Murder Had a Little Lamb (6 page)

Her eyes glazed with tears as she added, “It’s a terrible loss. For all of us, I mean.”

“Of course it is,” I said sympathetically.

She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and in a much crisper voice said, “I’m very interested in your proposition, Dr. Popper. But there’s one tiny wrinkle.”

“What’s that?” My optimism was already flagging.

“Our summer semester has already started. In fact, it started today.”

I was still thinking, “Is
that
all?” when she added, “Would you be able to start soon? Most of our students have already chosen their summer courses, although we do encourage self-direction by allowing them to make changes at any time.”

“How soon?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

“The nine o’clock time slot would be best,” Dr. Goodfellow added. “If that works for you, I’ll send out an email immediately, announcing that we’ve added a new summer class …”

She didn’t seem to notice that her new volunteer was suddenly having difficulty breathing.

Up until this point, the idea of standing up in front of a classroom had been a mere abstraction, a mission orchestrated by the woman who would eventually become my mother-in-law. Suddenly, it was becoming real. Frighteningly real.

I thought about Dorothy again, this time remembering her characterization of the students at the Worth School.

“All those snobbish rich kids,” she had sniffed, “with their horses and their European vacations and their sense of entitlement …”

Still, a promise was a promise. And while I could live with Dorothy Burby’s disdain for the spoiled daughters of the privileged class, I couldn’t say the same for the possibility of her feeling the same way about her future daughter-in-law.

I
used to believe that only kindergarten students got first-day-of-school jitters, but I definitely had that familiar why-can’t-I-just-go-home-and-crawl-back-into-bed feeling the next day as I once again drove my van through the imposing gates of the Worth School.

Worse, even, since this time around I was the one in charge.

Early that morning, Nick had been amused by the way I’d agonized over what to wear.

“You’re not trying to get these girls to vote for you for class president,” he teased as I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, holding one shirt after another up to my chest.

“I just want to look like an authority figure,” I’d explained, squinting at an apple-green linen Liz Claiborne
blouse and wondering if it was too matronly. While it had looked fine in the store, it now struck me as something Dorothy Burby would wear.

It was true that I wanted to look like the person running the show, of course. But I also found myself grappling with some old insecurities I hadn’t even realized I still possessed.

Back in high school, I hadn’t exactly been what anyone could call popular. Sure, I’d had friends, a small group who, like me, studied hard and loved science and reading and a few other egghead pastimes. But even then I’d preferred spending my free time volunteering at a local animal shelter or hanging out with my own pets.

The idea of being tossed in with a bunch of hormonally challenged teenage girls was, in my eyes, tantamount to being thrown to the proverbial pack of wolves. And at least wolves don’t make fun of your clothes.

I finally stuck my tongue out at my reflection, deciding once and for all to stop worrying about what the students might think of my underdeveloped fashion sense. Instead, I told myself it was time to start worrying about the real reason I was living out everyone’s nightmare of returning to high school: investigating a murder. Instead of even attempting to dress to impress, I’d simply wear what I always wore when plying my trade: comfortable jeans, a pair of chukka boots, and a dark green polo shirt embroidered with the words, “Jessica Popper, D.V.M.”

In fact, dressing as the real Jessie Popper gave my confidence a boost as I strode across the Worth School
campus. So did knowing where I was going. Ms. Greer, the headmistress’s assistant, had done a thorough job of orienting me. First she’d given me a tour of the administration building, pointing out such highlights as the faculty mailboxes, the copying machine, and the coffeepot. Then she gave me a map and an overview of the campus that included a description of what each building was used for.

My nine o’clock class was scheduled to take place in the Planet Earth building. While another school might have called such a place the Science Building, the folks at the Worth School were much too clever for anything that ordinary. From its name, I expected it to be a big blue sphere. Instead, it was a fairly ordinary two-story structure. At least it had been constructed from various products from the planet that was its namesake, including wood, bamboo, and several different varieties of stone.

In the entryway was an exhibit of student projects that gave a newcomer like me a good understanding of what went on in this building. From the assortment of terrariums, dioramas about ecology, and indecipherable formulas neatly copied onto homemade posters, it looked as if it was biology, chemistry, physics, astronomy, and geology, as well as math that helped all those other disciplines make sense.

When I located my classroom, I headed toward the door. I figured I’d take advantage of the few minutes before the students started arriving to look over the notes I’d made the night before. Based on the response to her previous day’s email, Dr. Goodfellow had had
Ms. Greer put together a class list that had each student’s name, year, and even some personal information, including her home address. I wanted to look it over so I could start to learn who everyone was.

Instead, as I sailed through the doorway, I discovered that most of the fifteen or so desks were already occupied.

My mouth went dry as I surveyed the group I was going to have to both educate and entertain for the next hour. At this point, it was nearly impossible to distinguish one from another. They all seemed about the same age, somewhere in the late-teenage range. And they were dressed pretty much the same as any other girls their age, except for the fact that just one of their pocketbooks probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell them all apart, I thought morosely.

Yet I already couldn’t help noticing one student in particular: a wiry girl with straight, dark brown hair and a peculiar mismatched outfit that included a short yellow skirt and black-and-white-checked high-tops. The reason she stood out was that she had an unusually loud giggle. High-pitched, too. And from the looks of things, she was the energetic, talkative type who invariably found lots to giggle about.

I glanced at the clock in the back of the room and saw it was one minute after nine. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I’d done a lot of things that were much more difficult than this—even though at the moment I couldn’t think of a single one.

“Since most of you are here, we might as well get
started,” I began, glancing around the room and making eye contact with as many of the girls as I could. “My name is Jessica Popper, and—”

“You’re new, aren’t you?” one of the girls interrupted. When I looked over at her, I saw she was the giggler.

