Curse of the PTA (23 page)

Chapter 17

T
hanks to Jenna-induced panic (“But I don’t
remember
where I put my shoes!”) and an Oliver-created sulk (“Why do I have to wear a good
shirt? School pictures are dumb!”), my arrival at work was late and rushed, and my
intention to call Gus first thing was curtailed when I found the note I’d written
and taped to the top of the computer screen.

“Interview, take three, nine o’clock Monday morning.”

I glanced at my watch. Not nearly enough time to call Gus. Besides, I needed to call
Summer first and see if she’d followed through with telling her husband.

“Hidey ho,” Lois said, appearing in the doorway, one hand held behind her back. “It’s
off to another interview we go. I say this is a fine morning for”—she whipped her
hidden hand around her body and brandished a white bag—“a hearty dose of Alice’s cookies,
guaranteed to rejuvenate body, mind, and soul.”

And to expand the hips, but there was something to be said for the psychological benefits
of an extremely good cookie. I picked out a coconut chocolate chip and took in today’s
sartorial display.

A Madras plaid shirt over a bright pink T-shirt. A beige skirt and shoes of apple
green. Leather, they looked like.

Lois watched me eye her ensemble. “Comments?” she asked.

A line from an old folk song whispered in my ear. What was the title? Ah, there it
was. “I know where I’m going.” I didn’t have dresses of silk, but who wanted clothes
that were dry-clean only, anyway?

“Huh. Must be nice. Want some tea?”

At nine o’clock sharp, the interviewee rapped her knuckles on the front door. Lois
went to let her in and I slugged down a last swallow of tea. Ready, Cap’n. Steady
as she goes.

We settled around the workroom table. Taylor Eaton was a recent college graduate and
was dressed for success in pants ironed to a sharp crease, an understated jacket,
and a white shirt. Small gold earrings and a new-looking watch were her only jewelry.

“So, Taylor,” I said. “What was your major in college?”

“Business administration.” She smiled. “My plans are to get an MBA within the next
five years.”

Lois kicked me under the table. I ignored her and continued to smile at Taylor. “And
what do—”

The purse the young woman had placed on the table jiggled. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought
I’d turned that off. I must have accidentally set it to vibrate.” Her cheeks went
slightly pink as she unsnapped the bag and pulled out the phone. “I’ll turn it off.”

Her eyes went still as she looked at the smartphone’s screen. She darted a glance
at me. At Lois. Back at the phone. “Wow. I, uh, wow. Awkward.”

Lois kicked me again. Awkward how? I wondered. In that she was committing the faux
pas of answering a phone call while in a job interview? In that her boyfriend was
breaking up with her over the phone? Proposing to her over the phone? In that she—

“Um.” Taylor flicked me a quick look, then pushed a few buttons. “It looks like I
just got a job.”

—or, in that she’d accepted a job working for someone else before Lois got a chance
to reject her.

Still pushing phone buttons, Taylor named the largest bank in Madison. “I interviewed
there last week for a management job. I didn’t think I had a chance of getting it,
so I thought I’d come talk to you.”

Ouch.

Lois grinned. “Well, best of luck to you. We’re sure you’ll be very happy over there
in cubicle land. Ow! Beth, quit kicking me.”

•   •   •

As soon as the door shut behind Taylor, I told Lois that we’d dissect the interview
after Yvonne came in. Before she could think up a counterargument, I retreated to
my office.

Summer’s phone rang three, four, five times. Just as the answering machine started
making clicking noises, Summer’s breathless voice came on the line. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Beth.”

“Oh, wow, just the person I wanted to talk to.”

I took an easy breath. She’d done it. She’d talked to her husband, she’d confessed
all, and now was ready to come with me to the police station to see Gus.

“You know the committee meeting we’re supposed to have tonight?” she asked. “Do you
think . . .” She stopped. “Uh, do you mind hanging on a second?” The phone clunked
down.

I hummed the
Jeopardy!
song. I pushed my cuticles down. I thought about what to make for dinner. Just when
I was ready to hang up, she came back to the phone.

