“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. I’ve stopped shaking, and it no longer feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest,” I answer. “What is all of this?”
“Just some leftovers from the tea. I wasn’t sure if you felt like eating, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have some choices.”
“Thank you. This is so thoughtful. Do you want anything? Glass of wine?” I ask, getting out wine glasses.
“Sure. It’s been a day,” she says, sighing.
I pour us both wine, then fix myself a plate of all the goodies from the tea.
“How did the tea go?” I ask after we’re sitting at the table.
“It was fine. As much as Ms. Bowerton tried to force the focus back on the weekend’s events, everyone was still only talking about Frank. Which is how it should be! A man died just an hour before the bloody tea, right down the road.”
“I’m sorry about Frank. He seemed gruff, but nice.”
“He is, was,” she says, sniffling a little. “He was always so helpful. I mean, he would grumble a little when you asked him to help you with something, but then he’d tell a war story while he was working or share a little snippet about his wife. I think he was just lonely.”
“He’s married?” I ask.
“He was. His wife died a while back. Ten or fifteen years, I think. He took the caretaker's job here soon after she died. They never had any children, so it was just Frank.”
We talk a little more about the rest of the weekend’s events. Neither of us are looking forward to having to bow and scrape to the student’s parents for several hours tomorrow. I might actually be dreading it.
Freya stays only a little longer, then heads back to her apartment to prepare for tomorrow. I call Malcolm, because I know talking to him will make me feel a little better. After I tell him what has happened, he says he can drive down tomorrow and stay until Sunday. While I appreciate the offer, I know I’ll be too busy and distracted to spend much time with him.
We decide he should visit the next weekend. Despite this terrible day, I have a smile on my face when I get off the phone. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.
Chapter 11
I spend most of my time the next morning introducing myself to families and answering questions about the syllabus. I assumed parents would want to know more about me because I’m new at the school, so I typed up a page about my education and past teaching experiences to hand out.
It goes smoothly for the most part. Most parents are nice, a few are condescending, but I’ve dealt with all of it before. The accents are just more posh this time. As soon as the last family leaves my classroom, I race to the dining hall. I’ve been tasked with greeting families at the door and answering questions they might have about the rest of the afternoon.
I feel like this is a silly and unnecessary job, but at the moment that’s about all I have the brainpower for, so I’m grateful that’s all that’s required of me. I don’t really feel like doing anything too taxing. Smiling and saying hello will be hard enough.
Lunch begins at half past noon. I continue standing at the door until a quarter to one, then head back to my apartment for a quick lunch alone. I’m grateful when I open my fridge and see the leftovers Freya brought over last night. I don’t have to think about anything but putting tiny sandwiches in my mouth.
After eating and a cup of coffee, I feel ready as I can be for the afternoon’s events. Since I’m not involved in a club or sport, Mrs. Bowerton asked me to wait in her office in case anyone requests a tour. At first this seems strange to me. Wouldn’t parents have already toured the school when they registered their child? Or their daughter could show them around now? But, apparently, the school is also open today to prospective students and their parents to check out.
I paste on my most welcoming smile any time anyone approaches Ms. Bowerton’s office, but I end up only having to give one tour. And it turns out to be incredibly easy for me, because the mother went to school here and already knows where everything is. And she likes to talk. So I just quietly escort them around.
We’re done in time for me to pop back into my apartment and change into a cocktail dress for the more formal dinner. As I walk to the dining hall, I see families all over the green taking pictures, girls running around laughing. Everyone seems to be enjoying the weekend.
All the staff will sit at three long tables set up at the front of the room, with Ms. Bowerton presiding in the middle, very “Harry Potter in the Great Hall” although our dining hall is not nearly so grand. I find my name and sit down at my spot.
I’m early and there’s no one else at my table yet, but I peek at the surrounding names. Thankfully, one of them is Freya. I look at the next table and see the teacher that Mrs. Brigg slapped at the memorial service. I believe Freya told me her name is Ms. Green. She looks incredibly miserable. I watch her fumble through her coat pockets, dropping her scarf to the floor. She picks it up and for some reason I can’t stop staring at it. It has wavy blue and white stripes and something else that looks like a white blob. I stare for another second, and that’s when it hits me. Ghosts. Ghosts on her scarf. It’s the exact same pattern as the blanket at Frank’s.
Sharing that connection with Frank makes me feel more compassionate towards her. Her hands shake as she dabs a tissue to her eyes. I wonder if maybe she had been having an affair with Brigg and she’s grieving for him. Or maybe she just has allergies.
I glance at her again, wondering if I should go talk to her or if she would think I was being intrusive. I hate seeing someone look so miserable, but then Freya shows up, along with most of the rest of our table. Freya and I chat about this and that while people come in and find their seats. I notice Ms. Green isn’t talking to anyone, and the people sitting around her seem to ignore her.
“Have you heard anything new about Ms. Green?” I ask Freya quietly.
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“She just looks miserable, and it seems like everyone is ignoring her.”
