Roots of Murder (7 page)

“In the front, with Mr. Simmons,” Lizzie answered, accompanied with her usual eye roll. Nell had to agree with her, not that she said that. Nell's experience of Mr. Simmons was that he was slow, even ponderous, in making decisions; could only see numbers, not how things affected people; and was far too easily swayed by whichever faction make the most noise. “But you can sit with us, if you want,” Lizzie added.

Nell said, “You sure you want to be seen with your aged mother?”

“Ah, Mom, you're not that old. You're not a boring adult yet. You don't need to sit with them.” Lizzie led the way to where her friends were sitting.

Nell wondered if that was how Lizzie really felt, or just an artifact from the previous evening of no motherly interference in choosing pizza toppings. I'm not being fair to her, Nell thought, assuming she's going to be an annoying adolescent. To the friends Nell didn't know, Lizzie introduced her as, “This is my mom. She's covering this for the
Pelican Bay Crier
.” Lizzie seemed almost proud.

Nell was reassured to note most of Lizzie's friends were not the most
fashion-forward
of the middle school; the most shocking thing she could see was a pierced eyebrow. She decided to not worry about what she couldn't see.

As with most assemblies, it took a while for people to settle down; the process
little-aided
by Mr. Simmons reedy pleading of “Okay, children, find your seats.”

It began with what Nell considered the usual drone: announcements, the trite clichés about how this was the best school in the world with the best middle school football team in the South, the slide into religion with a moment of “Let us pray” without actually adding “to Jesus,” although that was clearly the intent. Then Mr. Simmons, demonstrating his mathematical ability and little else, did a long introduction, winding past civic duty and the importance of voting, not noting the irony in extolling voting to teenagers three to five years from the privilege.

Aaron Dupree sat slightly behind him, his face a calm mask even though he had to know Mr. Simmons was putting his audience to sleep. At least by the time these students could indeed vote, they might have forgotten this particular campaign stop.

Nell looked from his carefully controlled mask to the audience. Segregation might have ended years ago, but integration was still just a word. For the most part, the black students and the white students sat apart.

Nell noted with chagrin that although Lizzie's friends sitting around them included several Asian girls and one either Hispanic or Arabic, no blacks sat with them. Maybe I'm making too much of this, one random seating in one assembly, Nell thought. Or maybe it's something I haven't looked hard enough at, leaving the patterns and assumptions neatly in place.

When she'd first moved to Pelican Bay, she was married to Thom and so had fallen into his social milieu. She realized it was mostly white, with a few acquaintances of other races. Had she passed that on to her daughter, that unquestioning acceptance? Her thoughts were interrupted by weak applause. Mr. Simmons had finally finished his introduction.

Aaron Dupree was polite, but he quickly grabbed the microphone from Mr. Simmons. He also had the sense not to stay planted behind the lectern, but instead moved about the stage, using all the space the microphone cord allowed.

Nell had to admit he was a polished performer. He started off with a joke, followed with a brief and uplifting riff on his vision for Pelican Bay, then moved to the importance of education, following with how important young people were and ending with his sincere belief that Pelican Bay had the best football team. The applause after his speech was much less tepid than for Mr. Simmons'.

He opened the floor for questions.

The first few questions were about his days as a football player for Pelican Bay High. His answers had an ‘ah, shucks, it was fun,' quality while still working in that they had won the state championship his senior year.

Carrie was right, Nell admitted; Aaron Dupree was a handsome man. The
well-cut
suit he wore accented his broad shoulders and trim waist, a physique that could be the envy of some of the current football players.

“Are you married?” one of the girls asked. Then she blushed and giggled, which caused a wave of titters in the audience.

“No, I'm not,” he answered. “But I do hope someday to get there.” He gave a quick glance to a woman who was also seated on the stage with him. Nell craned her head to be able to see more than the woman's knees. It was Desiree Hunter. If she was his intended, he had made a good choice, she thought.

Nell made a note to find out if this was a fiancé or just a girlfriend.