“Sorry,” Summer panted. “And I’m really sorry about tonight, but I can’t make the
committee meeting. My daughter’s running a fever and she’s just not settling down.
She hardly slept at all last night.”

My irritation had been mounting all through her absence, but the mention of a sick
child popped the bubble. And if Summer’s daughter hadn’t slept, neither had she. “We
can reschedule for next Monday. I’ll let Marina and Carol know.”

“Would you? That’d be great.” She blew out a breath. “I’m being a horrible committee
chair, aren’t I?”

Yes, but at least she was acknowledging the fact. “Sick kids come first.”

“I knew you’d understand. Well, I have to go, okay?”

Not so fast. “Did you talk to your husband yesterday?” No reply. “About the casino?”
Nothing. “About Destiny and the money and why you were fighting with Dennis Halpern?”

Summer’s voice was small. “She got sick so fast. I didn’t have time. Really, I didn’t.”

And once her daughter was healthy, there’d be another reason. And then another. “I’m
talking to Gus today,” I said.

“Oh.” There was a short silence. “I suppose you’re going to tell him about . . . you
know.”

“Don’t you think it’s time?” I said softly. Past time, really. And not just for the
information Summer had; Gus should have known about Flossie and the dogs long ago.
You never knew how one additional piece of the puzzle could change the shape of an
investigation. Or so all the TV shows indicated.

“Today?” Her voice went thready. “You’re going to talk to him today?”

“This morning,” I said. “Right now.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’m sorry, Summer. This has waited too long already.”

She sucked in a short breath, then let it out. “Yeah. I guess it has. See you later.”

The line went quiet. I held on to the phone, wondering if I’d just lost a friend,
trying to think what I could have done differently. If only . . .

I sighed, then replaced the receiver and went to talk to Gus.

•   •   •

The young man standing behind the high counter looked up when I walked in. “Good morning,
ma’am. Welcome to the Rynwood Police Department. How can I help you?”

I gave him a quick once-over and tried to make an honest estimate of his age. He had
to be older than sixteen, didn’t he? Of course he did. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Officer Ford at your service.” If his spine had been any straighter,
it would have started arching backward. “I started with the department last week.”

One more in the long line of young officers the city council hired cheaply and who
moved to greener and richer pastures as soon as possible. Well, maybe this one would
be different. “Is Gus in?”

“Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am. He’s in a chief’s meeting.”

An image of a group of men dressed in buckskins and feathered headdresses bounced
in and out of my head. “Police chiefs, you mean?”

“Yes, ma’am. From all over the east half of the county.”

“How long will the meeting will last?” My sense of urgency had only increased during
my walk to the station. Now that I’d finally made the move to talk to Gus, my need
to tell all was starting to hurt my head.

“Most of the morning, is what Chief Eiseley told me.”

Now what? I twisted my mouth to the side, trying to remember the name. All I could
come up with was bar stool, which couldn’t be right. “Barlow,” I said.

“Huh?” the youngster said. “I mean, excuse me, ma’am?”

“You’ve been a big help.” I wanted to reach across the counter and pat his cheek,
but smiled and thanked him instead.

I retraced my steps and was back in my office in five minutes by dint of telling Lois
that “I have to make a quick phone call,” as I hurried past her.

Flipping through the pages of the phone book, I found the number I needed in the government
section.

“Dane County Sheriff’s Office, how may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to Deputy Barlow, please.” Or was he a detective?

“One moment, please.”

A hum, then a click, and “Hello, this is Detective Barlow.”

“Hi, this is Beth Kenne—”

“I’m afraid I’m away from my desk now, but please leave a message and a phone number
and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, please dial
911.”

Beep.

“Uh . . .” I left a long babbling message in which I sounded like a moron, but I recovered
enough presence of mind to leave my phone number. “Okay, then, thanks,” I finished
lamely. “I’ll look forward to your call.”

After hanging up, I slouched in my chair, frowning at the world. I’d primed myself
to do something and hadn’t counted on chief meetings and voice mail. I was itchy with
action. I wanted to
do
something.

But what?

