Mother Knows Best (A Margie Peterson Mystery) (33 page)

Fortunately, at that moment, Kathleen Gardner bustled into the room. “Oh,” she said brightly. “I’m just in here getting a few more of the Girl Scout sign-up forms,” she explained, completely oblivious to the fact that Mitzi Krumbacher was pointing a gun at me. Mitzi turned her body away from Kathleen, who was rifling through a drawer next to the teacher’s desk. “Ms. Rumpole said she put them in the top drawer . . . Ah. Here they are.” She grabbed the forms and turned to me. “So, Margie. Have you given any more thought to—” Her eyes fastened onto the gun in Mitzi’s hand. “What’s that in your hand?”

“A toy gun,” Mitzi said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I was just showing it to Margie.”

“It doesn’t look like a toy,” Kathleen said, walking over to get a closer look. I took the opportunity to take a few steps away from Mitzi, wondering if I could make it to the door faster than she could shoot me. Unfortunately, the answer was likely no; I wasn’t exactly a natural sprinter.

“That’s real mother-of-pearl on the handle, isn’t it?” Kathleen asked. “It looks like a .22. I was considering picking one up for Catriona in a few years, for when she goes to college, just in case. She’s just so young and beautiful . . .” A crease formed between her brows as she finally realized what was happening. “Why are you pointing that gun at Margie?”

Mitzi let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh my God, Kathleen. Really? If I hear another word about your daughter, I might strangle her myself. Now get over there and stand next to Margie,” she said, waving her over to me.

“That wasn’t very polite,” Kathleen bristled.

“I’m holding a gun,” Mitzi pointed out. “I don’t have to be polite. Now move.”

Kathleen put one hand to the neck of her buttoned-up pink blouse. “Me? But all I’m doing is getting the Girl Scout forms.”

“Go stand by Margie,” Mitzi said. “And shut up about your daughter. I need to think.”

So did I. Kathleen came to stand next to me, her round face drained of color. How were we going to get out of there? As much as I had imagined bad things befalling Kathleen, I felt terrible for dragging her into this. How loud was a .22? Would Mitzi shoot us while everyone was in the front room of the school? Or would she wait until later?

Mitzi’s blonde head snapped up suddenly. “Let’s go,” she said, waving us toward the door.

Kathleen held up a Girl Scout form. “But—”

“Shut up,” Mitzi barked. “Now move.

Together we walked through the classroom to the door to the hallway. Kathleen went first; I followed, glancing down toward the lobby. Kevin was standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against a wall. “Kevin!” I yelled, waving.

He waved back.

“I said, shut up,” Mitzi hissed behind us. “The gun is in my purse, but it’s still aiming at you.”

I turned away from Kevin, walking slowly down the corridor. Would he get the message that something was wrong?

When we reached the end of the hall, I glanced over my shoulder. Kevin wasn’t there.

Things weren’t looking good for the home team.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Kathleen said as Mitzi shooed us out the door and into the hot Texas evening. “I don’t know what Margie did, but I had nothing to do with it. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Into the woods,” Mitzi said. “Shhh.”

Although I usually enjoyed a walk along a nature path, I was learning to hate the narrow trail behind Holy Oaks.

“Why are you doing this?” Kathleen complained. “All I did was get the Girl Scout forms. I really don’t think pointing guns at people is the kind of modeling we want to do for our children—”

A bullet pinged off a tree to our left, and Kathleen shut up.
So that’s what it takes,
I thought. Then I realized that Mitzi wasn’t the only one who was armed. I slipped my hand into my purse, feeling around for the gun.

“Kneel down,” Mitzi said.

“But . . .” Kathleen said. “My daughter . . .”

“She’ll survive,” Mitzi said.

Kathleen turned around. “Without a mother? You mean to kill me?”

“I can’t wait,” Mitzi said. She raised the gun; at the same moment, there was a crashing sound. Mitzi’s head whipped around. I threw myself at Kathleen, rolling us both over onto the ground. There was another shot, and then a crack as a broom handle connected with the .22, sending it flying into the underbrush.

I looked up to see Kevin standing over Mitzi.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Keeping you from committing a capital crime,” he said. “What is going on here?” He looked at me. “This isn’t about what Violet did to Elsie, is it?”

As he looked at me, Mitzi lunged into the underbrush.

Kevin and I reached for her simultaneously, each grabbing a smooth leg and hauling her out of the bushes. Since she weighed less than a hundred pounds, it wasn’t a struggle. Kevin rolled her over, and she sat up and glared at him, leaves in her mussed blonde hair. “These two women assaulted me,” Mitzi told him.

Kathleen blinked at her. “We did no such thing.” She turned to Kevin. “This woman threatened to kill my daughter. All I did was go into a classroom looking for forms, and she waves a gun at us and marches us into the woods. She’s a madwoman.”

“Seriously, Kathleen?” Mitzi picked a leaf out of her hair. “Killing you would have been a public service.”

“What is going on here?” Kevin asked me.

I sighed. “Mitzi killed the headmaster because she was afraid he was going to tell the authorities her husband was a criminal, and then he’d lose his fortune and go to jail.”

“A criminal?”

“It seems that one of Holy Oaks’ big investments was responsible for the synthetic marijuana that is killing people all over Texas. Cavendish wanted to pull out and was going to go to the police.”

