Murder Had a Little Lamb (12 page)

I’ve only been here a couple of days, I marveled, and I’m already on the junk-mail list.

But the last one actually looked interesting.

“Just a reminder,” the headline on the single sheet of pink paper read. “Parent-Teacher Association Meeting, Thursday night. All faculty members are required to attend. 8:00
P.M.
in the Main Dining Hall, with Social Time commencing at 7:30. Refreshments will be served. Please be prompt!”

Social Time? I wondered what that was about. Probably a chance for the teachers to gush to the parents about how wonderful their children were, and vice versa.

Still, I wanted to go, since attending a shindig that included both the teachers and the parents who were connected to Nathaniel’s school would give me a chance to do some sleuthing. With refreshments, no less. In fact, I desperately hoped the term “all faculty members” included
moi
, a mere volunteer.

But even if it didn’t, at least the notice gave me an excuse to talk to Dr. Goodfellow again, something I was anxious to do. The other time she and I had
spoken, I’d gotten the feeling that in her eyes, Nathaniel Stibbins wasn’t just another teacher—mainly because she’d told me herself that losing him was “personal.”

I was hopeful that this time, I’d be able to find out just
how
personal.

I
didn’t waste any time before sidling up to Ms. Greer’s desk once more.

“Sorry to bother you again,” I said, “but do you think it might be possible for me to talk to Dr. Goodfellow?”

This time, it took the gaunt-faced woman a second or two to drag her eyes away from her computer screen. “Dr. Goodfellow is all alone now.”

She’d barely gotten the words out before a stricken look crossed her face. “Oh, my,” she sputtered. “What I should have said is that Dr. Goodfellow is alone in her office. In other words, she’s not in conference with anybody. So she could probably see you. Right now, I mean.”

“Okay,” I said, hiding my confusion over what had just transpired. “In that case, should I go ahead and knock on her door?”

She nodded, still looking distressed.

What was
that
all about? I wondered as I knocked on the headmistress’s partially open door, meanwhile peering into the room. The headmistress’s assistant clearly thought she’d put her foot in her mouth. As for why, I didn’t have a clue.

I guess I didn’t knock loudly enough. Either that or Elspeth Goodfellow was so lost in her own world that she couldn’t hear anything going on in the one the rest of us inhabited.

And lost in her own world was exactly how she appeared. Dr. Goodfellow stood next to the window, gazing out at what, to me, looked like nothing but an empty field. She was dressed in a flowing forest green dress made of silky fabric. It had huge puffy sleeves and a full skirt. Her hair hung down loosely around her shoulders, making her look younger than I’d thought she was the first time I met her.

With one hand, she clasped a single white rose to her chest.

Between her pose, the faraway look in her eye, and the rose, she reminded me of the heroine in a Victorian novel.

“Dr. Goodfellow?” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

I didn’t succeed. She turned to me, wearing a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Dr. Popper!” she cried. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you,” I said, stepping into the room. “Ms. Greer said it would be all right.”

“Of course,” she said, still flustered.

It was at that point that I noticed that in her other hand, she was holding a tiny stemmed glass that had been hidden by her skirt. In it was a clear, golden liquid.

Brandy, I figured. Or sherry. Or something otherwise alcoholic, since no one drinks apple cider out of such a tiny glass.

She regained her composure instantly, sweeping across the room and sinking into her desk chair. She gently placed the glass next to her pencil mug, acting as if hitting the sherry before lunch was part of every educator’s daily routine.

“I’m always available to the members of the faculty,” she informed me, sounding as if she was reciting a sentence she’d memorized. “It’s part of a headmistress’s duties. Please, have a seat, Dr. Popper.”

“Thank you.” I lowered myself into the same red velvet chair I’d sat in when I’d had my interview.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“I just checked my mailbox,” I replied, “and I found a notice about tomorrow night’s PTA meeting.”

