Murder Had a Little Lamb (7 page)

Inwardly, I smiled. I was amazed at how easy teaching these girls was turning out to be.

“Can I go next?” the giggler—Beanie—asked, throwing her arm up into the air with the enthusiasm of a Laker Girl. “I have the cutest pug in the entire world, Esmeralda. But she isn’t only gorgeous; she’s smart, too. And really funny. She can do this amazing trick …”

The rest of the hour flew right by as one by one each girl gave a short presentation about her pet, in
many cases passing around photos of the animals they clearly adored. Most had either a dog or a cat, and several had horses. A few other types of animals were represented, as well: rabbits, exotic birds, and of course, Fiona’s llamas.

As each one lovingly told the others about the animals in her life, I saw a new side of them. Beneath the makeup and designer accessories, they still maintained the sweetness of little girls who treasured their pets more than just about anything else in the world.

“That’s all the time we have,” I finally said.

My announcement was greeted with groans.

“But I have a short assignment for you to do before class tomorrow,” I announced. Despite a few more groans, I continued, “I’d like each one of you to write down five things you think are important for every pet to have.”

“A diamond collar!” one called out.

“A heated bed!” another added.

“We’ll go over your lists tomorrow,” I told them. “But right now, I’ve got to get to work—and you’ve got to get to your next class.”

I certainly didn’t want to keep the Zen Buddhism teacher or whoever else was next on the schedule waiting.

As the girls filed out, their excited chatter filled the classroom. I was about to congratulate myself on having survived my first class when I saw that Campbell was taking a path that led right past my desk. Her sidekick, Beanie, was just a step or two behind.

“That was actually kind of fun,” Campbell commented as she breezed by me. Pausing to look me up
and down appraisingly, she added, “You turned out to be a lot better at this than I thought you’d be.”

I was too stunned to come up with a response. I just watched her as she took a few steps toward the door, then leaned over to whisper some comment to Beanie that caused her friend to burst into hysterical laughter.

Silently seething, I grabbed my class list and forced myself to study it. I was marveling over how many of the names I could already attach to faces when I realized that not all the girls had left. One last student was hovering near my desk.

She was probably the quietest girl in my class, one who’d chosen to sit at the very back of the classroom and to say nothing aside from a few words about her cat, Babalu. Vondra Garcia’s name had actually been one of the easier ones to learn, since it was the only Spanish one on my class roster.

But it was even easier to remember her face, since she also stood out from the rest of the class physically. While she had Campbell’s fine bones and regal carriage, Vondra’s skin was the color of freshly brewed espresso.

But her ethnic background was only one reason she’d stood out. At least as noticeable was the different way she dressed. Everything she wore was white: her flowing skirt, her cotton blouse, even the thick white headband that helped hold her smoothed-back hair in place. The only color in her outfit was in the row of bracelets running up one arm. They were made of tiny green and black beads—not exactly the kind of thing any of the other girls were wearing.

As I smiled at her, I could feel my cheeks burning. I
hadn’t realized that anyone had witnessed me being the target of Campbell’s mastery of the veiled insult.

“You’re Vondra, right?” I said cheerfully, trying to cover up my embarrassment.

“That’s right,” she said, looking pleased that I remembered her name.

After a couple of moments of silence, I asked, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just wanted to tell you not to mind them,” she said quietly.

“Excuse me?” I said, caught completely off guard by her remark.

“Those obnoxious girls, like Campbell and Beanie,” she said. Now that she was speaking more loudly, I could hear that her voice was tinged with bitterness. “They’re so full of themselves, even though the only thing they’ve ever accomplished in their entire lives is having the luck to be born into ridiculously wealthy families.”

With an angry little laugh, Vondra continued, “And it’s not as if they’re that great. Campbell, especially. She’s so flaky that I’m not surprised she’s bounced around from one school to another. But ever since she showed up here at Worth a few months ago, it was clear that she didn’t care one bit about getting through high school—or doing anything well, for that matter. I’m sure she’s got a nice trust fund somewhere with her name on it.”