•   •   •

What I did was go to work. Good hard work would surely take my mind off all the questions
that were poking at me. Would telling Detective Barlow about Summer and Dennis make
any difference? Next, who had called Saturday night and scared the bejeebers out of
me? Was it the same person whose footsteps that had given me the mild creeps the Saturday
morning after the fire? And what was troubling Oliver?

Around and around and around again, question tailing into question. It wasn’t until
Lois was standing in front of me, hands on her hips, that I realized what I was doing.

“What on earth are you doing, young lady?” she asked.

I looked at the racks that held the rolls of brightly colored stickers so loved by
the preteens. “Um, making sure all the rolls are lined up.” We both studied the perfectly
aligned rolls, the raw edge of each one in the exact same position, all the way down
the rack.

“I can see that,” she said. “The question is why are you doing it?”

And a very good question it was. “If I answer ‘why not,’ will you leave me alone?”

“What do you think?”

I spun a roll of smiling bunnies. Around and around they went. “There’s a lot on my
mind right now, that’s all.”

Lois snorted. “And that would be different from every other day in your life how?”

“Today’s stuff seems . . . bigger.”

“It’s the kids, right? They’re get bigger and their problems get bigger, too.” She
spun a roll of bright green stars. “What, is Jenna talking about tattoos?”

“No, but . . .” I stopped before a pent-up flood of words poured out.

But everything’s all
wrong
,
I wanted to shout.
Dennis is dead. Flossie isn’t right. Summer is having husband troubles. Oliver is
having Oliver troubles, and I have no idea how to fix any of this.

“You know what you need?” Lois asked.

“A brain that functions properly,” I muttered.

“What you need is a new pair of shoes.”

I glanced down at my brown loafers. “These are fine.”

“Fiddleheads.” She picked up her right foot and pointed her shoe of fine green leather
at me. “You need something like this. Go.”

“Lois, I—”

“Right now.”

“I do not need green shoes.”

“Then get some pink ones.”

Me, in a pair of pink shoes? A smirk started climbing up one side of my face. Now,
that was something Marina would pay to see.

Lois smiled back. “See, even the thought is perking you up. Git!”

I let her shoo me outside. Though the day was bright with sunshine, a light breeze
was pushing me eastward. Coming soon, the radio had told us cheerfully, were clouds
and rain and thunder and lightning. Just the thing for the last day of September.

When I was halfway down the block, a burst of wind blew at my back. I shivered and
stopped to put on my coat. After I’d zipped it up, I noticed a man sitting on the
bench just outside the antiques mall. It was the man I’d seen a few times in the last
weeks, him of the salt-and-pepper hair, the man I’d dubbed Mr. Sad. Even though he
was dressed for success in a suit and tie, he didn’t look any happier today.

My feet started moving before my head realized it had made a decision. “Hello,” I
said. “Do you mind . . . ?” I gestured at the empty half of the bench.

“No,” he said wearily, as if uttering that single short word was almost more than
he could manage.

“Thanks.” The wooden slats made a comfortable creaking noise underneath me at I sat.
“My name is Beth. Beth Kennedy. I own the Children’s Bookshelf down the street.”

His shoulders rose and fell. I watched as he worked through the situation, and I could
almost answer the questions without him asking them out loud.
Yes, I’m going to keep talking. Yes, I’m going to make you talk back.

“Bruce,” he finally said.

I nodded and wondered what to say next. All I wanted was to see him smile. Even a
little one would do. Discussing the weather was not going to do the job. I was a horrible
joke teller, and—

“Oh, no,” I breathed, and sat up straight. Not her. Not now. The last thing I needed
was a conversation with that woman.

Bruce inched slightly away from me. “Problem?” he asked politely.

My back filled with tension as I tried to make myself small. Doom approached . . .
and then went into Faye’s Flowers. “She’s gone.” I relaxed. “Auntie May, I mean. She’s
gone into a store.”

Bruce smiled. “That woman could strike fear into the heart of a saint.”

Aha! So he was from Rynwood. “She loves my store,” I said glumly.

“You have my sympathies.”

It was the most sincere thing I’d heard him say. “And you’ve had mine,” I said. “I’ve
noticed you the last few weeks, looking so terribly sad, and I’ve wished there was
something I could do for you.”