“We hold them once a month.” Dr. Goodfellow waved her hand dramatically. “It’s a policy I instituted when I first came to the Worth School. I feel it’s so important for parents and teachers, both of whom are the significant influences on any young person’s life, to be in constant communication. How else can they work together to nurture our students, sculpting their brains into strong, vital organs that will continue to think and pulse and probe throughout their adult lives?”

Once again, she seemed to be reciting a speech. In
fact, for a minute there I felt as if she was reading to me from the school’s website.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to attend,” I said, “but it sounds as if you think it’s important for every faculty member to be there.” After all, I was one of those people charged with all that sculpting and nurturing.

“But of course.” Looking surprised, she added, “Don’t you
want
to be there?”

“Definitely!” I told her truthfully. “As a matter of fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Especially since it’ll give me a chance to check out some of the other faculty members, I thought, not to mention some of the parents. And hopefully to throw out a few carefully worded sentences designed to give me a better idea of who might have recently dropped Nathaniel Stibbins from their A-list.

“Oh, but you’re just a volunteer!” Dr. Goodfellow said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I forgot all about that. You probably don’t want to give up one of your evenings to—”

“No, it’s fine!” I insisted. “I, uh, think meeting the parents of some of the students in my class will help me do a better job. I agree with you one hundred percent that it’s important for me to work with the parents so I can do a better job of, uh, sculpting brains.”

Somehow, that had sounded so much better when she’d said it. But at the moment I was more concerned with finding a way of bringing Poor Cousin Nathaniel into the conversation when she said, “You’re certainly welcome to come, then.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there.”

Wistfully, she said, “I have to apologize. For seeming so distracted, I mean. Normally, I’m completely on top of things. But I’m afraid I haven’t been myself since Nathaniel …” Her voice became too choked for her to continue.

“I’m sure it’s been difficult,” I told her sympathetically. “I remember you mentioning that he was one of the Worth School’s finest teachers—”

“Nathaniel was more than that,” Dr. Goodfellow interrupted with an irritated edge to her voice.
“Much
more.”

Her statement left me speechless. In fact, I was still trying to decide if I was completely misreading her when she added, “I might as well tell you myself, Dr. Popper, since if I don’t someone else is sure to.”

“Tell me what?” I asked hesitantly.

Her eyes drifted over to the window as in a faraway voice she said, “Nathaniel and I were lovers.”

“Oh!”

At least that’s what I intended to say. Instead, the single syllable came out somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup.

Her directness had caught me completely off guard. Normally I would have classified a confession like that as too much information. But instead, I was thrilled by her willingness to talk about the man whose demise had brought me to the school in the first place.

Especially since her admission that the two of them had been linked romantically opened up so many questions about her possible role in Nathaniel’s murder.

Her revelation also clued me in to her assistant’s embarrassment over her comment that the good doctor
was now alone. As soon as Ms. Greer had said the words “Dr. Goodfellow is all alone now,” they’d struck her as a bit too close for comfort.

“Nathaniel and I tried to keep it a secret, of course,” Dr. Goodfellow went on. She paused to sniff the rose she’d dropped into her lap. Once again staring out the window, into the great beyond, she continued, “It’s so difficult when two people work in the same institution. But of course we couldn’t pretend for long. Our feelings for each other were so strong that it was inevitable that others would notice.”

Turning away from the window and finally looking me in the eye, she said, “Schools are like small towns. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“I’m sure everyone feels terrible about your loss,” I said.

She didn’t act as if she’d heard me. “Not that there weren’t plenty of people who were disapproving,” she went on, bitterness creeping into her voice. “I’m no fool. I knew some of the faculty thought it was unseemly for a headmistress and one of the teachers to share such affection. And perhaps they could have been right, under other circumstances.”

Her eyes drifted back to that unknown point outside the window. “But with Nathaniel and me, it was different,” she said wistfully. “Our love for each other was great, one of those grand passions that people these days are rarely lucky enough to encounter. We were soul mates, and the fact that we both came to this school was like some cosmic imperative that knew we were meant for each other.”

