An Educated Death (40 page)

I settled for "I don't know," squelching a rude urge to tell her she could buy an extra half pound of meat and take her chances. It wasn't her fault Andre and I were fighting, and Hennessey and I were fighting. I was just a belligerent little thing who couldn't get along with anyone. "We've been so busy we haven't had time to discuss it."

"Well, discuss it with him, dear, won't you please? Right now. I can wait a few minutes. Or you could call me back."

"Andre's not here. It's one of the Sedgwick police. Someone to watch over me." She made me so crazy. In another minute I'd be singing Cole Porter.

"Well, can't you call him and then call me back?"

Rather than trying to explain the complexities of the situation which wasn't any of her business, and because I knew she'd gloat if Andre disappeared from the picture—she'd never quite approved of her daughter being involved with a cop, anyway—I agreed that I'd talk to Andre later in the day and call her back. I didn't have time to reach the table before the phone rang again. A woman's voice, high, querulous, and unfamiliar. She asked if Joe Hennessey was there. I agreed that he was and asked if she'd like to speak with him.

"No," she said, "just give him a message. Tell him that Maureen called. He's supposed to have the kids today and I've got plans. Tell him if he's not here by nine I'm leaving them at the station and after that it's up to him." She disconnected before I could say anything.

He was watching me glumly from the table. "Maureen?" he asked.

"She says you're supposed to have the kids today and that if you aren't there by nine she's leaving them at the station."

He threw his spoon into his empty bowl with a clatter and checked his watch. I noticed he hadn't been too upset to eat. "What time are you being picked up?"

"Seven-thirty." The doorbell rang. "Right now," I said, and went to let Lisa in.

She took off her silly pompomed ski hat and set it on the chest in the entry, then shook out her hair. "Whew!" she said. "I almost didn't make it. That husband of mine must have been in tune-out mode when I told him I had to leave early for work this morning, because he got up, got dressed, ate his breakfast, and was about to sashay off to the office with his briefcase when he noticed I was about to sashay off with my briefcase. We looked like one of those working couples from the TV commercial where they're both about to go to work and forget the baby sitting there in its chair. Anyway, all puffed up and full of himself, he said he was sorry but he had to go to work early, it was important."

"Is he still among the living?" I asked.

"The walking wounded. I took your advice. I said that despite our agreement to share the work, I'd taken Charlotte to day care every day for the past four weeks, that I'd called him at work yesterday especially to remind him I had to leave early this morning, that it was his turn and if he couldn't do it, then maybe he should call his mother. Then I unwound Charlotte from my leg, wound her around his, and left, and let me tell you, I feel like I've just broken out of jail!" Her eyes drifted past me and noticed Hennessey, standing by the table.

"Lisa, this is Joe Hennessey, my uh... bodyguard." Like the true professional that she was, Lisa stepped past me and shook Joe's hand, her face showing nothing but bland courtesy. I gave up on my breakfast and went to the closet to get my jacket. "How cold is it?"

"Nice," she said.

I grabbed my black leather jacket with the politically incorrect, animal-unfriendly fur lining, which was my favorite piece of clothing in the whole world and a gift from my husband, David. The Mace that lived in my pocket clinked gently against the little handheld alarm that always lived there, courtesy of Andre Lemieux, and the closest I'd ever come to carrying a weapon. In Massachusetts you need a permit to buy Mace, and all the policemen who liked to look out for me had made sure I was permitted up to my earlobes. I probably could have legally carried a grenade launcher, but it was too big to fit in my pocket.

A little bit of song flitted through my mind as I turned to say good-bye to Hennessey. A song that went something like, "Good-bye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh...." Knowing he was already in a glum and put-upon frame of mind, I was kind enough not to sing it. All I said was, "'Bye, Joe. I'll be back in Sedgwick around twelve."