“They’re probably trying to stay away from any drama. It’s what people do here. No one wants to be involved with anything ‘untoward’. Even if she had nothing to do with Brigg, there were still rumors circulating about the two of them.”
I feel bad for her, but I’ve never met her, so I don’t know what I could do about it. My thoughts are interrupted by Ms. Bowerton clinking a knife against her glass, calling for everyone’s attention. She welcomes the students and families, thanks the staff, etc, etc. After a while, I’m barely listening. I just want this weekend to be over. I would like to have one normal week, in which nothing strange or upsetting happens.
I make it through the dinner thanks to Freya chatting nonstop about the weekend and her students’ parents with everyone seated around us. I think she wants it to be over too. I know she’s upset by Frank’s death. I wish I was as good as she is at acting like everything is fine. I’m having trouble putting two sentences together.
By the time dessert (chocolate mousse) is served, we’ve been here for hours. The fall sports coaches each gave a presentation about their athletes, there’s a slide presentation with pictures of students doing various activities, and then Ms. Bowerton speaks again, thanking everyone for coming.
Freya and I slowly make our way out of the hall, telling various people good night. We catch up to Samantha and Cat, and we all walk home together.
“That was a lot longer than usual,” Samantha says.
“Painfully long,” Cat says.
“It seemed like the headmistress was trying to bore everyone to death,” Freya says.
“Do you think the parents appreciate that or do you think they wish it was shorter?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t appreciate it, but some of them do travel quite a way to be here. Maybe Ms. Bowerton was trying to make it worth their time,” Samantha says.
“I know this is my first family weekend, but I’m really ready to be done with it,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s been exceptionally brutal,” Freya says. “Usually it’s just a lot of work for us, but because of Frank…”
“I’m so sorry about Frank,” I say. “Has anyone heard anything about a memorial?”
“I hope Ms. Bowerton is planning something, since he didn’t have any family. I’ll try to ask her tomorrow,” Freya says.
By the time I undress and put on pajamas, I’m almost asleep. I feel like I could sleep for days. No sleeping in, though. I set my alarm for eight, so I can get up in time for the mandatory chapel service.
* * * * *
I’m a few minutes late for the chapel service, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary happens on Sunday. After the luncheon, families tell their students goodbye and go home. I notice some students looking a little down, but Freya assures me this is the way of boarding schools. Over time, the girls get used to it.
Monday morning I wake up feeling better, but when I check my email, I find Mrs. Bowerton announcing our morning classes will start fifteen minutes later, so we can have a memorial for Frank during morning assembly. I’m glad she’s planned something for the poor man, but I know this will be difficult.
Freya catches up with me as I’m walking to the chapel for assembly. It’s a dreary day and we both have umbrellas up.
“I can’t believe this is all Mrs. Bowerton has planned,” she hisses in my ear. “She couldn’t even be bothered to have something separate from our regular assembly. It’s disgraceful.”
“I’m by no means taking the headmistress’s side, but it was a busy weekend,” I say, carefully.
“I know, I know. I should have just planned something myself.”
I squeeze Freya’s arm. “I really am sorry about Frank. I know he was your friend.”
“He was just so helpful and grumpy,” she says, laughing quietly while dabbing at the tears in her eyes.
“I wish I’d gotten the chance to know him,” I say, holding the door open to the chapel for us.
We walk to the pews reserved for the staff and sit with Cat and Samantha. Mrs. Bowerton conducts the usual morning assembly. Then she begins the memorial. It’s short and simple, but I still tear up at the loss of Frank.
As expected, my morning classes are tough. The girls had to tell their families goodbye yesterday, and a staff member died over the weekend. They’re emotional and restless. I understand because I feel the same. By the time the bell rings for lunch, I’m spent. I’m straightening my desk before heading to the dining hall when Ms. Bowerton knocks on my door.
“So sorry to interrupt, Alice,” she says, walking over to my desk.
“No, it’s fine, of course,” I say.
“I dislike this, but there are a couple of detectives waiting to talk to you in my office. I believe it is the same two as before.”
“They’re back? I thought all of that was over,” I say, feeling my anxiety level rise.
“Well, this is about Frank. You found his body, so they want to question you,” she says. “Please follow me. They’re waiting.”
A few steps away from her office, Ms. Bowerton stops me and says, “I really don’t like this, Alice. We can’t have the police turning up at the school unannounced all the time. I’m sure you had nothing to with either death, but still. This is reflecting poorly on the school and if it continues, I might have to make some changes.”
I’m shocked. How can she think I have any control over what the police do? I don’t understand what this is about. I don’t even know why the police are questioning me again. Frank had a heart attack, so why would I have anything to do with that?
Ms. Bowerton holds the door to her office open for me and then leaves, closing it behind her. It is indeed the same two officers as before. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. I was already nervous about talking to the police again, but Ms. Bowerton’s comments have made me feel ten times worse.
“Hello again, Ms. Stewart,” Inspector Trumble says. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of Frank Gibson.”
“I don’t understand why you need to ask me questions. The paramedics said he had a heart attack,” I say, sitting behind Ms. Bowerton’s desk again.
