Back To School Murder #4 (15 page)

“Can I fix something for you?” Bill was hovering over her, unwilling to leave her alone. Lucy could tell he was upset, too. Normally he would have been in his usual after-dinner spot, the recliner chair in the family room, flipping through the channels with the remote control.

“Peanut butter and jelly would be fine, with a big glass of milk. Comfort food.”

“You got it,” said Bill, setting to work. “How about Elizabeth?”

“You can try, but I don't think she'll eat anything.”

Bill yelled up the stairs, trying to be heard over Elizabeth's CD player. “Do you want some supper?”

“No!” came the unequivocal answer.

Lucy gave Bill an “I told you so” sort of shrug as he set her sandwich before her. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and sat down beside her.

“Don't worry. It'll be okay,” he said.

“I hope so,” said Lucy, taking a big bite of peanut butter and jelly. “I hope so.”

O
n Monday morning Ted was back at work.

“You did a good job on that story about the parental notification bill,” he told her.

“What about my Carol Crane story?” asked Lucy.

“It's great stuff,” said Ted, “but I can't use it.”

“Why not?” asked Lucy, crestfallen.

“Well…you make some pretty serious allegations and you don't back them up.”

“It's just common sense,” sputtered Lucy. “The fire and the bombing couldn't be coincidences.”

“I agree,” said Ted. “But nobody official filed any charges against her. There isn't a hint of suspicion about the Bridgton affair.”

“Well, what about the stuff Professor Rea told me?”

Ted smiled slowly. “I think he told you what he wanted you to know. He gave you his perspective. What politicians call spin control. If Carol is even half as manipulative as you suspect—well, I bet the story he didn't tell you is a lot more interesting than the one he did.”

“I can't believe I was so stupid,” said Lucy, recognizing the truth in what Ted said. “I let him lead me by the nose. I didn't question a thing he said.”

 

Lucy started on the pile of press releases that had accumulated on her desk, but her mind wasn't really on the next meeting of the Village Garden Club or the fact that the Broadbrooks Free Library was switching to winter hours and would no longer be open on Tuesday evenings. Instead, she kept thinking of her conversation with Dr. Franklin. Had he been holding something back, she wondered. After all, Carol had upset a lot of people in the Tinker's Cove schools—she must have had a similar effect in Bridgton.

Checking Carol's résumé, which was beginning to get a bit worn about the edges, she gave him a call. This time, he was home, apparently taking a break from the campaign trail.

“Dr. Franklin? This is Lucy Stone, from
The Pennysaver
. I spoke to you at the coffee for Bob Angus.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I wonder if you're aware that Carol Crane was involved in an incident here in Tinker's Cove that was very similar to the fire in Bridgton? Instead of a fire, we had a bomb in the school, and Carol saved a little boy who was locked in a supply closet.”

“That's an amazing coincidence.” Dr. Franklin's voice seemed to waver a bit.

“I don't think it's a coincidence at all,” said Lucy. “I suspect Carol planned them both.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I've done some research and it seems to be part of a pattern. She used these crisis situations to become a hero and to gain power. Does that sound at all plausible to you?”

“I don't know.” He sighed. “There were rumors about her but I put them down to jealousy. When Carol got so much attention it seemed to put a lot of people's noses out of joint.” He paused. “This is all off the record, of course. A lot of folks here will simply not hear anything negative about Carol.”

“But you've heard negative things?”

“Actually, yes. Our police chief advised me that Carol had been involved in a police call. Neighbors complained about a woman screaming in the night. It was Carol, fighting with a man. He said he was her husband, but Carol insisted he was an unwanted guest. It was never repeated, and Carol left soon after.” He paused. “I have to admit, I was relieved when she left. I was beginning to suspect she was something of a troublemaker.”

“And that's why you gave her such a glowing recommendation?” Lucy was shocked.

“That's the way it's done, my dear. That's the way it's done.” Dr. Franklin suddenly sounded like a very old man. “You just pass the problem along, and then it becomes somebody else's problem.”

Saying goodbye then replacing the receiver, Lucy decided to give Sophie a call. She just couldn't believe what Dr. Franklin had told her.

“Sophie, Lucy Stone. I just had the oddest phone conversation with Dr. Franklin, the Bridgton superintendent. He told me he gave Carol a good recommendation to get rid of her. Could that be true?”

