by Laura Quinn
“Mable was such a nice person,” John said. “Shame we lost her. Damned cancer, wish it would stick to the bad’uns.”
“She wants to know about Ruth,” Jean said, patting her husband on the knee. “Anyway, Mable’s sister Mildred lives here, and her daughter Ellen works in the lunchroom now. We were just talking to her.”
“Yes, we were just talking to Ellen. She brought some delicious brownies with her.”
“Anyway,” Jean continued, “We were surprised to hear Ruth was going to retire so young. Mable had to stay there until she was sixty-five before she got her full benefits.”
“Maybe she had to leave early due to health reasons,” Claire suggested.
“No, she said Ruth was very much in the pink,” Jean said. “Maybe we should invite Mildred down. She could tell you the story herself.”
Claire was tempted to hear all the secrets, but looked at her watch. Despite her curiosity, she would have to cut the visit short. “No, I better be getting back. I don’t want to get stuck in rush hour traffic. Barbara will think I’ve gotten lost.”
“You could always call the fire department for an escort. I hear that new captain fella’s sweet on you,” John said.
“Hunter isn’t the captain, and he’s no good for our Claire,” Jean corrected. “We’ll talk next time you visit, then.”
Claire thanked them for their hospitality and left with her tote of accessories. She drove back as quickly as she could, sending Barbara home with the lemon bars. While Peggy helped the few customers who braved the weather, Claire went upstairs to work on the VIP bags, under Baron’s watchful eyes.
Seventy-six bags were lined up so that she could walk back and forth, dropping in the goodies and certificates. By the time she went back downstairs, Peggy had closed the shop and was bundling up to face the task of scraping off the mixture of snow and ice from her windshield.
“Do you need me to stay? I don’t mind. Of course, statistics show that I’ll be more likely to be in an accident as the slush freezes and…”
“No, I can manage. I’m going to finish the treats for the bags, so we’ll be ready ahead of time, for a change.”
“I hope that doesn’t jinx us. You know what they say about good practice, bad show.”
“We’ll be fine,” Claire assured her as she held the door open. “You be careful driving home.”
While trays of assorted cookies baked, Claire wrote up a timeline of the facts she knew about Ruth’s death. If she could just get a few more facts, she could at least settle Delilah’s mind. The baker was careful not to call it a murder board, as she would not be involved in that business again. Besides, she told herself, it wasn’t even a murder…yet.
Baron performed random taste tests on the treats as Claire wrapped them in translucent snowflake sacks and transported them upstairs. Throughout the routine work, Claire thought about the connection between Ruth and Donald, and why the police would be investigating if they didn’t think her death was suspicious. “I need to talk to the neighbor who brought in Ruth’s entry,” Claire said aloud, briefly disturbing her furry supervisor’s nap. She finished the bags with a handwritten tag, affixed with cascades of curled ribbon and a pair of jingle bells.
“Hercule and Penny would love these…cats, that’s my in,” Claire said. “Remember Uncle Bob said a neighbor took in Ruth’s cats? It must be the same person. Right?”
Baron rolled over, commenting with a non-committal stretch. Claire decided a visit after work the next day would be reasonable, and selected a variety of treats and toys for the orphaned cats as a cover. She would also visit the high school to gather information on their late lunch lady. She promised Baron, “Then, regardless of the outcomes, I’m done investigating.”
Chapter 6
Wednesday, December 6th
A Christmas craft explosion greeted Barbara the next morning. Claire was seated at a table filled with paper scraps, many of which were glued to her face and hair. Inspired by a grade-school class she saw on the news, the shop owner was determined to make a paper chain out of cut-out paper bones.
“Each bone represents a donation to the rescue groups, in a challenge to gala attendees to string loops from wall to wall,” Claire explained. “What do you think?”
Her efficient manager volunteered to take over that task, untangling Claire from the misshapen coils of red and green.