“Yes, well, that’s what they initially thought, but we now have reason to believe he was murdered,” Inspector Trumble says.
“How can someone be murdered by a heart attack?” I ask, confused. My thoughts are muddled and I feel my neck getting hot.
“Ms. Stewart, we’re asking the questions,” Inspector Trumble says. “Now, we were told that you found the body. Can you tell us exactly what happened when you went to Mr. Gibson’s house.”
“Yes. I was trying to borrow a ladder to hang some decorations for the tea. He said he would bring it to the dining hall after his lunch break, but he never showed up. Eventually, I went to his house to see if he just forgot and that’s when I found him,” I say.
“You found him in the living room, correct?” Inspector Trumble asks after a glance at her notebook.
“Yes.” I attempt to sit completely still, not wanting to do anything that might make me seem guilty.
“And how did you end up in his house? Did you knock on the door?” she asks.
“Of course. I knocked on the front door and there was no answer. I thought maybe he was working outside, behind his house, so I walked to the back. The back door was ajar, so I went in.”
“Do you usually enter people’s houses when their doors are open?” Inspector Trumble asks.
“That’s not what happened. I mean, I did, but I was worried. Frank’s older. I was afraid something might have happened to him. He didn’t seem like the type of person to leave his door open and I called out before I went inside,” I answer, getting defensive. Surely they don’t think I had anything to do with this.
“Okay, so you came inside. Did you see anyone?” she asks.
“No one. I went in through the kitchen,” I say, closing my eyes for a moment to remember. “Then I walked into the living room and Frank was on the floor beside his recliner.”
“And did you then administer CPR?” Inspector Trumble asks.
“I didn’t. I felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. He wasn’t breathing, and he was so cold.”
“Do you remember approximately what time you found the victim?” Inspector Trumble asks.
“Let’s see. The tea was supposed to start at four and the last thing we needed to do was hang up the lights, so it was probably a little after three when I went to find Frank.”
“Was there anything else that you noticed while you were waiting on the paramedics?” Inspector Jeffers asks.
I’m so surprised to hear him say anything that I take a second to answer.
“Actually, I remember thinking someone might have been there before me. There was a tea cup broken on the floor beside Frank. I thought he must have dropped it when he collapsed, but there was another teacup on the coffee table with tea still in it. And a plate of cookies, as if someone had stopped by.”
Inspectors Trumble and Jeffers look at each other. I can’t tell what the look means, but I hope I didn’t just somehow incriminate myself.
“I think we’re finished for now,” Inspector Trumble says. “We would appreciate it if you would let us know your whereabouts for the next few weeks.”
“Wait, am I a suspect?” I ask.
“We’re being as thorough as possible,” Inspector Jeffers says, and hands me a card. “Here’s my card in case you think of anything else that could be helpful.”
They leave Ms. Bowerton’s office and I stand in the doorway, watching them walk down the hall. I can’t decide if I want to cry or punch a wall. I can’t believe the police think I have anything to do with Frank’s death. They seem incredibly incompetent. And I can’t believe Ms. Bowerton is threatening my job over all of this. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve just been incredibly unlucky.
After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I realize what time it is. I�
��ve missed lunch and my next class starts in a few minutes. I tell myself not to worry about any of it now and just get through the rest of the day. I can come up with some sort of plan later.
* * * * *
After my last class, I head outside for a walk to clear my head. It’s chilly, so I put on a coat. I do my best thinking when I’m moving, so I hope this will help me figure out some idea about what to do about all of this.
Obviously I didn’t kill Frank, but if someone did, then that might mean Brigg didn’t actually kill himself. The two murders must be connected. There’s no way it can just be a coincidence that two people have died suddenly at a tiny boarding school and their deaths have nothing to with each other.
Maybe if I can figure out the connection between Frank and Brigg, that will lead me to the killer. I just don’t know enough about either of them to put the pieces together. I need to do some more digging and go back to the list I made of suspects in Brigg’s murder. There must be something I’m missing.
Chapter 12
Over the next few days, I’m distracted in all my classes and my students notice. They’ve started whispering amongst themselves when they’re supposed to be reading, and after a few days I snap out of it enough to notice some girls are even passing notes back and forth during class discussions.
I know this will only get more and more out of hand if I don’t do something about it immediately. I want to be a good, engaging teacher and that won’t be possible if I’m worried about getting sent to prison. Or losing my job. I have to get a hold of myself and not just sit around waiting for the police to come back and question me again. So I spend an evening midweek with my list of suspects, coming up with a plan to find out who killed Frank and Professor Brigg.
It’s a short list. Mrs. Brigg and the student I still haven’t identified. On a whim, I add Ms. Green. I know nothing about her, but Mrs. Brigg slapped her, and she seemed upset this weekend. Maybe from guilt? Also, I remember the matching scarf and blanket. I’ve never seen the striking pattern anywhere before. It seems too strange to be just a coincidence that she and Frank shared that, but it’s possible. I’ll be on the lookout for an opportunity to ask her about it.
Murder Most Studious Page 9
