Back To School Murder #4 (14 page)

Reading the description of the fire, Lucy felt sick. Two such similar incidents couldn't be coincidences, especially when you added in that trick with the bus. They all had to have been staged by Carol herself.

What sort of person could trick two little boys—handicapped children, no less—and lock them up only to pretend to save them? And what about the poor bus driver?

Lucy put her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes. Carol had certainly fooled everybody in Tinker's Cove. She wasn't a heroine; she was a monster who manipulated people and events. She didn't care whom she hurt, thought Lucy, growing angry.

What if she'd miscalculated? What if Tommy had been injured, or even killed? Had Carol even considered that? She probably had, and figured she'd come out ahead no matter what happened.

It's no wonder she was killed, thought Lucy, growing quite cold. A person who messes around with other people's lives is bound to make a lot of enemies. She rubbed her arms and then switched on the computer. This was one story that had to be told.

W
hen Lucy had finished, it was after four o'clock. She knew she ought to hurry home and get dinner started, but lately, she admitted sadly to herself, family suppers hardly seemed worth the effort. Furthermore, she knew a memorial tree-planting service for Carol Crane was scheduled for four-thirty at the school. Ted was too sick to go—she could stop by and snap a few photos on the way home. After all, Elizabeth and Toby were certainly old enough to get supper started. It was about time they learned a little responsibility, she decided, as she called to give them instructions.

A few minutes later, Lucy turned in the drive to the elementary school and parked the Subaru behind a white TV van. Tinker's Cove was certainly in the news these days. Grabbing her camera and notebook, she hurried across the lawn to the memorial grove, begun only a few years ago when the parents of a first grader who died of leukemia donated a flowering crab apple tree in her memory. Now, the grove had grown to a half-dozen ornamental trees. There, teachers and administrators and a number of parents had gathered, along with the TV camera crew.

Rather than arranging themselves in a single group, however, Lucy noticed that they had split into two camps. Mrs. Applebaum, Ms. Kinnear, Lydia Volpe, and most of the teachers were standing on one side. The other group contained the superintendent of schools, one or two school committee members, and a number of parents. DeWalt Smythe detached himself from that group and stepped forward, opening his worn copy of the Revised Standard Version.

“Let us pray,” he began. “Lord, we are gathered here today to remember your servant Carol.” He paused, and raised his face, eyes closed, in what Lucy thought was a rather ostentatious display of piety for the benefit of the TV camera. “Carol was a shining example of Christian womanhood, an educator who taught by heroic example.”

Just wait 'til you read
The Pennysaver
this week, thought Lucy, raising her camera and clicking away.

In the group from which DeWalt had stepped sniffles could be heard as people fumbled for handkerchiefs and wiped their eyes. In the other group there was an obvious lack of grief. In fact, Lucy sensed a certain air of impatience as DeWalt continued his lengthy prayer.

“And so, dear Lord, it is with great sadness that we dedicate this little tree to your faithful servant Carol, whose death at the hand of a colleague can only remind us that so long as we are willing to tolerate wickedness and Godlessness in our community, the truly good shall fall as lambs before wolves. It is only when we decide to choose the path of righteousness, and accept your holy laws, that goodness and virtue will once again flourish upon the earth. Amen.”

As soon as the final word was pronounced, the group of teachers broke up and went their separate ways. The other group, however, lingered to admire the tree and console each other. Lucy considered interviewing some of the mourners, but figured DeWalt had really said it all. Furthermore, the TV crew was monopolizing his attention. Instead, she followed the teachers who had regrouped in the parking lot.

“I'm so sick of that guy, I could throw up,” she overheard Lydia Volpe say.

“I just wish people knew what the real Saint Carol was like,” muttered Ms. Kinnear. “Hasn't it occurred to anybody that it's a little odd nobody has claimed her body? Sandy McCoul at the funeral home told me they don't know what to do with it.”

“Even if you tried to tell them, they wouldn't believe it,” said Sophie, in a resigned voice, glancing at the weeping mourners. “And now they've got Josh as a scapegoat. I'm so worried for him.”

Lydia shook her head. “Did you hear the news? The DA has granted immunity to some informer who says Josh hired him to set the bomb to get back at Carol. Can you believe it?” Her dark eyes flashed with anger.

