Murder Had a Little Lamb (24 page)

“I know my heart,” she insisted. “And I have to follow it.”

I didn’t bother to mention that the last time she’d followed her heart, she ended up dating an acquaintance of mine, a fellow veterinarian named Marcus Scruggs, who could best be characterized as unsavory. As a result of that heart-following episode, her heart had gotten dragged along a road that was so filled with potholes that by the time it was over, she practically needed a cardiologist to fix it.

The time before, that same heart of hers had weathered a devastating divorce. One more experience that was, for lack of a better word, heartbreaking.

“But it seems to me there are some serious logistical issues to consider, too,” I pointed out. “For one thing, you and Kieran live something like thirty miles apart.”

“Thirty-three point five!” she corrected me, her voice triumphant. “Which gives him and me all the more reason to live in the same place! Just think about all the problems that causes. Expenses, too. Once you start calculating the cost of gas, not to mention the wear and tear on both our cars … Then there’s the wear and tear on each of us as we travel back and forth. And another thing: Do you have any idea how complicated it is keeping my place and Kieran’s stocked with two sets of makeup, two boxes of my favorite breakfast cereal, two drawers filled with sexy lingerie—”

“Suzanne!” I interrupted, not wanting to hear any more, “all I’m saying is that I think you need to slow down.”

“Life is short,” she replied. “Carpe diem. Live for today.”

Even if that means regretting it tomorrow? I thought.

But I’d given up on arguing. Instead, I marveled over what polar opposites Suzanne and I were. She was rushing into a committed relationship with bull-headed determination. I, meanwhile, had gone so far as to don a wedding dress, have fancy invitations mailed to all my friends, and actually stand in front of a judge wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet. Yet I was
still
dragging my feet about scheduling a do-over.

And now this. Even though I was completely innocent, even though this entire situation was a comedy of errors that was even too ridiculous for a sitcom, in a way I couldn’t blame Nick for thinking the worst.
After all, I hadn’t done a very good job of letting him know that I was totally devoted to him.

Instead, I kept acting as if what I was
really
totally devoted to was staying commitment-free.

After what had just happened, I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever be able to convince him otherwise.

•   •   •

As I drove into the Worth School parking lot early the next morning, I had a strong sense of déjá vu. It had been only six days earlier that I’d been enveloped by the same feelings of doom and gloom as I’d tried to gear up to teach a class. And the reason had been exactly the same: problems in my relationship with Nick.

But there was one major difference. Last time, I was upset because Nick and I had had an argument about choosing a date for our second wedding. This time, I was a thousand times
more
upset—mainly because I might have botched things up for good.

As I headed toward the Planet Earth building, wondering if it might be possible to move to a different planet, I kept my head down. Given the way I was feeling, merely looking around at the luxurious campus, especially on such a beautiful June day, was simply too unsettling.

So it wasn’t until I’d nearly reached my destination that I glanced up and noticed that a crowd had gathered outside the Student Life Community Center. Confused, I surveyed the students, teachers, and administrators who were clustered together on the grass, wondering if I’d missed the memo about a fire drill.

Then I spotted two uniformed police officers.

“What the—?” I exclaimed.

I broke into a jog, meanwhile studying the group more carefully to see if it included anyone I recognized. I spotted quite a few of the students who were taking my animal-care course, then realized that that was probably because my class was one of the few summer school offerings that met this early in the day.

The only other face I recognized was Dr. Goodfellow’s. At the moment, she was deeply engrossed in her conversation with the two cops, one of whom appeared to be taking notes on what she was telling him.

As I drew near, I saw that Campbell and Beanie were also part of the group. The two of them stood at the edge, whispering to each other. I headed over to them, figuring that if anyone was likely to know what was going on, it was those two.

“What happened?” I asked them breathlessly.

“Vandalism!” Beanie sputtered.

My mouth dropped open. I don’t know what kind of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“I know!” Beanie agreed, her voice practically a shriek. “Do you believe that something like that could go on
here
, of all places?”

