by Kristi Rose
Best Laid Plans
A Samantha True Novel
Kristi Rose
Best Laid Plans
No “learn to be a PI” video prepared her for this
When Samantha True witnesses Wind River's most popular principal keel over dead she knows three things
1.He's been murdered
2.Proving it will be impossible
3.They're gonna think she did it
As she works to clear her name, Samantha learns "Principal Josh" is the king of slime balls. Eliminating suspects proves tricky when half the town has a motive for murder. It'll take the right private investigator to crack this killer's best laid plan.
Warning: May cause spontaneous laughter. This mystery offers witty banter, characters you'll want to be friends with, and is a perfect escape to the Pacific Northwest. Laughing out loud in public may cause curious glances from strangers.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Books by Kristi Rose
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1
The last Friday in August
“I’m counting on you, Sam. You must be my eyes and ears. I’ll need you to attend the Parent-teacher collaboration meetings and school events,” Rachel said, taking the seat next to me. She handed me a piece of paper with the meeting’s agenda. “Mom and Dad are super busy. They can’t do everything.”
“They can’t come to a PTA meeting once a month? They managed it when we were kids,” I said.
Rachel’s deployment was set for the end of September. She’d brought Cora out over the summer to live with our folks hoping to make the transition easier. Rachel’s ship was constantly going out to sea in practice runs they called workups. For every five-day break she got, Rachel flew out to spend them with Cora and us.
“It’s PTC. Parent Teacher Collaboration, and you know what I mean.” She sighed with exasperation.
I rolled my eyes.
Rachel was a tightly wound ball of anxiety and motherly hysteria, primed to blow at any second. Until this deployment, she’d never left Cora for a period longer than twenty-four hours and the separation was wearing on her. Her ship’s deployment was scheduled for a minimum of four months, a maximum of six. That was a long time in kid years.
Rachel had decided Wind River Elementary, the elementary school we’d attended, wasn’t good enough for Cora. Instead, my niece, who still picked her nose when watching TV, was going to the new ubercool STEM-based charter school called Village Garden School.
A ruse of a name if you ask me.
Mom said they picked the name to sound friendly and unthreatening. No aggressive or politically incorrect mascot either. Nope. The fighting carrot, Captain Carrot, with his wild sprig of hair, the leafy green part, and a bowler hat, was as menacing as the school got.
Personally, I thought it was a huge joke on the town. A dig at the hipster parents and their crunchy lifestyle. Because Wind River wasn’t some quaint village. In fact, a meth house had been discovered on the outskirts of town. And as for the school’s garden? It was currently a churned-up piece of land waiting for seed. Soon the Pacific Northwest rains would start and wash away anything planted if the school didn’t hurry up about it.
My best friend, Precious, real name Erika, plopped onto the seat beside me and held out a napkin with three tiny blueberry scones on it. “Compliments of the PTC and How Ya Bean Coffee House,” she said.
I took one. “That’s a dumb name,” I said. “PTC. Putting collaboration in the title doesn’t make me want to work as a team any more than using association or organization.”
Rachel took a scone. “I’ll miss these. June knows what she’s doing.”
June was the owner of How Ya Bean and one awesome baker and barista. Her concoctions could make angels weep with joy.
“I might attend these lame-ass meetings if scones are served,” I said under my breath.
My role as younger sister was to get Rachel to explode. She needed a good cry and to vent her steam. I was prepared to take the brunt of it, too. And if I wasn’t? She’d twist my arm behind my back and remind me of all the times I’d ruined her—insert favorite anything. That list was long. That’s why I continued to push at her buttons and nitpick at random, insignificant things.
“Just help me out here, Sam,” she said with a groan.
“Okay, let me get this straight. You don’t want me to be in charge of caring for Cora—dressing, feeding, offering life lessons, those sorts of things—but you want me to do things like attend PTC meetings, volunteer, and report back little tidbits about her school and teacher to you? You know how I feel about school.”
Being dyslexic had not made school a fun experience. Even more so when a portion of the staff thought my inability to decipher language and symbols was me being stubborn and refusing to learn. Who purposely did that? Refused to learn?
Rachel said, “All the more reason for you to be here. You can pick up on struggles Cora might have.”
Okay, I’d give her that.
Rachel blew out a frustrated sigh. “Besides, I’m not asking you to be her guardian because you’ve never cared for a kid before. It’s not easy. You can’t make them tater tots and sprinkle dried kale over it and call that nutrition. You have to keep track of when they poo and how they sleep.”
I grimaced. I wasn’t interested in anyone’s poo.
She continued, “They need seat belts. They lack common sense, and they don’t need a role model who throws caution to the wind.” She gave me a pointed look.