Lucy was tempted to join in the gossip, but reminded herself that she was there to get information, not share it. They could read all about it when the paper came out. “What informant?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. I only heard a snatch on the radio on my way over here. I didn't get his name.”

“Mel something,” said Ms. Kinnear.

“Mel Costas?” asked Lucy, remembering the accident report Jewel had filed just before deadline.

“That's it,” said Ms. Kinnear. “Mel Costas. He seems like a pretty good candidate for the murder, if you ask me, but they say he has an ironclad alibi. He's coming clean about the bombing because he's so upset about Carol.” She sniffed. “Sounds pretty suspicious to me.”

“Me, too,” said Lydia. “No one will ever convince me that Josh Cunningham would do a thing like that.”

“It's as if she's reaching out from the morgue—as if she didn't cause enough grief when she was alive,” said Ms. Kinnear, with a little shudder.

“I don't suppose you want to go on the record with any of this,” said Lucy. “I'm filling in for Ted.”

“Good Lord, no,” said Sophie. “As far as
The Pennysaver
is concerned, we're shocked and grieved by Ms. Crane's tragic death.”

Lucy dutifully wrote down the quote in her notebook. “What about this parental notification bill that DeWalt is sponsoring?” she asked.

Sophie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Completely impractical. Expensive, too. Can you imagine the work involved in notifying parents whenever a teacher plans to include a ‘sensitive topic' in a lesson plan? And who decides what's sensitive and what isn't? Most teachers will end up avoiding anything they think might be controversial.”

“It will stifle free expression in the classroom,” said Ms. Kinnear. “Say we were talking about families and a child said he had two mothers or two fathers. Well, we couldn't talk about that unless I'd warned the parents in advance, so I would have to cut off discussion.”

“Do topics like that really come up in second grade?” asked Lucy, a bit surprised.

“Oh, sure,” said Ms. Kinnear. “The kids see TV news, they hear their parents talking. Gosh, the kids whose families attend the Revelation Congregation are always talking about the poor murdered babies.”

“It's true,” agreed Lydia. “One of my kindergarteners was in tears the other day—she was convinced an ‘evil ‘bortion doctor' would kill her brand new baby sister.”

“That's horrible,” said Lucy.

“The poor things hear all this rhetoric and don't know what to think, and if you try to tell them the truth, you get in trouble.” Lydia sounded bitter.

“Teachers have to be very careful even now, without the law. Can you imagine how restricted they would feel if it went into effect?” said Sophie. “Especially since it could be used to punish teachers who hold liberal views.”

“Punish? What do you mean?”

“Nowadays, thanks to tenure, teachers can't lose their jobs simply because they're unpopular with a certain segment of the community. But if this law is adopted, it will give those people a tool. They can complain that a teacher violated the parental notification law, and it could be grounds for dismissal.”

“And it will be almost impossible to comply with it—there are bound to be slipups,” said Lydia.

“It almost seems like it was designed to entrap teachers,” Lucy said slowly.

“It sure does,” said Lydia, dark eyes flashing. “I'm beginning to feel like an endangered species.”

“Look what they're doing to Josh,” said Ms. Kinnear. “DeWalt is demonizing him; he isn't even waiting for the trial to find out if he's guilty or not. If they can do that to him, they can do it to any of us.”

The others nodded silently in agreement.

 

Lucy thanked Sophie for her comment and hurried off, mulling over what the teachers had said. She was shocked at how vulnerable they felt, and couldn't decide if their fears were justified or not. These days, everyone seemed to be paranoid when it came to their jobs.

The little clock in her car told her she was running late, and the day-care center was due to close in just a few minutes. Zoë was the only child left when she arrived, which made her feel terribly guilty.

Finally turning into her own driveway, she was relieved to see that Bill's pickup truck was not there, which meant he wasn't home yet. He must have had to work late, too. At least she wouldn't have to deal with his foot-tapping impatience as she prepared dinner.

She had no sooner got out of her car than the kitchen door flew open, and she heard Toby's call for help. Running up the steps, with Zoë clutched to her chest and her purse and diaper bag swinging from her arms, she flew into the kitchen. There she found Elizabeth unable to catch her breath.

“I can't breathe,” the girl gasped, her chest heaving with effort. Her eyes were wide with panic as she broke into a high, barking cough. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the floor around her was littered with crumpled tissues, proof that her nose wouldn't stop running.

