.”
Bernice glanced backwards, toward Lou’s closed door. “It’s his husband. They could be a while. The Samoyed got loose again, and Lou wants a fence around the yard.”
Megan had been hearing from Lou year after year how he wanted to fence in their small-town lot, but his husband was against it—too many permits since theirs was an historical home.
Megan nodded. “I can wait.”
She didn’t need to wait long. Lou came storming out of his office a few minutes later. The scarlet of his face matched the scarlet on his bald scalp. He stopped short when he saw Megan and laughed.
“I was just about to start complaining to Bernie here, Megan. I think you saved her. Bernie, you should thank Megan.”
Bernie smiled the smile of an eternally patient woman. “Thank you, Megan.”
Lou gave a hearty laugh. “I think I won this time. He’s already calling about the pe
rmits. He loves that dog more than he loves me.” Lou opened his office door wider. “Come on in, Megan.”
This is what Megan loved about Lou. He was always available—even when he wasn’t.
“How can I help you?”
She sat in the familiar office, breathing in the ambience. Photos of Lou and his spouse hung next to paintings and photos from their world travels. The faces of Lou’s two beautiful girls looked out at her from one wall. From the other, an array of dog portraits and memorabilia. The room was a homage to her accountant’s eclectic and varied life. He was good at his job, his clients loved him, and he was well-connected.
She was banking on the latter now.
“BOLD Pharmaceuticals. Ever hear of it?”
“Only recently, in the news. That man who was killed. Wasn’t he an employee?”
Megan nodded. “He was a friend of Denver’s.”
Lou held up a hand. “I’m not going to lecture you on the dangers of getting involved, Megan. Just tell me what you need. But don’t give me more information than is necessary.” He smiled. “Just kidding. Or not.”
“BOLD is a private company, so I can’t get much online. Articles of Incorporation, licenses, anything you can find that might show ownership structure.”
Lou nodded. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Hopefully I’ll know it when I see it.”
Lou’s eyes narrowed. “Shots in the dark?”
“When you don’t have a light, it can be the only way.” Megan started to leave but thought of something else. “Are you familiar with the Pioneer Village School?”
“That’s where the kid who was with the victim goes to school.”
“Bingo. Can you see if you can find anything on that as well? Owners. Tax information.”
Lou agreed. “You know, I have a neighbor whose son went to that school.”
Megan perked up. “Really?”
“Alexander Raymond Giles Junior. Too many names for one kid, if you ask me.” Lou frowned. “Parents are divorced now, but his mother would probably be happy to talk to you. She will discuss little Alex with anyone who listens, despite the fact that little Alex is a twenty-four-year-old grown man now.”
“How can I reach her?”
“Give me a second.”
Lou called his husband. After a quick exchange, he hung up. “Dee Dee Giles—that’s her name, poor thing—is home. My husband will see if she’ll speak to you. Give him a few minutes and then you can head over. I know Dee Dee, and I know my husband. It will be fine.”
Twenty minutes later, Megan was pulling into the Giles’ home on Main Street. A sprawling Victorian, the house had more turrets and porches than Megan could count. The yard was small, but what it lacked in size it made up for in decorations. A bird bath sat to one side of the entrance, surrounded by flowers and a half dozen miniature gnomes. Across the walkway that led to the porch was another flower garden paved with mosaic stones and marked by randomly-placed sculptures, windchimes, and bird feeders. Even with the sullen sky, the combination was welcoming, if a bit overwhelming to the senses.
A woman sat on the porch. In her early fifties, she wore a flowered sundress and dark sunglasses. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her feet were bare, showing off toenails painted with tiny sunflowers. A pink bracelet on her wrist said “Survivor.”
“I just love Lou!” the woman called out as a greeting. “A friend of his is a friend of mine.” She met Megan on the steps and held out a hand. “Dolores Giles. Friends call me Dee Dee.” She flashed another smile, one that spoke of an excellent orthodontist and many teeth-whitening sessions. “You can call me Dee Dee. Are you okay with the porch? It’s such a lovely day. I made some tea. I hope you like tea. It’s organic and free trade.”
Megan sank into a white wicker chair cushioned with a cheerful green and white striped pillow. “Tea would be lovely. Thank you so much for agreeing to talk with me, Dee Dee. You have a beautiful house.”
“Even more beautiful now that I don’t have to share it with my cheating bastard of an ex-husband. He got syphilis, and I got the house.”
Dee Dee said this with such airy cheerfulness that Megan almost choked on her tea.
“Well—”
“TMI. I know. Little Alex tells me that all of the time. Too much information, Mom. Yeah, yeah. Life is short. Unlike my cheating bastard of an ex-husband, I have nothing to hide.”