He should have demanded my itinerary, perhaps even come with me, but he was on the daddy track now, trying to get home in time to stop Maureen from humiliating him by dumping his kids at the station. He barely registered my departure. It was a supremely poor ending to our night of comfort and kindness and reminded me why it was that as one grew older, the idea of one-night stands became increasingly less appealing. Invariably they were more trouble than they were worth. Not that I had much experience with one-night stands. I was relatively inexperienced when I met David, having been made shy and cautious by an adolescence burdened by a large chest and boys who had trouble seeing the person behind it, and my one-night stand with David had lasted for two glorious years.

I grabbed a hat and gloves, having been well trained by my mother never to go out in the winter without all the proper gear, just in case something happened to the car and I had to walk. I was also very good about wearing clean underwear. Not once in my innumerable trips to the emergency room had I embarrassed my mother by having holes in my underwear, only holes in my body.

The guest spots were empty again, except for a battered Datsun that distinctly lowered the tone of the neighborhood. Probably belonged to one of my neighbor's college-age kids home for the holidays. I handed Lisa my keys and she slid happily behind the wheel. "What's with the sullen hunk?" she said.

I wasn't surprised. You don't hire someone because they're good at reading people, then expect them not to use their talents. "The chief was afraid someone might try to kill me again. He sent Hennessey along as a baby-sitter."

"And?"

"The two of us discovered a body together yesterday. And last night we shared a couple drinks, and he was supposed to stick around and make sure I was safe...."

"And Andre just walked out on you. And you were bone tired and Joe Hennessey happens to be a handsome hunk of a man, so..."

"So you're almost right. One thing almost did lead to another. It's funny, though, I never really noticed what he looked like."

"I wouldn't tell him that. Almost, huh? So how do you feel today? Disappointed or pleased with yourself?"

"I'm fine. Maybe I'm getting more masculine in my approach or something, but it didn't bother me. It was Hennessey who got upset. I guess glum, sensitive, brooding guys just aren't my type."

"It could be Irish guilt," she said. "The madonna/whore complex. Now that he's spent the night with you he doesn't know where to put you... he's either got to head toward marriage or assume you're a slut, which he knows you're not, so he doesn't know what to do. It never occurs to them that they're sluts, so they just get glum and confused."

"Sounds like an ad hominem fallacy to me. I think it's more likely he thought he should have stayed up and kept watch instead of sleeping."

She shrugged airily. "Well, I won't try to force the theory on you, but remember, I'm the one who went to a Catholic college. But tell me honestly, it really doesn't bother you to have jumped into bed with a stranger like that? Okay, I know I'm being too nosy. You don't have to answer. Maybe, after four years of absolute monogamy and motherhood, I'm dying for a little vicarious adventure."

"But nothing happened. We came close but you know me... the queen of self-control."

"You slept in the same bed?" I nodded. "And nothing happened?"

"That's right."

"Nothing?"

"I had a nightmare. He patted my back. Otherwise, nothing."

She made a face. "I'm heartbroken. I always wanted to be just like you when I grew up, but now I don't know. How could you pass up such an extraordinary opportunity to get completely carried away?" I just shrugged and that was the end of it.

We were in Nashua in what seemed like no time at all. Lisa handed me her carefully written directions to the restaurant where we were going to meet Greg Jenner.

We told the waitress we were meeting someone and she said, "He's already here," and led us to a booth at the back where a slight man huddled glumly over a cup of coffee. I let Lisa take the lead, since she'd made the contact, and she greeted him warmly as we slid onto the bench facing him.

"We really appreciate your willingness to do this, Greg," she said, "I know it must be very unpleasant for you to relive the experience."

"You can say that again," he said. He had thick dark hair and hazel eyes and while he wasn't conventionally handsome, he had nice features that with a little animation would have been attractive. Instead, he had a beaten-down air that was painful to see. "For about a two weeks there, until that desk man got back from vacation and told his version of things, I thought I was watching my whole life go down the toilet over a piece of ass I didn't even get. When you called, I almost said no to you. I'd put all that behind me and didn't want to think about it again. But I couldn't let her get away with doing it to someone else, you know? Not knowing what I went through."

"Would you tell us the story again?" I said.

He shrugged. "Guess I might as well."