Then came Lizzie's turn. “Do you have plans to involve youth in your administration and if so, in what capacity?” Her voice was clear and strong, no fumbling over the words. Nell felt a surge of pride in her daughter.

“I would love to involve youth. I think we too often keep young people away from the adult world. I plan to work with the schools to have a program of internships so you can see what goes on in the mayor's office, at the police station, the library. I'd also like to work with local businesses to create a similar set of internships. For example, we have one of the best local papers in the state right here in Pelican Bay. That would be a great way to find out what the world of journalism is all about.”

No, Nell silently answered, college is as young as I care to go. But she had to acknowledge his skillful answer. He had paid enough attention to notice she was here and had found a way to flatter without being unctuous.

He looked directly enough at her to catch her eye. Blue eyes, very blue, she noted. Nell held his glance for a moment, then Lizzie asked her
follow-up
question. “What's your time table for implementing this program?”

Nell was almost relieved to turn to look at her daughter. She was long out of practice in—in what? Had he been mildly flirting? Or was that just a symptom of her loneliness, to read into a practiced politician's sincere glance, a hint of interest?

He answered Lizzie's question. “Ideally in the first six months I'm in office, but I can't promise the aldermen will let me do everything as soon as I want to.”

There were a few more questions, then Mr. Simmons managed to grab the mic back and tell the “children” it was time to go back to class. The children milled around the auditorium, their only major movement to the soft drink machine in the hallway.

Nell made her way to the candidate, with Lizzie following. Somehow Nell couldn't see Lizzie interning at the paper—even if she wanted to be a reporter; she didn't think the paper or her sanity could survive a teenage daughter constantly on the premises. But it wouldn't hurt her daughter to get a glimpse of just what it was her mother did. Nell tried to think of questions that would be both intelligent and impress her teenager.

Aaron Dupree had been buttonholed by Mr. Simmons, so he quickly turned when he spied Lizzie and Nell approaching.

“That was a very good question,” he said to Lizzie, offering her an adult handshake. As Nell suspected, Lizzie didn't burst out and say, “Oh, my mom thought of that.” Instead, she answered, “A lot of us kids want to make a difference, but sometimes it's hard to find a way to do anything.”

“If I'm elected mayor, that will change. What is your name? Would you like to be a youth advisor on my transition team?”

Nell suspected he well knew her name. He might not have memorized all the children of Pelican Bay, but there was enough of a resemblance between them, he could easily guess that Lizzie was her daughter. His glance took in Nell, hovering just behind Lizzie.

“I'm Elizabeth McGraw, and I'd love to,” she gushed. Then Lizzie—Elizabeth—remembered her manners, in a fashion. “Oh, this is my mom.”

Aaron Dupree's hand was already out when he said, “Mrs. McGraw, I'm pleased to see you again so soon.”

“Hello, Mr. Dupree.” His look was as direct as it had been from across the stage. Nell glanced down at her notebook as if a question was there. “Are you going to raise our taxes to accomplish this program?”

“Not at all,” he answered. “I'm going to count on the civic pride and duty of the people of our city. I'm hoping if I set the example with all the city functions, others will follow suit.”

If her daughter hadn't been standing next to her, Nell might have asked him if he flirted with all the women reporters. But that was too adult for her darling daughter. She still wasn't sure if he was flirting or if she was just reading it in.

“Do you really plan to have student interns on the sewage and water board?”

“Ah, you've been to some of the meetings,” he said with a quick smile. “Perhaps we should do everything in moderation.”

Mr. Simmons took this moment to interrupt. “Young lady, you should be on your way to class,” he told Lizzie, in a tone that seemed meant to curtail her moment of attention.

“She'll go in a moment,” Aaron Dupree said. “Right now I've got to get her signed up for my transition team. Changing of governments only happens every four years and it may be a while before she gets another chance.”

Again, Nell had to admire his style, and she silently praised him for preventing her from telling Simmons what she thought of his pedantry in a manner not suitable before her delicate—well, not, but mothers still had to set some standards—daughter.

