Address to Die For (16 page)

Stephen sat down next to me at the table. “The medical examiner will do an autopsy. We'll know more, then.”

I stood and leaned against the counter. “She could have had a heart attack, an aneurism, or even a stroke. The tension around her was contagious. She gave off a sort of imperceptible hum, like a high-voltage wire. She was a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“True,” said Stephen. “But it's also true that she had enemies.”

I shuddered. “Murder in a book or on a TV show is completely different from thinking about who could actually do such a thing. I considered throttling her myself a time or two and I'd barely known her a week—but I never would have done it.”

“Jason will want to interview you as soon as possible. Brian too.”

“What? You've got to be kidding. Brian?
No
.
Flipping. Way
.” I flung my glass in the sink, shattering it. “She was a passive-aggressive martinet. If we hadn't had April's help, she would have made Brian's life miserable. We stood up to her while she was alive and I will not let her torment us now that she's dead. Brian and I had absolutely nothing to do with her death.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at Stephen, fuming. Belle leaned hard against my leg until I scratched her ears and calmed myself in the process.

“Whoa,” said Stephen, his voice both soft and calm. “Just listen, please. I agree with everything you said. So does Jason, as far as I know. We can get him on the phone if you need to confirm that.”

I boosted myself up to sit on the counter, putting distance between Stephen and me.

“Can you get to the point? I need to say good night to the boys.”

“Jason needs to talk to you to rule you out of the investigation. He needs a form in the file. You're not naive, Maggie. This can't be the first time you've encountered bureaucracy.”

“How do you know what Jason thinks? I just left him there at the school.”

“He called after you left,” Stephen said. “He wants to talk to you and Brian about your last meeting with Miss Harrier. Not about what you said, but about what you saw. He's sealed her office and left everything as it was when you found her, except the body, of course. He wants you and Brian to note anything that's changed since you were there. He's asking April and everyone else who was in there recently to do the same thing.”

I flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, Stephen,” I said. “I should know by now that we can trust you.”

Stephen sniffed. “I'm a Marine. I can take it.”

I stood and moved to the sink to clean up the mess my wineglass had made.

“Leave it. I'll do it.”

I wrinkled my forehead, confused by his kindness. How did this man manage to be on the spot whenever the police or crime victims needed him?
It's like he's Batman or something.

Stephen continued. “Jason will talk to you and Brian at school tomorrow while everyone else is at the assembly.”

I nodded. Jason was the lead detective on the case. If he said he wanted us somewhere at a certain time we had to be there.

Tired or not, though, I needed to do more.

“Stephen, what would you think about getting that group together again? Tess, Pauline, April, Elaine, and Flora? We could look at Miss Harrier's death the same way we looked at the vandalism.”

“Good idea,” Stephen said. “Go to bed. I'll text Tess and the rest of the gang and see if we can meet at Elaine's in the morning.”

I trudged up the stairs, still exhausted and anxious. I was glad Stephen was here, but resented the fact that forces outside my control meant that we
needed
him here.

Max and I had moved to Orchard View assuming it would be a safe, healthy place for our kids to transition to adulthood. Instead, we'd faced more violence in ten days than we ever had in Stockton, which ranked as one of the top-ten cities in California for violent crime.

I would do everything I could to change the situation. But I couldn't do it alone. I needed to reach out to the people around me. People I was growing to like, but knew little about. And I needed to trust them. Trusting strangers and standing up to conflict had never been among my superpowers. But I was going to dig deep, find those skills, develop them, and use them.

Maybe the people at the meeting tomorrow would be fighting for the safety of the town or the school or puzzling out the mysteries as an intellectual exercise. I was fighting for my kids, my family, and my home. And I was going to win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why do I take so many photographs and notes? Because memory is unreliable.

 

 

 

 

G
rapevine communications at middle schools travel with uncanny speed and accuracy. By the time the first bell rang at Orchard View Middle School on Monday morning, every child and almost every parent seemed to know the details of Miss Harrier's death.

In the minutes before school started, they waited outside the multipurpose room in chattering groups like clusters of carnivorous crows aching for more details and pecking at the information they had. It was disturbing. Disturbingly human.

Brian and I skirted the crowd and headed directly to the office. Paolo Bianchi stopped us on the way.

“Morning, Mrs. McDonald,” Paolo said. “Detective Mueller is waiting for you inside the main office.”

“Do you know any more about what happened?” I scanned the parking lot for Paolo's Subaru, wondering what sports equipment might be strapped to the top this morning.

“No, ma'am. And if we did, I couldn't tell you. But take a look at the officers hanging 'round the crowd. They're hoping to find some folks who might know something about what happened here last night.”

I looked over the crowd. Much as I wanted to believe that Miss Harrier's death was a horrible accident or suicide, my subconscious kept reminding me that I couldn't rule out murder. Miss Harrier seemed to want to win every battle. Wouldn't committing suicide be admitting to the world that she'd lost a fight? But if murder was a possibility, this crowd almost certainly hid the murderer. I shuddered.