“They think it happened over the weekend,” Campbell added, sounding just as upset.

“What got vandalized?” My eyes traveled to the building in front of us. From the looks of things, its exterior was completely intact.

“The student art exhibit,” Campbell replied
mournfully. It was only then that I noticed her face was tense and blotched with red, as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears. “Some idiot destroyed everything—including my watercolor of two bunnies! It took hours to paint! And Mr. Stibbins said it was the best thing I’d ever done!”

“What about my mixed media wall hanging?” Beanie demanded. “Whoever did this cut it to ribbons! All that work—and all that time I spent collecting beads and buttons and everything else I put on it!”

My heart had begun to pound so hard that I felt dizzy. “I’m so sorry you lost some of your artwork,” I told them sincerely. “Especially since I can see you both put a lot of effort into those pieces.”

Thinking out loud, I added, “But who would
do
something like that?”

Even more important, I was wondering, could this act of aggression have anything to do with the murder of Nathaniel Stibbins—the man who Dr. Goodfellow claimed the exhibit honored?

“I have no idea,” Campbell replied bitterly. “But I sure hope the cops figure it out.”

My eyes automatically drifted back to the two police officers, who were still conferring with Dr. Goodfellow. From where we were standing, I couldn’t hear what any of them were saying. But that didn’t keep me from watching them, hoping their body language might tell me something.

So my eyes were glued to the three of them as the second cop, the one who wasn’t taking notes, lifted his hand. I saw that he was holding a clear plastic Ziploc
bag, the kind I knew was routinely used for storing evidence.

He suddenly raised his hand higher, as if to emphasize something he was saying.

When he did, I got of glimpse of what was inside the bag: a green and black beaded bracelet.

T
hat bracelet!” I cried without thinking. “What are the police doing with it?” Beanie looked over in the cops’ direction, squinting in the early morning sunlight. A look of horror immediately spread across her face.

“Oh my gosh,” she said in a low voice. “I know whose bracelet that is!”

“That’s Vondra’s!” Campbell exclaimed. “She’s the only person at this school who’d wear anything that tacky!”

“It’s not supposed to be stylish,” Beanie declared. “It has something to do with that weird religion of hers.”

Campbell’s eyes widened. “Voodoo, right?”

“What are you girls talking about?” I demanded. I couldn’t understand why we were suddenly talking about voodoo, of all things.

“Vondra’s religion,” Beanie replied matter-of-factly. “Santeria. It’s
like
voodoo, but it’s not exactly the same.” Grimacing, she added, “I got stuck sitting next to her at an assembly one time and she talked my ear off about it.”

I was too dumbfounded to say anything. I’d heard of Santeria, of course. But I knew practically nothing about it—including whether or not it had anything even remotely to do with voodoo.

Puzzled, I mused, “But why on earth would Vondra get involved in something like Santeria?”

“Her family originally came from Cuba,” Beanie replied. “That’s where that creepy religion got started in the first place. I think it was, like, hundreds of years ago.” She clearly relished the role of expert witness. “Her mother lived in Miami before she moved up here. At least, that’s what Vondra told me.”

“I heard her mother is some kind of high priestess or something,” Campbell interjected. “Isn’t that the most bizarre thing you ever heard in your life?”

“I heard that, too,” Beanie agreed. “And boy, if you ever saw her, you’d believe it. If you think Vondra dresses funny, you should see her mom!”

I had seen Vondra’s mother, of course. And as much as I hated to admit it, she did dress in a way that made her look distinctively different from everyone else.

“Somebody told me she runs this really bizarre shop right out of her house,” Beanie continued breathlessly. “She sells crazy stuff like strange herbs that are used in secret ceremonies and special candles and—
and even these doll things that sound an awful lot like voodoo dolls.”

“Eww!” Campbell cried.

“Exactly,” Beanie agreed, nodding. “If you ask me, the whole family is totally out there. Not to mention that it’s probably also illegal to sell magic potions. Especially since we can only imagine what’s in them!”