Kathleen sat up straighter. “But that’s totally against the mission of the school. It’s a Christian program.”

“You are so fucking naive,” Mitzi snarled. For once, I had to agree with her.

“Sky High certainly was the right name for the fundraising campaign,” Kevin pointed out, leaning against the broom. “I guess we should call the police.”

As I reached in my pocket for my phone, Mitzi hurled herself into the bushes again.

“Shit,” I said, going after her, but I was too slow. By the time I got to her, Mitzi’s hand was already closing on the gun. As my hand gripped her ankle, there was another cracking sound, and Mitzi went limp.

I looked up. Kevin stepped back, still holding the broom in his hand, and shook his head. “I feel a little bad for saying it, but man, that was satisfying.”

“Shall we tie her up to a tree?” I suggested, letting her ankle go and standing up.

“She deserves it,” Kevin said, “but it would probably be better to let the police handle it.”

I knew he was right, but it sure was tempting.

“You again,” Detective Bunsen said as we walked back into Holy Oaks. The first responders had arrived just as Mitzi came to. She clearly wasn’t too damaged by Kevin’s expert hit; even as the EMTs shone a light into her pupils, she was batting her eyelashes at the male responder. “These two women just dragged me out here and started threatening me,” she told him. “And that man hit me with a broom. All because my daughter is more popular than theirs.”

Now, the throng of well-dressed parents looked stunned by the arrival of a leaf-covered Mitzi Krumbacher, whose arm was being gripped by a young policewoman. “Honeybunny!” Marty said, running over to his wife. “What are you doing?”

She flashed him a look of pure hatred, then began to simper. “I don’t know why they’re holding onto me. Honey, we need to call our attorney right now. This woman tried to kill me, and now they’re blaming me!” She pointed a taloned hand at me, and Detective Bunsen raised an eyebrow.

“I can explain everything,” I said to Bunsen.

“I certainly hope so,” he said.

“That woman tried to kill us!” Kathleen said, pointing at Mitzi. “She would have left my daughter an orphan!”

“And if it weren’t for Kevin’s shuffleboard skills, she might have succeeded,” I said, nodding to my tall friend. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help,” Kevin said.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Detective Bunsen asked.

“You’ll never believe it,” I said.

“You’re probably right,” Detective Bunsen said. “But I can’t wait to hear it. Why don’t you come this way, Ms. Peterson?” He gestured toward the glass doors of the library.

“Talk to you soon,” I told Kevin, and followed Bunsen into the library.

“How exactly do you know that woman?” Bunsen asked me as he steered me toward an empty table in the far corner.

“Former client,” I said.

He sighed as he lowered himself to a chair. “I should have guessed. Do your clients frequently end up threatening to kill you?”

“Only when I’m about to turn them in for murder,” I said.

“Murder?”

“Holy Oaks was investing in Afterburn—that synthetic marijuana that’s killing people all over Texas. George Cavendish found out about it, and was going to call the police, so Mitzi—the blonde—decided to kill him before her husband could be indicted. She was planning to divorce him, and didn’t want to lose the return on her investment.”

“That’s quite an accusation.” He let out a long sigh. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Ms. Peterson?”

“You’re off the hook,” I told Becky on the phone when I finally got back to my car.

“Was it Marty?”

“No,” I said. “It was actually his wife—the one who hired me to follow him. She was worried that if Cavendish turned him in, her husband would lose everything, and she’d divorce him and walk away with nothing.”

“Nice,” Becky said.

“Oh, she’s a piece of work,” I told her, recounting what I’d learned about Mitzi’s daughter, Violet—and Elsie.

Bunsen had quizzed me for a long time; I’d told him about Cavendish’s secret e-mail account—one of them, anyway—and what I knew about Golden Investments and what was going on at the Sweet Shop.

“Can you send me that photo?” he’d asked when I showed him what I’d found in the back room.

“Yeah,” I said. “But also . . . There’s a guy named Lupe—Thumbs—who was working for Krumbacher. He was working as a custodian here, too, and I found a gun and a bunch of Afterburn in the custodial closet the other day.”

“What were you doing in the custodial closet?”

“Um . . . looking for a trash bag,” I said. “I took the gun and the Afterburn just so the kids wouldn’t get hold of it.” I fished in my purse and pulled out the gun, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking at it.

“The gun I found. I’m telling you, I’m afraid I may have rubbed this guy the wrong way.”
To say the least,
I thought, remembering how he’d lunged at Peaches and Becky last night. I couldn’t tell him any of that, though, without revealing that I’d broken into Holy Oaks and been party to an involuntary waxing.

Bunsen grimaced. “I hesitate to ask, but could you be a bit more specific about how you . . . rubbed him the wrong way?”

“Ah . . . no,” I said. “But I think he may be the one who shot my minivan the other day.”

He let out a sigh. “We’ll see if we can track him down.”

It had been a long two hours, but I’d managed not to implicate myself at all—at least I didn’t think so.

“So neither of us is going to jail,” Becky said. “That’s a relief. What are you going to do about Elsie, though?”

“I’m not sending her back to Holy Oaks, that’s for sure. Hey—who do I need to talk with to get her enrolled at Austin Heights Elementary?”

I could hear the smile in her voice. “Zoe will be so excited. We’ll go talk to the principal together tomorrow!”