“Go on in,” Paolo said. “He's waiting for you.”

I pulled open the office door and held it for Brian. Jason spotted us from the doorway of Miss Harrier's office and waved us over.

“Morning, Brian, Maggie,” he said. “This won't take long. We need you to tell us whether anything looks different from what you saw in your last meeting with Miss Harrier. Neither of you is a suspect.”

We entered the office and Jason shut the door behind us. “Close your eyes and listen. See if any odd smells jump out at you. Try to remember what things looked like last week.”

I closed my eyes and listened to the ticking clock, the mumbling voices from outside, and the hum of the ventilating system. I smelled pencil shavings, copy-machine toner, stale coffee, and something else. It could have been the pervasive locker-room scent of unwashed students, or the lingering aroma of death. Either way, it didn't offer any clues. I looked at the desk, battered and sad, and the swivel chair with a dent in the cushion worn by the bottoms of too many principals grilling too many students. The wastebasket still held crumpled papers. The corners of the industrial carpet were still dusty.

I pulled out my phone. “Can I take pictures and look at them later?”

Jason shook his head. “The chance of them leaking out is too great, no matter how careful you are. Just do your best.”

“Last night, I thought I smelled alcohol,” I said. “I don't smell it now.”

“Rubbing alcohol or liquor?” Jason said, scribbling in his notebook with a stubby pencil.

“Can I check out the desk?” asked Brian.

Jason nodded. “Don't touch anything, but look all you want. Maggie, was that liquor you smelled?”

“Yes.”

Brian stared at Miss Harrier's keyboard and her screen saver—an unimaginative bouncing ball that revealed nothing about her. There were no family photos and no calendar. Where earlier it had looked organized, it now looked sterile to me—more impersonal than a department-store display. There was nothing in this room that said
Miss Harrier was here and she was a unique and special individual
.

“Anything?” Jason said. I shook my head.

Brian stooped and looked under the desk. From my vantage point, all I could see was a mass of power supplies and cords lying in disturbingly neat coils.

“What are you looking for?” I said.

Brian stood and bit his bottom lip. “I'm not sure. I think there's something missing. You'd expect things to be different, though, wouldn't you, after a few days? She would have moved things around.”

Jason nodded. “That's right, Brian. I didn't really expect that either you or your mom would be able to see anything that April and our crime team hadn't spotted, but it was worth a try. If you think of what it is that might be missing, give me a call.” He handed Brian his card. I couldn't tell whether providing the business card was something Jason did as part of his routine in approaching all potential witnesses or if the detective was making a conscious effort to treat Brian like an adult and an important part of his investigation. Either way, Brian looked at it and stood a little taller—influenced, I was sure, by Jason's gesture of respect. He shoved the card in the back pocket of his jeans. I made a mental note to check the pockets before Jason's card went through the laundry.

Jason ushered us out. “Brian, you're to meet up with your class in the multipurpose room. Your field trip will be rescheduled. Maggie, I hear you're going to join the group at Elaine's?”

I nodded and shook hands with Jason.

I walked with Brian as far as the multipurpose room and said goodbye, telling him to call me if he needed anything. Neither of us had been at a school where the principal had died, and I had no idea what the day would hold. I took a deep breath and put my trust in the experience and knowledge of April, the district counselors, and Brian's teachers. I walked across the street and knocked on Elaine's front door.

* * *

The meeting at Elaine's began much like the previous one had, with people greeting each other, preparing coffee or tea, and sitting in the same spots in the living room. I sat on the couch, on the end, next to the chair where Tess was already seated. She leaned over and whispered, “I'm so sorry we haven't been able to get together. I've been working my butt off. September is
never
this busy!”

“It's okay,” I said. “Maybe we can get together with the dogs this week. Belle needs a good run and I've missed you.”

“It sounds like you've had a terrible time of it. Did you really find her?”

I nodded and Tess grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Stay there. I'll get you coffee and a cookie,” she said.

I scanned the room while she waited on me. Everyone had arrived except Dennis DeSoto, who was late again. I frowned, but being late seemed to be in character for Mr. Snooty, who surely believed his time was more important than ours.

Stephen took charge. “Let me tell you what I know about what happened yesterday,” he said. “And then we can talk about how we'll proceed.” He looked at his watch. “I'd like to get us out of here by ten or ten thirty.”

“Before we start, I have a request,” I said. “If it's okay with all of you, I'd like to program your numbers into my cell phone and the phones belonging to my boys, David and Brian. For emergencies.”

Tess, Elaine, Flora, and Stephen pulled out their phones. After a moment's hesitation, Pauline did too. We spent a few minutes texting each other to exchange numbers—an annoying, goofy, but necessary process.

“Thank you all so much,” I said, feeling a catch in my throat. Up until now, I hadn't felt I knew anyone in Orchard View well enough to ask them to be emergency contacts.

“It's important to have an emergency plan,” Elaine said. “If only for peace of mind.” Everyone else murmured words of agreement, except maybe Pauline.