Dee Dee was a lot to handle, but Megan felt an instant pull. She admired the woman’s spunk.
After a few minutes of chit chat, Megan broached the subject of the school. “Pioneer Village School, Dee Dee. Lou told me your son went there.”
“He did. Best decision we ever made.”
“You were happy with it, then?”
“Understatement. Saved his life. Not our marriage, but that was unsalvageable, cheating bastard that my ex is.” Dee Dee took a demure sip of her tea. “What do you want to know about the school?”
“How did the admission process go, what were your son’s schoolmates like, that sort of thing.”
“Well, let me start by saying that my Alex was a handful. Not a mean kid, but active. Crazy active. When he was young, he was always climbing on things or bothering the dog or taking my stuff apart. We found out later that he had ADHD really bad, and coupled with a crazy high IQ, he was just too much for us to handle.”
“When did you find the school?”
“The school found us. When little Alex was sixteen, he was suspended from high school. He’d set off the school’s fire alarm so he could steal chemicals from the chem lab. He got caught. It was his third offense. What could the school do? They had to set limits.”
Dee Dee said all of this matter-of-factly, as though talking about a shoe sale or a favorite recipe.
“How did the Pioneer Village School come into play?”
“About a week after Alex was suspended, I got a call from Dr. Benjamin Star, the school’s psychologist. He suggested a meeting. Thought little Alex might be a good fit for the program.”
“How had he heard about Alex?”
“You know, I never asked. At the time, we were at wit’s end and just so grateful to have another option.”
Megan did the math. This would have been eight years ago, close to the school’s inception and shortly before Cat attended the school.
“Did you like Dr. Star?”
Dee Dee’s face lit up. “He’s a brilliant man. Got Alex’s dosage worked out, gave him some tools for dealing with his behavioral issues. Most of all, he challenged Alex. Alex loves to tinker. Dr. Star had him doing graduate-level math and engineering by the time he was a senior. Alex hated English and humanities, so he got to focus on the things he loved.” She clapped. “Presto, Alex’s weaknesses all turned into strengths.”
Megan wasn’t so sure it was that easy, but she had to admit that Dee Dee seemed to be a true fan.
“I know this is very personal, but did they offer your son a scholarship to attend?”
“Heavens, no!” Dee Dee waved at the giant house behind them. “My cheating bastard of an ex-husband was also cheap. Had they offered one, he would have taken it. We didn’t need one, though, and it just never came up. I think some kids may have gotten them. I can’t say for sure.”
“And the admissions process?”
“Simple. A battery of aptitude tests, which my Alex passed with flying colors. Some psychological assessments. A conversation with his school counselor.” She shrugged. “Took a week, tops. Painless.”
Dee Dee was so forthcoming that Megan was afraid to push. The other woman seemed to enjoy the conversation, though, so Megan continued. “How about his school mates, Dee Dee? Were they similar to your son?”
Dee Dee appeared to give this some thought. “Now that you
ask, not really. Alex never made many friends while he was there. Some of the kids had anger issues or severe social anxiety. Some were autistic. The school has both a residential component and a day treatment option. Alex was a day student. Some of the more severe cases lived at the school.”
Like Cat.
“Did you hear of violent tendencies? Any outbursts, problems?”
Dee Dee took off her sunglasses and placed them on a square glass table. “Like the boy who was involved up in the park? I heard he was a Pioneer student.” Dee Dee didn’t wait for an answer. “There were a few problems, but it’s a school for smart kids with issues. Wouldn’t you expect some things to happen here and there?”
Megan nodded. Her mind flitted back to the fact that the school had reached out to the Giles family.
“Had Alex gotten into any trouble outside of the school before he was admitted to Pioneer?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Nothing that would have caused police involvement?”
“Just a few minor things—he spray-painted some nonsense words on a bridge, he and a friend were accused of vandalizing an abandoned outbuilding. And then the fire alarm. That was the worst. The fire department dispatched trucks. It was humiliating. The news people came out, we had to pay the town back.” She shook her head at the memory.
“That must have been awful,” Megan said, her suspicion confirmed. The school must have looked for potential students, kids who could afford the tuition. They would’ve learned about Alex in the media.
“Want to see a picture of my Alex?” Dee Dee asked, brightening.
“Of course.”
Dee Dee disappeared inside the house. She returned carrying a photo album. On the cover was a photo of a rosy-cheeked infant with a shock of red hair. Dee Dee skimmed through the book and then held it out toward Megan.
“This is Alex at fifteen.”
The picture she shared showed a short, slender young man with cherry-red hair.