Lucy handed the baby to Toby and dropped her bags, kneeling on the floor beside Elizabeth. Checking the beds of her fingernails, she saw they were a healthy shade of pink.

“You're going to be fine,” she said, looking directly into her daughter's frightened eyes. “You're panicking and it's making things worse. Try to breathe slowly and evenly, okay?”

Elizabeth nodded, and tried to gain control of her rapid, shallow breaths, but succombed instead to a fit of coughing.

Making a quick decision, Lucy turned to Toby. “I'm going to take her to the emergency room—I want you to take charge here, okay?”

“Do you still want me to make supper?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said Lucy, flustered. “You must be starving. How about some soup and sandwiches? Something like that—do what you think best. Come on, Elizabeth.” She pulled the girl to her feet and supported her by wrapping an arm around her waist. “Time to see the doctor.”

During the drive to the cottage hospital, Lucy kept a nervous eye on her daughter. Her eyes were still streaming, and her breaths were ragged gasps in between fits of coughing and wheezing. Lucy did her best to hide her concern from Elizabeth, but she was frantic by the time they pulled up at the emergency room entrance.

A nurse took one look at Elizabeth when they entered and led them immediately to a curtained cubicle. She quickly checked her pulse and blood pressure and within minutes they were joined by a doctor.

“We need you to fill out some papers,” said the nurse, leading Lucy back to the front desk. “She's in good hands.”

By the time Lucy had finished filling out a health history, signed a consent form, and handed over her insurance card, Elizabeth was much improved. Her breathing was still rough and choppy when Lucy returned to the cubicle, but she was no longer gasping frantically for air.

“This was a pretty typical asthma attack,” said the doctor. “Has Elizabeth been treated for allergies?”

“Not really,” said Lucy. “I noticed she was allergic to our cat so we gave it away.”

“People tend not to take allergies very seriously, but that's a mistake,” said the doctor. “Allergies are very dangerous. She really needs to see a specialist to get this under control. I wouldn't delay if I were you—I'd make an appointment right away. In the meantime, here are some antihistamines and an inhaler, in case she has another attack. I showed her how to use it. You did the right thing, bringing her in. I mean it,” he nodded seriously. “You can't afford to ignore asthma. Children die from it every year.”

Back in the car, Lucy tried to make sense of the episode.

“Has that ever happened before?”

“No, Mom. Honest.”

“Do you have any idea what brought it on?”

“No. Toby and I were fooling around, and he threw a pillow at me. I threw it back and we had a little pillow fight. Next thing I knew, I couldn't breathe. It was scary.”

“Sure was,” said Lucy, reaching for Elizabeth's hand. She attempted a joke. “I can think of something scarier.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Not having supper ready when your father comes home.”

“Nothing's scarier than that,” agreed Elizabeth, but she didn't join Lucy in a restorative laugh, as she normally would have.

She's afraid, thought Lucy, with a painful little stab of insight. She's afraid to laugh because it might set off another attack.

 

They had no sooner pulled in the driveway than the kitchen door popped open and Bill hurried out to meet them.

“How's Elizabeth?” he demanded anxiously.

“She had an asthma attack—they gave her some medications and said we ought to see a specialist.”

“Asthma?” He looked at Elizabeth suspiciously. “Nobody in my family has asthma.”

Lucy shrugged. “A lot of kids have it nowadays—maybe it's something to do with air pollution. That's my theory, anyway.” She put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulder for a quick hug but Elizabeth shook it off and made a point of bounding up the porch steps. They heard the familiar sound of the door to her room slamming as they entered the kitchen. Soon the sound of Road Kill, Elizabeth's favorite band, drifted down the stairs.

“I don't think she's too thrilled about this,” said Lucy, spreading the inhalers and medications out on the kitchen table. “She has to take all this every day.”

“Just say no,” said Bill, attempting a joke at the impressive assortment of drugs that included blue, orange, and pink inhalers, nasal spray, and several bottles of pills.

“Don't you dare tease her about this,” warned Lucy. “Promise?”

“Promise,” agreed Bill.

“Has everybody eaten?” Lucy asked hopefully.

“Yup. Zoë's had a bath and is in bed. Toby's doing homework and Sara is watching TV. Everything's under control.”

“That's a relief,” said Lucy, collapsing into a chair and propping her elbows on the kitchen table.