Stephen took a sip of coffee and looked at notes scribbled on a yellow legal pad.

“Let's start with the basics: Susan Harrier was found dead, alone in her office, at approximately seven thirty last night. Maggie found her. The medical examiner has ruled out natural causes and accidental death and is looking at suicide or homicide.”

Elaine gasped. “Homicide? Murder? Here? Are you sure, Stephen? She had a huge number of allergies and asthma, I think. Isn't it more likely to have been an allergic reaction or something like that?”

Stephen rubbed his chin with his hand. “We know Miss Harrier recently filled a prescription for Valium. Based on evidence at the scene, we know she took some of the pills, but not how many. We haven't been able to locate the bottle. Taking all the pills could have resulted in drowsiness or a coma, but likely not death, unless the pills were mixed with alcohol. Asthma could have made the complications worse. The medical examiner will be able to tell us more later in the week.”

Elaine leaned forward. “Would it help if I added to the timeline?”

Stephen nodded.

“I told the police I saw her drive in at about five o'clock.” Elaine said. “I waved to her when I was mowing the lawn out front. She often came in on Sunday evenings so she could start Monday morning ahead of the game. After I finished mowing, edging, and sweeping the sidewalk, the fog was starting to come in and it was darker than usual. The lights in the parking lot across the street came on and I checked my watch. It was close to six thirty, but I don't remember the time exactly.” Elaine looked out the window toward the school.

She took another sip of tea and went on with her account. “The lights in the office were flashing on and off, which seemed strange, but not worth checking out. I put away my tools and went inside, but before I could start dinner, I heard a bang or a loud thud. I thought there had been a car accident and went out to see if anyone was hurt. Miss Harrier's car was still where she'd left it, and there were three or four other cars in the parking lot.”

Elaine paused, swallowed, and continued, speaking more slowly with a strained and shaky voice. “I saw a man ... no ... a person ... I can't be sure it was a man ... running from the office down the center corridor of the buildings toward the back of the school. I decided the sound I'd heard must have been that person flinging the door open too hard, or maybe the door got caught by the wind and banged against the wall of the school.”

“Do you have any idea how old that person was?” Stephen said. “Could you tell from the way they moved?”

“Younger than I am, that's for sure,” Elaine said. “I don't run like that anymore. I waited for a minute to see if Miss Harrier would come out, but she didn't.”

Elaine's hands shook as she reached up to smooth the hairs that had escaped her bun. “I should have gone to check on her. If I'd called the ambulance then . . .” She dropped her chin to her chest and a small sob escaped her control.

“You couldn't have known,” said Stephen. “Nothing you did or didn't do hurt Miss Harrier.”

Elaine lifted her head, straightened her spine, and pushed her hair back. “I went back inside and put some potatoes on to boil, but something just didn't sit right. I called Jason and he said he'd check it out. I was watching out the front window and that's when you pulled up, Maggie.”

“Okay, so we've got Elaine seeing and hearing something at about six thirty-five or six forty,” Stephen said. “Maggie, can you take us from when you arrived? Do you remember what time that was?”

I looked at my watch as if it would give me the answer. I thought back to late Sunday afternoon—deciding to go to the store, helping the kids with the fire escape, printing out the form. I'd left the house after seven, I thought. I estimated times and moved my finger around the watch face as I ticked off the time required for each task.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “After seven, maybe as late as seven thirty?”

Stephen nodded. “That fits with what you told the police last night. I was just checking to see if you'd remembered anything else since you'd had time to reflect. Please go on.”

I continued: “The place felt deserted. Spooky. I didn't notice Miss Harrier's car and would have said the parking lot was empty. The lights were on in the main office. I had a form I'd planned to slip under the door, but the door was unlocked, so I added the form to the pile of other papers on the mat. But then I thought I ought to turn off the lights so as not to waste electricity. And then I f-found her.”

“What did she look like—” began Pauline.

Stephen cut her off. “The police have asked that Maggie keep that information to herself.”

Jason hadn't told me that, but I was grateful to have an excuse to avoid reliving those moments out loud.

“Okay,” said Stephen. “That gives us a picture of what happened on Sunday. Now I'd like us to look at what motivations there might have been, either for Miss Harrier to end her own life or for someone else to end it for her.”

April sighed. “I know that we're meant to speak well of the dead,” she said, pausing to clear her throat and wet her lips. “But above all, Miss Susan Harrier would demand accuracy. And I don't see how polishing up our feelings into something socially palatable will help us get to the truth of how she died.”

April looked at the far wall, avoiding everyone's eyes. She put down her coffee mug and held her hands together, tightly clenched. “The truth is, she was a demanding and frustrating person to work with. I considered killing her myself on numerous occasions. I never would have done it, of course, but when she made me angry I entertained myself by thinking of creative ways to do away with her. She belonged in a military academy, not a middle school.”

April's honesty broke the ice and a barely audible sound of muted, embarrassed laughter circled the room.