I looked over my shoulder to see if she was talking about anyone else. Then I stuck my tongue out at her.
“You can help me here. Show her she’s not alone. Be here. It’ll make her feel good to know someone she knows and loves is on campus. And you can tell me if she’s making friends. I need to know she’s happy and adjusting well. I need to know her teachers are warm and loving. That this is a good environment for her. You can easily do this for me.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said. I was about to poke at her more but a tall woman with mousy brown hair pulled back into a topknot with expertly curled tendrils around her face stood and rang a bell.
I glanced at my watch. The kindergarten families had fifteen minutes to get all the pertinent information before we’d be shuffled out and the first-grade parents would be shuffled in. VGS was hosting us in their cafetorium, used both for lunch and assemblies. The room had been redone so that one wall was a row of three single-car garage door-sized folding windows that opened to the dry dirt yard called the garden. They were open tonight. Not the best choice in hindsight considering the wind would occasionally bring in puffs of dust.
“Take your seats please,” Mousy Brown Hair lady boomed across
the room. “Principal Josh Chapman would like to speak. I’m Mindy Cunningham, President of the PTC, and I’ll be here to answer questions you might have about the PTC and how you can help. Our volunteers can do so much from home, so please come see me when he’s done. We depend on you all to make this school great.” She turned to the side and gestured to a tall, lithe man with a full head of light blond hair in tight curls. He was probably Rachel’s age, but he hadn’t grown up in Wind River because neither of us knew him.
I whispered to Rachel, “I wonder which one is the village idiot?” I elbowed her to show I was joking. She pinched my knee in response.
“He resembles Justin Timberlake,” Rachel whispered. “Kinda cute.”
Yeah, I suppose, if it was two a.m. and a person was inebriated, tired, and wore foggy contacts. But I sorta saw the resemblance. Maybe it was the coloring or the hair. He wasn’t unattractive by any measure. Just not my type.
I said, “I think it’s because he’s not in uniform. You’re not used to seeing men in regular clothes.”
Rachel snorted.
Precious said, “There’s better out there. And he’s wearing pleated pants. I mean, who does that anymore?”
The man in question cleared his throat and beamed at the crowd. He would need to do more than smile to gain my trust.
Principal Josh—he told us to call him that—talked about bullying, behavior, and parent pickup. No buses, only mommy mode of transportation for the special snowflakes. He shared all this with a constant smile. Like the Joker who even when being evil smiled. I was underwhelmed by him and skeeved out by how he constantly touched people when he talked to them. Like Mindy Cunningham from the PTC kept getting her shoulder squeezed every time he referred to the collaboration. Or a parent in the first row when he called attention to their volunteer work.
Or maybe my annoyance was because men were on my crap list. Thanks to my probably decreased-kept-two-wives liar of a husband, I didn’t have warm fuzzies about men in general, or Principal Josh.
I forced my thoughts away from Carson and the mess he left me when he was murdered and focused on Principal Josh’s yammering. He was making extended length-eye contact and repeating the phrase “caring is sharing” to guilt people into volunteering for the upcoming Fall Festival, which was happening in a few weeks. Like me, many were looking at their fingernails or the ceiling.
Following a heavy sigh, Principal Josh introduced the school counselor, Danika Post, a petite woman with chestnut curly hair and an eye for fashion as told by her fancy high heels.
As Principal Josh spoke about her role, he placed his hand on her back and gestured to her like Vanna White did the electronic letters. She cast him a brief and furtive look of such loathing I sat up straighter.
“Did you see that?” I asked Rachel, who was nodding and smiling to whatever Principal Josh was saying.
“See what?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth. Rachel had always been a teacher pleaser. No chance she was going to give her attention to anyone other than Principal Josh when he was talking. Heaven forbid.
“Incredible that you missed the look the counselor gave Principal Josh, like she thought a dog turd was better than him.”
Rachel elbowed me. “I doubt that.”
I leaned toward Precious. “Did you see it?”
She nodded. “He disgusts her. Probably the pleats.”
Principal Josh gestured to his staff then clapped his hands, cueing the audience to applaud the hard-working women, all the while his smile never wavered. Then, with a grand wave of his hand, he dismissed us. Rachel sprang from her seat, her grip strong on my elbow as she dragged me toward the principal and the open doors. I dragged Precious.
“Hi, Principal Josh, Counselor Post,” Rachel said as she planted us in front of them. “I’m Rachel True. We’ve spoken on the phone before. And this is my sister, Samantha.”
I laughed. I was sure they’d spoken on the phone before a lot. A lot. Multiple times a week would be my guess, knowing Rachel.