“It wouldn't surprise me at all,” admitted Sophie after she had digested Lucy's question. “In fact, it's getting so bad that the better a teacher's credentials are, the more suspicious I am.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well,” explained Sophie patiently, “because of tenure and union contracts and all that, it's very expensive for a school system to fire a bad teacher. There has to be a hearing and the teacher is entitled to a lawyer and the whole thing drags on for months and even then the teacher isn't fired. Usually they're just required to take a remedial classroom management course or something. In truth, the only way you can get rid of them is to get somebody else to hire them.”

“But if everyone knows this, how come it works?” asked Lucy.

“Sometimes it doesn't,” said Sophie. “But Carol was hired by a search committee made up of parents and school committee members, DeWalt included. They were awfully impressed with her credentials.” Sophie sniffed. “I knew she'd be trouble from the get-go. She started after Mr. Mopps her very first day.”

“Why was that?”

“I don't know. It was almost as if she just couldn't stand the man. I never understood it.”

“Now that she's no longer on the scene, couldn't you hire him back?”

“I tried,” said Sophie. “His brother told me he left town, went back to Brooklyn.”

“That's interesting,” began Lucy.

“Lucy!” roared Ted, from across the room. “I need those town news items and those obits
Now!
”

“Gotta go. Thanks, Sophie,” said Lucy, hanging up the receiver and reaching for the keypad.

 

Lucy typed steadily for the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday, working her way through the huge stack of press releases and classified ad forms she had neglected in favor of her investigative reporting the week before. Finally, at three on Tuesday afternoon, she left to take Elizabeth to the allergist.

“You can let asthma control you,” the doctor told Elizabeth, “or you can control it. The way you do that is by taking your medication every day.”

Elizabeth nodded meekly as he explained her daily regimen of pills and nasal spray and inhalers, but exploded after they had left the office and reached the car.

“‘I'm not gonna do it! I'm not gonna fill my body with all that stuff,” she declared as she fumbled with her seat belt.

“It does seem like a lot,” sympathized Lucy. “But he said he'd review it at your next appointment. I think you have to give it a try.”

“It's ridiculous! I don't see how all those chemicals could be good for me. And I am not going to carry an inhaler wherever I go like some sort of geek.” She finally snapped the buckle into place.

“I know how you feel—I think natural is better, too. But sometimes our bodies don't quite do what we want. Remember how scared you were? Wouldn't it be better to try and avoid that happening again?”

“It won't happen again,” said Elizabeth. “I won't let it.”

“You can't control it,” said Lucy, her voice rising. “When he gave you those patch tests, could you stop the reaction? It's the same thing, only it's your breathing. Don't be stupid. It's not fair to put me through another attack—”

Elizabeth looked at her, her eyes widening in surprise.

“It's not just about you. A lot of people love you.” Lucy smiled slowly. “You're my favorite, you know.”

“No, I didn't know,” said Elizabeth, surprised.

“Well, you are. All the time I was pregnant with Toby I wished for a girl. When he was born, well, I loved him, of course. I was really happy that he was healthy and had all his toes and fingers, but I couldn't help feeling a tiny bit disappointed. Then you came and I was so excited to finally have a little girl.”

“But Mom, we're always fighting.”

“That's okay. I fought with my mother, too. In fact, you remind me of myself more than any of the others.”

“If you say so,” said Elizabeth, looking rather doubtful.

“So, do me a favor and at least try the medication 'til your next appointment, okay?” Lucy started the car.

“Okay,” grumbled Elizabeth. “If it makes you happy.”

Lucy started the engine, heading for home. As they drove along, she remembered Elizabeth's arrival in the family. All through her pregnancy, Lucy had worried about Toby's reaction. After being the center of attention for two and a half years, she was worried that he would resent the new baby.

When Lucy and Bill brought the tiny baby Elizabeth home from the cottage hospital, Toby had seemed uninterested. He busied himself playing with his trucks, and his Legos, and ignored both the baby and his mother. After a day or two, Lucy realized what was going on.

One afternoon, when Elizabeth was napping, Lucy scooped Toby up and planted him on the sofa beside her. He tried to squirm away, but she wrapped an arm around him and hugged him.