I cleared my throat, just in case she’d forgotten someone else was in the room. As glad as I was to be getting some insight into how Nathaniel had spent his days at the Worth School, her raw honesty made me uncomfortable. Especially since I was someone she shouldn’t have been pouring her heart out to.

But even my loud “a-hem” didn’t bring her back to the moment. “You would think that given the depth of our feelings for each other,” she continued, “despite our roles here at the school, the others around us would have understood. Welcomed the opportunity to be amid such strong feelings, even.”

I mumbled, “It’s possible that they didn’t really—”

“But no!” she cried, turning to me so abruptly I practically fell out of my chair. “There was jealousy! There was mistrust!” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “There was even suspicion. As if dear Nathaniel could have been guided by anything aside from the force and purity of his feelings for me!”

I was starting to grow really uneasy. What had started out as a heartfelt confession—albeit an inappropriate one—was starting to sound kind of creepy.

“So we did what we had to to keep away from prying eyes,” Dr. Goodfellow continued. “Nathaniel and I met clandestinely. Whenever we were in public, we acted as if the two of us were nothing more than headmistress and art teacher. A polite hello at a faculty meeting, a nod of the head when we passed each other in the hallway …”

By this point, Dr. Goodfellow herself had started getting kind of creepy.
Really
creepy, in fact.

“Dr. Goodfellow,” I said firmly, “I’m so sorry for
taking up so much of your time. I really just wanted to ask you about the PTA meeting.”

“I have nothing to hide,” she announced, raising her chin and peering down at me in a way that reminded me of a queen. Or at least someone trying to act like a queen. “Especially not now, with Nathaniel … gone. Besides, given the way people talk, Dr. Popper, you would have heard about this sooner or later.”

Maybe not in such detail, I thought. Or with such melodrama.

Yet once I was backing out the door, profusely thanking her for her time and watching her eyes take on that dreamy look once again as she held the white rose against her cheek, it was all I could do to keep from jumping up and down with glee.

It was true that having had a chance to peek at Elspeth Goodfellow’s softer side had given me the heebie-jeebies. But it seemed worth it, since I now had a better perspective on some of the intrigues at the Worth School.

Especially the ones that involved Nathaniel Stibbins.

•   •   •

I was still mulling over Elspeth Goodfellow’s bizarre and totally unexpected confession as I headed out of the administration building, toward the parking lot.

“Dr. Popper?” I heard a male voice call.

Stopping in my tracks, I turned and saw Richard Evans, the school chaplain, striding toward me. In his arms he cradled a bundle of black-and-white fur.

“Hi, Reverend!” I called back, waving.

As he drew closer, I got a better look at Chach. The shih tzu was a particularly cute one, even though I must admit I’ve never met one that wasn’t cute.

“I see you’ve brought your friend,” I observed when he and his alert, sweet-faced buddy reached me.

“That’s right. Thanks again for your kind offer to take a look at Chach’s foot.”

“No problem,” I assured him, thinking,
Especially since I’m hoping that while I’m treating Chach, you’ll treat me to a little inside information on Nathaniel Stibbins
.

“So this is the famous Chach,” I said, giving the compact bundle of energy a good scratching behind the ear. He wagged his tail enthusiastically, no doubt appreciating the fact that ear-scratching was a skill I prided myself on having perfected over the years.

I’ve always found the shih tzu’s history fascinating. While they’re believed to have originated in Tibet, the Chinese bred them to look like lions, a symbol of Buddhism. In fact, the name means “lion dog.” But there weren’t a lot of lions in China, so breeders had to rely on sculptors’ versions, which weren’t entirely accurate. That’s where the round, protruding eyes, the flattened muzzles, and the supposedly ferocious expressions came from.

The spunky lapdog was a favorite with China’s royalty. Then, in the 1930s, importation to Western Europe began. Some twenty years later, a British dog enthusiast who wasn’t satisfied with the shih tzu’s look bred one to a Pekingese, beginning the process of modifying the breed to look the way it does today.