“Don’t forget you have to drop off Bella’s birthday cake and gifts today,” Barbara said. “Mrs. Rothfield said any time before four o’clock would be fine.”
Claire panicked. Had she had forgotten the order? As ever, Barbara read her mind.
“The ice cream cake is in the freezer and everything else is set on the hold shelf in the storeroom,” she said. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be taking on extra-curricular activities during peak season.”
The woman really was a mind-reader, Claire thought. She made a silent promise to Barbara that after this final foray, she would have to leave any unanswered questions unanswered. Though, if she could find something to implicate Donald, she would be doing everyone a favor.
“Claire?”
“Huh? Yes, I’ll go now. Do you mind keeping an eye on Baron? He was up late last night and should stay in the back to catch up on some rest.”
“I wish you would do the same,” Barbara said. “I heard they’re patching that pothole on Maple, so you better take Spruce Street.”
“So much for Chicago’s construction season ending for the winter. Those orange cones never seem to be out of season.”
The Rothfields’ house manager helped Claire carry in the ice cream cake, crown bed, toys, packages of organic bison jerky, and rolls of paw-print paper and ribbon. He informed her that the birthday boy was being groomed at the spa, but would see her at Saturday’s gala.
On the way back, Claire stopped at the high school for what she promised herself would be a quick visit. Walking the halls might have felt like old times, if she hadn’t been surrounded by teenagers glued to their smartphones, posting every detail of their lives online. She wondered if 1984 was still on the freshman reading list, or if Big Brother’s menace was confined to the reality TV show.
The NHHS alumna walked to the principal’s office with her secret weapon, a package of peanut-butter-carob brownies. It was a trick she learned when she was a student. While other students dreaded visits to the principal’s office, teenage Claire, Marti, and Bob often visited with unsolicited suggestions; so much so that Dr. Roberts seemed to always be on an important call when they arrived. To circumvent this, the young baker learned that his assistant was partial to seven-layer bars and baked a batch before any visit. The adult Claire hoped the trick still worked.
“Hi Claire, what are you doing here?” Tyler, the current principal’s assistant asked.
“Is Dr. Blummer in? I don’t have an appointment, but I do have these,” Claire said, proffering the white box.
“Are those Wrigley’s favorites?” Tyler asked, sniffing the box. “Bribery will get you everywhere.”
The young man called his boss. After a quick exchange, he led Claire into the oak-paneled office behind him. She thanked Tyler and promised to see him before she left.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing one of our most prestigious alumni?” Dr. Blummer asked. He wore a curious blend of turtleneck and suit, perhaps to convey the approachable-but-still-in-charge vibe.
“First, I wanted to offer my condolences on the loss of one of your staff,” Claire answered.
“That is much obliged, as Ms. Fischer will be greatly mourned by this institution as one of our most esteemed employees. We would have indubitably lamented the substantial void as she embarked upon her well-deserved leave, but it is simply inconceivable that she should instead depart in this most unexpected and lugubrious manner.”
Claire blinked, momentarily stopped by the lexicon lobbed at her. She untangled his words and continued with her mission, “Ms. Fischer started working here while
I was on the school newspaper staff. If you’re putting together a memorial, I’ll send a copy of my interview with her and some photos. I figured you could use something from her early years here.”
“That is most magnanimous of you, and I will proffer the offer punctilious pontification. However, as we have of late divested commensurate expenditures on her salutations, I know not what supplementary measures we may endeavor to undertake.”
“I heard about the send-off you arranged. I think she would have really enjoyed the presentations, especially the football team’s tribute. Maybe you could post portions online.”
“I will commission your superlative suggestion to the standards committee that shepherds such preparations. Is there anything further?” He opened the door and gradually shepherded Claire out of the office.