She glanced around, as if wanting to make sure no one was listening. Lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper, she added, “But I know something about Vondra’s mother that’s even worse.”

“What?” Campbell demanded breathlessly.

“She killed somebody!”

“You can’t be serious!” I exclaimed.

Beanie shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Supposedly it happened back when she still lived in Miami.”

Her eyes grew as big and wide as an owl’s as she said, “They say she burned the guy’s house down—with him in it!”

“Beanie, that’s ridiculous!” I cried. My blood was starting to boil at such an outrageous claim.

“No, it’s not,” Beanie insisted stubbornly. “It was part of a Santeria ritual. That crazy religion is full of them. Its followers actually worship some god of fire or something. I think Vondra’s mother was making a sacrifice. A
human
sacrifice!”

With a satisfied nod, she added, “That’s why she had to move up here. She was running from the law!”

“That’s quite an accusation,” I told her, struggling
to keep my voice even. “Especially since it doesn’t sound as if it could possibly be true.”

“Oh, it’s true, all right,” Beanie declared.

“Beanie knows everything,” Campbell agreed. “She has ways of finding out all kinds of stuff.”

“In that case,” I said coldly, still hoping to dissuade Beanie from spreading dangerous rumors, “can you tell me anything specific? Who she allegedly killed, when it happened, what the circumstances supposedly were—”

“Like I said, all I know is that it had something to do with that creepy religion of theirs,” Beanie concluded with a shrug. “Who knows? Maybe she even killed poor Mr. Stibbins!”

“Beanie, you really have to be more careful about what you go around saying about people,” I warned.

“I know what I heard.” Gesturing toward the police officer holding the Ziploc bag, Beanie added, “And I know what I see.”

I could tell that nothing I said was going to change her mind. Besides, this was hardly the time and place to attempt to have a reasonable discussion.

So it was just as well that the note-taking police officer suddenly turned to face the crowd.

“All right, everybody, show’s over,” he announced. “Let’s clear the area. Go on back to your classrooms or wherever you’re supposed to be.”

Dr. Goodfellow came up beside him. “Even though we’re running late, we’ll continue with our usual schedule for today,” she told the crowd. “Please go to your nine o’clock classes immediately. I know you’re all anxious to find out more about what happened,
and I promise the school will issue a report on the status of the investigation as soon as we have more information.”

That was fine with me. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to get the heck out of there as quickly as I could.

And I wasn’t sure what I found more disturbing: the act of vandalism that had targeted an exhibit dedicated to the man who had recently been murdered—or the vicious comments Beanie had made about Vondra and her mother.

Those claims of hers are utterly absurd, I told myself as I walked toward the Planet Earth building with Beanie and Campbell trailing a few feet behind me, deep in conversation. Honestly, how likely is it that Vondra’s mother killed someone in Miami and then ran away to New York to hide from the law? It all sounds like the fabrication of an overactive adolescent mind—or even worse, ugly rumors that a bunch of stuck-up high school students constructed as a way of making sure a girl who was just a little bit different from them would remain outside their exclusive circle.

As for the idea that Vondra had had anything to do with this senseless act of vandalism, I found that just as hard to believe.

I felt like a robot as I taught that morning’s class. It was a good thing I was as familiar as I was with the day’s topic—the importance of caring for a pet’s teeth. To borrow a phrase from one of Nick’s favorite classic rock hits, I felt as if I was running on empty. The commotion at the school, lumped on top of the
horrible scene the night before that had resulted in Nick walking out on me, had reduced me to a state that was about half a rung up from complete zombie-hood.

After class, I remained in a fog as I headed toward the administration building. Before leaving campus, I wanted to check my mailbox. Even though only an hour had passed since the cops had arrived on the scene, I hoped that Dr. Goodfellow had issued a statement about the vandalism incident—hopefully, one that included information about who the real culprit had been.

As I peered into my mailbox, it appeared that all that was stuffed inside was the usual assortment of notices. I riffled through the stack, a wave of disappointment washing over me.