I was still trying to come up with a diplomatic way to address her comments when she added, “Not me. I’m here on scholarship. And believe me, it’s something girls like that never let me forget. You’d think
having parents who aren’t multigazillionaires was a federal offense.”

“I guess it can be tough, being at a school with such a diverse group of students,” I commented.

“For everyone,” she said, nodding, “including the teachers. Right now, they’re testing you. But don’t worry. You did just fine.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the room. As I watched her leave, it occurred to me that while the school’s website had made the student body sound like one big happy family, the dynamics here at Worth seemed to be a lot more complicated.

•   •   •

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, as I stood in front of the faculty mailboxes, that I realized how exhausted I was. I had just let out a loud sigh when I heard a footstep that told me someone had come up behind me.

“Rough day?” asked a friendly voice.

I turned and saw that the person who’d spoken was a trim middle-aged man who wasn’t much taller than I was. He was nice-looking, with hazel eyes that smiled at me from behind a pair of glasses and a fringe of gray hair circling an otherwise bald head. Even though he was dressed casually in a sports jacket and khaki-colored pants, he had an exceptionally neat, well-groomed appearance.

“I guess first days are always rough,” I replied.

“My experience exactly,” he agreed. “Fortunately, the second day is always much easier. Most of the ones
that follow, too.” He extended his hand. “Richard Evans.”

“I’m Jessica Popper,” I told him as we shook hands.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he assured me with twinkling eyes. “The Worth School is like a small town. No matter how discreet anyone tries to be, everybody ends up knowing everybody else’s business.”

I wondered if that was true even in Nathaniel Stibbins’s case.

“Since I’m still new, I’m afraid I haven’t learned enough to know who
you
are,” I told him apologetically.

“I’m the school chaplain. Here at Worth, we believe that even teenage girls are capable of developing a moral compass—at least, with enough prompting.”

I laughed.

“So I guess I should call you Reverend Evans,” I observed.

He shrugged. “Richard works, too. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine with me.”

“In that case, I think I’ll stick with Reverend Evans,” I told him. “But please feel free to call me Jessie.”

“Jessie it is,” he replied. “By the way, I couldn’t help noticing your van out in the parking lot. It is yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s mine, all right. It’s actually a clinic on wheels.”

“Really? You mean you treat animals right in your vehicle?” A look of delight crossed Reverend Evans’s face. “What a clever concept!”

“A lot of people find it useful,” I agreed. “My
clients are generally people who are really busy—or for various reasons have a hard time getting out of the house. It’s also a great option if an animal is seriously ill and would be traumatized by getting in a car and traveling to a regular vet’s office.”

He nodded. “I can think of a long list of scenarios in which your services would be just the ticket. I take it you have everything you need right in the van?”

“That’s right. An examining table, medications, you name it. I even have an assistant who travels around with me some of the time.”

“In that case, could I impose upon you to take a look at my dog, Chach?” Reverend Evans asked. “He’s a shih tzu and he’s been limping a bit. At first, I assumed he’d stepped on something sharp, and that it would heal on its own. But it’s been almost a week now, and I’ve been thinking that I should really have it looked at.”

“Have you examined his paw?” I asked, frowning with concern.

“I tried, but he kept yelping and pulling it away. I was afraid of hurting him, so I just left it alone.”

“So you haven’t had a chance to see if he’s got a cut.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You should probably have him looked at as soon as possible,” I said. “I’d be happy to do it—the sooner, the better.”

“How about tomorrow after your class?”

“Tomorrow’s great. Why don’t we shoot for around ten forty-five?”

“Perfect.”

His forehead tensed as he said, “Now I feel bad that I waited so long. It’s just that this has been such a crazy week.”

“I’m sure you’ve had your hands full,” I said, “counseling the girls and all. After that terrible thing happened to their art teacher, I mean.”

Reverend Evans shook his head. “Such a tragedy. I do hope the police catch Mr. Stibbins’s killer before long.”

The police … or anyone else who’s been given the challenge, I thought grimly.

Aloud, I said, “I take it Mr. Stibbins was extremely well liked here at the school.”