“You don’t have to call me Counselor Post. Danika is fine. I remember speaking with you.” She held out her hand and shook Rachel’s.
I watched her like a hawk hoping to see another glare. Maybe I’d imagined it.
“Cora has a great support system with my parents and sister. We’ve done what we can to ease her into this transition with me shipping out.” She elbowed me. “But I want to know if she’s struggling or acting out.” Rachel pointed to me. “She’ll try to keep things from me because she’s afraid I’ll worry.”
I shrugged and smiled at Danika. “I’m not afraid she’ll worry. I know she will.” I glanced at Josh. His smile was still going strong. His pearly whites, probably veneers, glistened under the fluorescent lights. His tie had little stick families all over it. Yoga mom, karate son, business dad, and baby sister. Except each family on his tie was different. It was kinda cool. His overall appearance screamed “educator.” Which was good considering he was in charge of a bunch of them. And up close he wasn’t hideous or anything. I could see a certain appeal.
Danika put her hand out to shake mine. “You can reach out to me anytime.”
I liked this counselor. She seemed straightforward.
Next, I shook hands with Josh. If that’s what it could be called. We clasped hands, but instead of shaking, he tucked my hand between both of his and squeezed. Weird.
“And who is this with you?” Principal Josh asked, his eyes on Precious. Precious awed everyone. She was supermodel pretty.
She stuck out her hand. “Erika Shurmann, I’m a business and life coach.” She shook Danika’s hand first.
Principal Josh’s brows shot up. “What exactly does a business and life coach do?”
“I help people level up.”
Josh’s focus on Precious intensified as he took her hand. He stood taller, shoulders broadening as he leaned toward her. When his button-down shirt stretched tight across his chest and side, I glimpsed two large overlapping squares under the arm extended to her. Like a patch or something a smoker might wear.
I did a sweeping inspection of Principal Josh. He had the telltale pucker lines of a smoker around his mouth, but his teeth weren’t yellow thanks to the veneers. I glanced at his hands as he clasped them over Precious’s outstretched one. Sure enough, right above the middle knuckle of Principal Josh’s middle finger was a tinge of yellow. I’d put money on Josh being a smoker trying to quit.
“Do you have a card, Ms. Shurmann? I’m thinking of leveling up my personal life.”
Barf. The nerve of this guy to flirt with parents around. Though, to be fair, Precious had this effect on men everywhere.
“Hard pass, Principal Josh, but if you’re searching, I can give you the name of other companies.” She pulled her hand free.
I choked back a laugh.
Danika cleared her throat and said to me, “Didn’t you used to work at Toomey Studios?”
I had to think about the question. Working as a photographer for Toomey seemed like a lifetime ago. No sooner had I quit that job when my life went sideways. I’d been widowed, found out my marriage wasn’t legal since Carson already had a wife, inherited a PI business I knew nothing about, was chased by bad guys, and then brought down said bad guys. Hard to believe that was six months ago.
Principal Josh turned his wide-eyed gaze to me and did the impossible. His smile broadened. “You’re a photographer?”
I smelled a trap.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “A high-quality one.”
“My camera’s broken,” I said.
Rachel gave me an odd look. “No, it’s not. You were just taking pictures of Cora at the beach today.”
“Well, the film was giving me trouble,” I mumbled.
“Aren’t most cameras digital now” Danika asked. I dropped her down a level on the Like-meter.
“Did I say film? I meant screen,” I said.
Principal Josh squeezed my shoulder, his fingers massaging. “We need a p
hotographer for the Fall Festival to take pictures of the families from ten to one. We—” He chuckled. “By we I mean the PTC will have everything set to go. All you need is to show up with your camera and smile.” His hand slid off my shoulder and rubbed my upper arm. “You could also help us get candids of the staff, PTC, and our environs for the yearbook. You seem like the best person for that.”
I showed teeth and hoped it looked like a smile. The thought of taking family pictures that weren’t of my family was a special kind of hell.
Rachel faced me, pleading with her eyes, “The festival is right before I ship out. Cora can see you supporting her school. You’d be doing a good thing.”
Not knowing how to respond, I said nothing.
A rogue bird flew in from one of the open ginormous windows and buzzed us. Danka swat at it and squealed in fear.
The PTC president ducked and covered her hair.
Likely just as afraid as the humans and discombobulated, the bird circled and zigzagged over us erratically before colliding into the top pane of the lifted window and crashing to the floor. The little bird shuddered once. Then Died.
At my sister’s feet.
Or mine too because we were standing side by side.
Rachel gasped.
I grabbed her arm. “Do not read into this.”
“What am I missing?” Principal Josh said.
I stared at the little bird. A magpie.