“Today,” she said, opening the family album, “I have a very special story for you. It's the story of baby Toby.”

She pointed to a picture of herself, her belly swollen with pregnancy. “That's Mommy with baby Toby inside.”

Toby was interested, and studied the picture. When he was ready, she turned the page.

“That's brand new baby Toby.”

Toby shook his head. “Baby 'Lizbet.”

“Nope,” insisted Lucy. “That's you. Once, you were just as small as Elizabeth. You couldn't talk. You couldn't walk.”

Lucy pointed to another picture. “You're bigger here. Six months. See, you're sitting up.”

She turned a few pages. “Now, baby Toby's standing. And here, baby Toby's playing with his big, red fire engine.”

“Truck!” said Toby, pointing with a chubby finger.

“And here's a picture of Toby now. What a big boy!” said Lucy, giving him a squeeze. “You're my favorite big boy!”

“Big Boy!” agreed Toby, snuggling close.

Ever since then, Lucy had made a point of letting each of her children know how special they were to her. She often told each child he or she was her favorite. She didn't know if they compared notes, but she didn't think it mattered. Whenever she said it, that child was, for the moment, her very dearest child.

 

They arrived home with time to spare. Now that Lucy had been working for three weeks, a system had finally begun to evolve. While Lucy put dinner together, Sara played with Zoë, Elizabeth set the table, and Toby ran a load of wash. When Bill came home, the house was peaceful and orderly and dinner was ready to go on the table.

“Smells great,” he said, lifting the lid of the pot and sniffing appreciatively.

“Beef stew. With red wine and mushrooms.”

“You haven't made that in ages.”

“I know. I found some old recipes on Saturday, while you were out fishing with Toby.” In fact, following up on a tip from Sue, Lucy had searched high and low until she found her crock pot, long forgotten on the top shelf of the pantry.

They both turned as Zoë toddled into the kitchen. “Daddy!” she exclaimed, holding out her arms.

Bill scooped her up and lifted her high above his head, making her squeal.

After dinner, Bill settled in his favorite chair to watch the news with Zoë in his lap. Sara cleared the table and Elizabeth and Toby loaded the dishwasher. When Lucy left for her class, she had the distinctly odd but pleasant sensation of knowing that everything was under control.

In class, Lucy tried to concentrate on Professor Rea's lecture, but her mind kept wandering. Thinking back over their luncheon, she realized how artfully he had directed the conversation. She had been so thrilled to be getting the inside scoop that she had swallowed not only his line, but the hook and sinker, too.

A burst of laughter from the class brought her attention back to the professor. He was a consummate actor, she realized. With impeccable timing he was able to lead the class through a daunting amount of material, much of it tedious and boring. After all, the Victorians weren't known for concise expression. But whenever the pace slowed, whenever the students' attention wandered, he was able to get them back on track with a joke and a laugh. It was easy to underestimate him because he made it look so easy.

Confident, charming, sophisticated, good-looking—was he perhaps a bit too good to be true? Why had he never married, Lucy wondered. It seemed a bit odd. Perhaps he wasn't quite the well-adjusted bachelor that he seemed.

What exactly had his relationship with Carol been? At lunch, he had given Lucy the impression that Carol had injured him, but he didn't offer any specifics. What really happened? And was it all long in the past, as she had assumed, or had they been seeing each other recently?

What had he said?
Carol lived close to the edge. She liked to play games. She was bound to push somebody too far
. Had Carol pushed him too far? What would his reaction have been?

Lucy pushed the unbidden thought away. Besides, he had seemed genuinely grief-stricken the other night, when he had first learned of Carol's death. You couldn't fake something like that, could you?

 

He stopped her after class, waiting until the others had left the room before speaking.

“I really enjoyed lunch the other day,” he began, slowly running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I had a nice time, too,” said Lucy. The memory of him licking a dab of cream filling off his lip popped into her mind, and she tried to suppress it.

“Is something the matter? You seem anxious,” he said, flicking off the light as they passed through the doorway into the hallway.

“Oh, no. Well, actually I am a little distracted.” Lucy wasn't about to admit her real thoughts during class. Instead, she said, “I just learned that my daughter has asthma. I'm worried about her.”