The waitress came and filled our cups and asked if we'd like to order. Lisa and Greg ordered little breakfasts, but I got the Lumberjack's Special—two eggs, bacon, toast and home fries, with orange juice and coffee and three buttermilk pancakes. I was betting I could eat every single bite, too. As soon as she left, he told us the story.

"I made the mistake of assuming she was helpless," he began. "She was a new teacher and she seemed so shaky and insecure that I felt sorry for her. She came to me pretty often for advice and I made the time to talk to her. And she was fun, you know, kind of cheerful and flirty and it made me feel good to be helping her." He spread his hands wide. "I used to be Mr. Nice Guy. Ask anyone who knew me then. I liked to help people. LaVonne changed all that. I don't know... I guess I'll never know... whether she genuinely misconstrued my help as something more, or whether she's just really screwed up. I guess what Lisa says she's trying to do to your client suggests screwed up. It's too bad. She could have been a good teacher, too." He shook his head sadly.

"Anyway, on what the police kept referring to as 'the night in question,' I'd stayed late to get some work done. My wife had taken the girls to visit her parents for the weekend so I didn't have to rush home. I was in the classroom trying to get a head start on a bunch of worksheets when LaVonne came in in tears. The principal had audited her class that day and things had gotten a little out of control and since it was her first year and she was a probationary employee, she was afraid she'd really blown it. I stopped what I was doing and tried to reassure her. Told her all the usual stuff. That the principal understood how things were for a new teacher. That classrooms often get out of control when there are outsiders observing, I was sure she was doing a fine job. All that stuff."

He stopped talking while the waitress delivered our food and then there was a lull in his narrative while he ate. Lisa made some small talk about his daughters, told him about Charlotte, and gently lifted his spirits, which had been sinking visibly while he talked. He ate quickly and efficiently and got back to his story, obviously in a hurry to be finished. I didn't blame him. I'd had my share of run-ins with the police and I knew how infuriated and helpless you felt when they didn't believe what you were telling them. Despite our system of assuming a person is innocent until proven guilty, you don't feel as though you have any rights or any protection when the police are treating you like the scum of the earth. I told him so and he smiled for the first time.

"Exactly," he said. "I've never felt so helpless. So anyway, LaVonne asked if I'd have a drink with her. She said she really needed one and she hated to drink alone. I figured what the hell, just because I was married didn't mean I could never again in my life be seen with a woman who wasn't my wife... I mean, I knew Lynne would understand. She was marvelous through the whole thing. Never doubted me for a second." He stopped and looked at me. "Are you married?"

"I was. He died."

"I'm sorry," he said, and sounded like he meant it.

I felt the beginnings of a real righteous anger toward LaVonne Rawlins. Whatever her own personal problems, she'd sure done a number on Greg Jenner. She'd taken a nice and generous man and hurt him so that he no longer dared to be spontaneous, so that he was afraid to be kind. Now she was trying to do the same thing to Denzel. Denzel was a different kind of man and the harm would be more to his professional status, but in the end, it would hurt him personally as well.

"We went to the bar at the Mountaingate Inn. I had a drink, I think she had two or three, but probably only two. A couple times while we were sitting there, LaVonne had put her hand on my thigh and once she brushed her breast against my shoulder. I was getting kind of nervous, wondering how I was going to handle her, so I said I had to be getting home. We'd come in separate cars and the quickest way out was down the motel corridor and out a door. As we went down the hall, she stumbled. I grabbed her arm to steady her and she tried to kiss me. I reminded her that I was married and asked her not to. Then she slapped me and ran out. I got in my car and drove home and didn't think any more about it until two cops came to my door the next day and arrested me for sexual assault. The next few days were hell on earth."

"Would you be willing to repeat all this on videotape?" I asked.

"I'd rather not," he said.

"I know. And I understand. I was just trying to think of a way to persuade her lawyer to back off without the necessity for you to have to see her again. If we could get your story on tape and copies of the police and court records, I think we could do that."

He was silent for a while, cradling his coffee in his hands and not looking at either of us. Finally he raised his eyes. "Okay," he said. "I'll do it."