Reverend Evans looked startled by my comment. “Well, he’d certainly been here for a long time. He was kind of a fixture.”

“You must have known him pretty well,” I ventured.

“Not really.” Thoughtfully, he added, “Certainly not as well as someone like Claude Molter. He’s our music teacher.”

“Were the two of them close?”

He hesitated before saying, “They certainly had a lot in common.”

“Like what?”

Thoughtfully, Reverend Evans replied, “Even though Nathaniel and Claude were in entirely different fields—art and music—they were both extremely accomplished. Claude is a world-renowned violinist. He began his career as a child prodigy in Belgium, where he was born. But he went on to perform with some of the greatest orchestras in the world.”

“Wow,” I said, sincerely impressed.

“I understand he’s also a count.”

“A count?” I’d never run into a count before. That is, aside from Count Dracula, Count Chocula, and the Count on
Sesame Street
. And none of them was real.

I was about to ask Reverend Evans as diplomatically as I could how a count who was a music prodigy ended up teaching in a private girls’ school on Long Island. But before I had a chance, he changed the subject by saying, “I’ll be sure to bring Chach to school with me tomorrow. While I’m tied up with school business, he can stay in his carrying case.” Chuckling, he added, “I’m not saying he’ll like it, just that he’ll do it.”

“Then I’ll see you both tomorrow,” I said.

I hadn’t bothered to check my schedule. Even if I didn’t have a slot available right after my class, I knew that having the chance to talk to Reverend Evans again was worth shifting a few appointments around.

After all, the chaplain’s job was helping things at the school run smoothly. That undoubtedly entailed finding out as much as he could about the intrigues lurking beneath the surface—which meant that he and I already had a lot in common, too.

•   •   •

As I drove away from the Worth School, I was buoyed by the good start my investigation was off to. I was also encouraged by my teaching debut.

But it was time for me to shift gears, to throw myself into the role in which I felt most comfortable. Fortunately, my first call of the day was going to be a
happy one, since instead of treating an ailing pet I was paying a kitten a well-visit call.

Smokey’s owners, Deborah and Jeff West, were first-time cat owners who lived nearby in Brompton Hills. This morning, only Deb was at home. In fact, as I pulled up in front of her house, a charming white saltbox that I suspected had been built in the eighteen hundreds or even earlier, she came out of the house with the dark gray kitten in her arms.

“Hey, Dr. Popper,” she greeted me. Just like the last time I’d stopped by, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and her dark blond hair was clipped back loosely so the wavy strands hung around her face. She wasn’t much older than I was, yet unlike me, was new to the world of animal ownership.

“Hi, gorgeous,” I greeted Smokey as Deb stepped up into my van. “Wow, she got really big!”

“We’ve already had her for two months,” Deb said proudly. “She’s really grown. She’s frisky, too.”

Since Sunny wasn’t spending her mornings with me while I was teaching at Worth, I asked Deb to hold Smokey as I took her temperature. Next I weighed her, commenting, “Last time she was three point six pounds, and now she’s at four point six—up a whole pound. How did she do after the last vaccine?”

“Fine.”

“That’s great. How’s her health in general? Any vomiting? Coughing or sneezing? Diarrhea?”

Smokey appeared to be in great shape. In fact, she reminded me of Cat back in her spunky days of kitten-hood. Not only was their coloring nearly identical, so was the wise look in their eyes.

“This might sound like a strange question,” Deb said, “but do people bathe cats?”

“It depends on who you ask,” I replied. “I don’t, since most cats need to be sedated in order to be bathed. But they pretty much groom themselves, so unless they run into a mud puddle or get skunked, they should be fine.”

I answered a few more of Deb’s questions, then said, “I’m going to give Smokey her second and final upper respiratory vaccine. I’ll give it between her shoulder blades. It may be tender in that area. The next shot is rabies, in about two weeks. Then I’ll start the leukemia vaccines, a series of two.”

Her owner watched anxiously as I injected Smokey with a one ml solution of FVR vaccine, the common term for the Feline Rhinotracheitis-Calici-Panleukopenia Vaccine. I noticed that Deb flinched, but Smokey hardly did at all.