“Just a quick question, if you don’t mind. One of my favorite customers works at a middle school in Chicago. She suffers from asthma and really wants to move to Arizona, due to the dry climate. She’s afraid she won’t get another job because of her age, she’s forty-seven. I suggested she take early retirement, but she said it’s impossible. So, to cut a long story short, I said I would ask about Ruth’s early retirement. Is there a special option for health reasons, or anything like that?”
“With regret, I cannot acquiesce to divulging information privy to personnel such as that which you are requisitioning. Your patron should inquire with her school district for full option disclosure. If there’s nothing else, I will endeavor to bid you farewell as I am engaged to depart for an imperative appointment with the board.”
“That’s what she thought, but I said it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Well, let me know if you want any of the ….”
The door shut before she could finish. On her way out, Tyler handed a flyer to her. “Here’s the information you requested about our student volunteer program. I’m sure you’ll find takers for the rescue groups.”
“Thank you,” Claire said and left the office. Puzzled at the unsolicited flyer, she opened the tri-fold and found a visitor’s pass signed by Tyler. A hand-written note instructed her to meet him at the library in 15 minutes. She put on the official badge and walked along the halls, reliving her salad days. The journalism and yearbook rooms were locked, but a collage of published materials lined the walls that linked them. She strained to read the tiny print, trying to find a familiar face or byline. She took a picture of an article that Bob wrote and texted it to him.
Along the way to the library, she passed the gym hall and gazed at the banners and trophies that stuffed the glass display cases. She pulled out her phone to take a photo of the state champion volleyball team picture for Marti. Claire yipped when she saw JP walking across the corner of her screen. Of course, it wasn’t really JP, she realized to her disappointment. She surreptitiously snapped a picture of his doppelganger, wearing an NHHS cap and scarf.
By the time she entered the library, she was late.
“I wasn’t sure if you would see my note,” Tyler said.
“What’s with the cloak and dagger?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Here, let’s move over to the encyclopedia shelves. No one ever goes there.”
They moved to the reference area in the far corner. Scanning the room, Tyler handed a manila folder to Claire. She scanned the contents to realize it was Ruth’s employment file.
“I overheard your conversation,” Tyler admitted. “I wasn’t listening in, you understand. He always forgets to turn off the intercom.”
“So that’s how you get your intel,” Claire deduced. “Just between us, does he always speak in that manner? He reminds me of the mayor from the ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas cartoon.”
“A sesquipedalian?”
“I haven’t heard that since Freshman English! Don’t tell me you’re a cruciverbalist?”
“I looked it up the day I started working for him. I call him the sesquatch,” Tyler whispered. “He’s only like that when he has an audience; otherwise, he swears like a sailor. You should have heard him Friday morning, when Ruth blew off her appointment with him; talk about a tapestry of obscenities!”
“Was she out Friday too?”
“That was the kicker - she was here. When she was late, I was dispatched to the cafeteria to get her. There she was, gloating to her coworkers about her retirement plans. I asked if she had forgotten about the appointment with Dr. Blummer and she just waved me off, telling me the matter would soon be resolved.”
“Did she say what the matter was?” Claire asked.
“No. Believe me, I tried to get more information, knowing how he would react when he heard that…and I was right. He said, and I quote, if that conniving witch thinks she can get away with making any more demands, I’ll strangle her.” Tyler stopped suddenly and shuddered. “Oh god, she wasn’t strangled, was she?”
“I don’t think so. The police don’t seem to think it was a suspicious death, but the coroner is conducting an autopsy.” Claire noticed Tyler’s pallor fade. “Don’t tell me you suspect your boss is a murderer?”
After a telling pause, Tyler said, “No, of course not. But, he was in a very jolly mood when he heard the news of her death.”
“Sounds a bit harsh, especially considering she was leaving the school anyway.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I was quite shaken by the news. You see, I’m probably the reason her body was found.”
“What do you mean?” Claire asked.