“It’s true that I’m new to the school,” I told her. “But I’m not exactly new to my field, which is veterinary medicine. I’ve been practicing for about ten years now—”

“But you’re not, like, a real teacher, right?” she persisted.

“I’ve never taught in a school like this one, if that’s what you mean,” I replied calmly.

One of the others girls raised her hand, then without waiting to be called on demanded, “Aren’t you on TV?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” I replied, pleased that one of my students actually recognized me. “I have a fifteen-minute show called
Pet People
that’s on every Friday.”

“It’s on one of those
local
cable stations, isn’t it?” she said, her voice oozing with disdain. “I mean, it’s not exactly CNN.”

“That’s right,” I said, staring her down. “Channel 14, the station that’s broadcast all over Long Island.”

I never claimed to be Oprah, I thought crossly.

But a less secure voice in my head demanded,
Did you really think you could earn these girls’ respect—or even their cooperation—simply by showing up?

“Do you take care of, like, lions and tigers?” one of the other girls asked eagerly.

“I rarely work with exotics. Most of the time I stick to dogs and cats.” Smiling at her as warmly as I could, I added, “Since I suspect that a lot more of you have dogs and cats as pets, I’m sure you’ll be—”

“Fiona has llamas,” another girl called out. “That’s pretty exotic.”

“But they’re not here,” another girl, presumably Fiona, insisted. “They’re at our house in Ibiza.” Fixing her gaze on me, she pointedly added, “That’s an island off Spain.”

“I know where Ibiza is,” I assured her, gritting my teeth.

I was wondering how much worse this could get when one more girl sashayed through the doorway. Something about the way she carried herself told me she was used to having the room grow silent whenever she made an entrance, with all eyes focusing on her.

Which is pretty much what happened.

It was true that she was striking. For one thing, she was tall and slender, but with the stick figure-like boniness that models have—and teenage girls worship. She also had long, silky, blond hair and big blue eyes framed by thick lashes. She wore low-slung jeans that revealed a pair of protruding hipbones and a short gauzy peach-colored shirt that kept slipping off her shoulder, no doubt because it had been designed to do precisely that.

As she floated past me, I said, “Thanks for joining us,” in what was supposed to be a teasing tone.

She glanced in my direction just long enough to roll her eyes. “What-ever.”

A few of the other students in the class tittered, but
I made a point of ignoring them. I had a feeling I’d just encountered one of those girls whose peers had elevated her to nearly supernatural status, albeit for reasons that were beyond the rest of us.

Which meant that if I lost her, I’d no doubt lose the entire class.

My heart pounded as I waited for her to find a seat. She chose one in back, right next to the giggler. Actually, it was more like she perched on the edge, allowing less than three inches of her butt to settle on the chair. I got the feeling this pose was one she’d carefully rehearsed, since positioning herself that way made her legs look about six feet long.

But instead of focusing on her, my eyes swept over the entire class. “Okay, everyone,” I said, mustering up as much self-confidence as I could, “I’d like to start off by going around the room and—”

“Don’t tell me we’re all supposed to do something lame like tell the rest of the class something interesting about ourselves,” the latecomer interjected. She let out a loud sigh, just in case there was any doubt about how bored she already was.

“Actually,” I said, careful not to let my impatience show, “I was going to ask each girl to tell us about her pet.”

Her face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. “Oooh, I’ll start!” she cried. “Is that okay? If I go first, I mean?”

A feeling of triumph swelled in me. I felt the way Alexander the Great must have felt when he conquered Persia.

“You’re more than welcome to start,” I told her,
careful not to let my relief show. “Why don’t you begin by telling me your name, so I can learn who each of you are?”

“I’m Campbell Atwater,” she said breezily, “and I have the cutest little Maltese in the world. I named her Snowflake because she’s white and fluffy and she weighs something like five pounds. Do you believe she’s that
tiny?
She’s so small I can fit her in my purse. Not one of those adorable Chanel purses that hold, like, a lipstick and a hundred dollar bill. But it’s worth carrying something a teensy bit bigger just so I can bring her with me wherever I go. And she’s
so
smart. She knows, like, twenty words. When I’m home, she sleeps with me every night, and I hate to be away from her for even a
minute—”

“Don’t you have pictures of her?” the giggler prompted.

“Oh, my gosh!” Campbell cried, dipping into her purse and pulling out her iPhone. “Beanie, you are so brilliant. I
do
have pictures!”

Her announcement elicited squeals of glee from many of the other girls, those who, like her buddy Beanie, had appeared to find her dramatic and disruptive entrance so amusing. They acted as if the chance to see actual photos of Campbell’s beloved pooch was as exciting as learning that Johnny Depp had just entered the building.

As the other girls peered at the tiny screen, Campbell gushed about Snowflake’s unparalleled cuteness, intelligence, and all those other qualities that animal lovers invariably attribute to the four-legged creatures they adore—myself included.

“Thank you, Campbell,” I finally said as a way of calling the class back to order. “I can see you’re really devoted to Snowflake. I’m sure it’ll be useful to learn some practical skills to help you take better care of her. First aid, for example.”

Her big blue eyes widened. “But if anything bad ever happened to Snowflake, I’d just send Daddy a text message and he’d have a veterinarian helicoptered in!”

I managed to regain my composure with amazing speed.

“But what if there wasn’t time?” I asked. “For example, what if Snowflake was choking?”

Campbell was silent, as if it took her a long time to process that new idea. She finally said, “Wow. I never thought of that. I’m not used to having anything bad happen to me. But you’re right. I guess something awful like that really could happen to my sweet little Snowflake!”

She sat up straighter and fixed her eyes on me intently, as if she’d just decided that maybe taking this class wasn’t such a bad idea.