“Sesquatch was in a full-blown nuclear melt-down rage Monday, when Ruth was a no-show at the sendoff rally. He demanded to know where she was, his face turning a new shade of purple. I called her contact numbers, the hospital, the police, anyone I could think of to find her. I think Officer Smith went to her house because he felt sorry for me. He moonlights as campus security, so he knows how Bummer gets.”
“Did he tell you they found her?”
“I got a call the next morning from an officer I didn’t know. He wanted an explanation for my inquiry.”
“I bet that was awkward,” Claire said. “What did you say?”
“Let’s just say that John Pearson isn’t the only actor from this school. I convinced him that Dr. Blummer was very concerned about his dear friend and colleague, especially as she had been so looking forward to her farewell assembly. Luckily, the officer bought it.”
“Did he share any details with you?”
“No. I don’t know why, but I get the feeling there’s something more to it. Maybe I’m too suspicious of Bummer. Anyway, that’s why I brought the file to you. I would appreciate a heads up if you think we haven’t heard the last of this.”
“I’m sure it will all turn out to be nothing,” Claire said.
“I hope so, but please look through this anyway. When you’re done, leave it here in the last Encyclopedia Britannica volume. I’ll pick it up on my next break. It has to be sent to the district’s HR department this afternoon.”
“Any hints of what to look for?” Claire asked.
“Check the signatures,” Tyler said, interrupted by a text on his phone. “My presence is respectfully requested as soon as fudging possible,” he quoted from the screen.
“Just one more thing,” Claire said. She pulled out her phone, swiping to the last picture in her gallery. “Do you know who this is? He’s the spitting image of JP. Or, maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking of him, for business reasons, I mean.”
“Do I sense a celebrity crush?” he asked. “That’s Ed Bishop, the football team’s coach and resident miracle-worker.”
“Popular guy?”
“Due to be sainted. His zero-tolerance policy for his players was right on trend for the board. When he backed up his strict policies and dedication to honest play with all those wins and personal bests, his story became national news. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about him before.”
“I never pay much attention to sports, I’m afraid. Not even for my alma mater.”
“Well,
you’re about the only one. Ed leapfrogged up to PE department chair after his first winning season. Now, Sesquatch has all but paved the way to a new dean’s position in an effort to keep him here.”
“Must be nice to be so valued.”
“You aren’t kidding. He’s terrified that Ed will be recruited by one of the college teams or even a pro league. All the top scouts wine and dine him when they’re in town. Parents and alumni love a winning football team.” Tyler glanced around the room again before confiding, “Since he’s been on board, generous donations have poured in, to be applied to projects with limited board involvement, if you know what I mean. Bummer would have a coronary if Ed ever left.”
“So, not JP, but still a golden boy,” Claire mused.
“Would you like an introduction?”
“What, me? No, I was just curious,” Claire said, feeling the heat of her cheeks’ betrayal. “Anyway, I’ll take a quick look through this information then be on my way.”
“Please don’t forget to leave the file, or I’ll be the next dead body found.”
“I won’t,” Claire promised. “Thanks again for all your help.”
“Thanks for the bribe,” Tyler said, and left via the back entrance.
Claire sped-read the contents of the file, tempted to take photos, but feeling that would betray Tyler’s trust. She noted the approver’s name, who was none other than the rude Dick Nielson. Already dubious of the man’s integrity, she wondered about the ethics of someone serving on the school board while working for the village. She made a few other notes, scanned the room for potential witnesses, then left the folder in the designated place.
Leaving the library, the amateur detective tucked her notepad into her handbag and called to check on the shop as she walked to the cafeteria. The long tables and bench seats from her school years had been replaced with small tables and chairs, and the walls were painted a lighter color. The vending machines in the corner now accepted credit cards and promoted healthy choices in a video display. Yet, the smell was just as she remembered, a heady blend of sour milk, greasy cheese pizza and the citrus scent of floor wax, accented by a hefty dose of sweat and acne cream. She made up her own lyrics to Nirvana’s “Teen Spirit” until she was startled by a willowy woman behind the counter.