Lizzie was happily agreeing to anything Aaron Dupree suggested. Fortunately, his only suggestion was for her to write down her name and contact info. Nell decided he didn't look like a white slaver, so she pulled out one of her business cards and handed it to Lizzie to write on the back.

With that, Lizzie happily skipped back to class—via the soft drink machine in the hallway.

“You have a great daughter,” Dupree told her. “And I can only tell you're old enough to be her mother when I'm within two feet of you. Your hair color exactly matches hers.”

“I'm impressed with your skillful use of flattery, Mr. Dupree,” Nell said. “Perhaps I'm an economical mother and buy hair color in bulk.”

“Call me Aaron. And, Mrs. McGraw, within two feet of you I can spy just a few gray hairs. That rules out economical hair dye.”

Nell appreciated that he offered his first name without automatically going to hers. It was possible he didn't know it, but so far his political skill argued that he would damn well know the name of the
Editor-in
-Chief of the local paper.

Desiree joined them. “Aaron, darling, we've got to get over to the television studio,” she said. To Nell she added, “Time to make some TV ads and they charge by the second.”

“Of course. I understand the realities of politics and I hardly thought an appearance at my daughter's school would be a proper
grill-the
-candidate time,” Nell assured her.

Aaron said, “Truly her brother's keeper. Nothing like having your sister as your
ex-officio
campaign manager. Really keeps you on schedule.”

Ah, Nell thought, his sister. She kept her face neutral. At least, she hoped she did.

“‘Campaign manager' is also a polite euphemism for chief cook and bottle washer,” Desiree interjected.

“We shall certainly have to set up a time for you to do a proper grilling,” Aaron said to Nell. He again shook her hand, lingering just a touch beyond the usual hearty shake of a politician, and then he and his sister left.

Nell hung back, letting them get a good distance away before she headed out.

The evidence of both her intellect and her instincts said he definitely had been flirting. It seemed important that Nell knew Desiree was his sister. That he knew more about her than their brief meetings suggested was probable. He claimed to have read the Crier, which meant he'd read her articles and editorials. It was an open secret she did most of the editorial writing and Thom's job was to smooth whatever feathers might have been ruffled. Though Nell liked to think she lived an opaque life, just like most people, she also acknowledged that Pelican Bay was on the smaller side of ponds and the person who ran the local paper was, by default, a big fish.

Nell considered her looks to be in the “no broken mirrors” range—pleasant, but nothing that would turn heads. Thom had insisted he'd watched her every time he saw her on campus and almost had an orgasm when they'd ended up in class together. She'd laughed off his flattery. After seventeen years of marriage, she still had laughed off his insistence she was
good-looking
. “Be real,” Nell would answer. “You married me for my brains, ambition, and bust size.”

Vivien had been the beauty in the family. Maggie was the oldest daughter, the second mother who took care of them all; Vivien the cheerleader, the beauty queen; and Nell had been, simply, the last daughter, smart because that was all that was left her. She still remembered her mother's voice: “You'll never be the beauty your sister is, so you might as well study.”

The stab in her heart was still bitter at the memory of graduation, giving her valedictorian speech, with only Maggie and Frank, the brother closest to her in age, sitting in the audience. The rest had chosen to cheer Vivien on as she competed for whatever cheap tiara she was going after, Miss Hog Jowls of Indiana. It wasn't that Vivien was mean or demanded attention, but she seemed to live in a world that existed between her and the mirror and the stage. Their mother egged her on, as if Vivien's beauty was the best reflection any of her children could give her.

Nell glanced at her image in the window as she walked down the deserted hallway. Maybe I wasn't bad looking at
twenty-five
, but at forty? All those years spent next to Vivien's beauty had seeped into the mirror. The blurred image in the dusty school window was more blank than ugly. Filling in with memory, Nell saw a woman above average height at
five-eight
, her hair swept up in a chignon that was easy and quick. It was still the light chestnut color it always had been. Her mother called it dirty blond, as if blond was so clearly better than brown, even dirty was preferable. Her eyes were
blue-gray
, only the bare beginnings of laugh lines. She didn't have Vivien's jutting cheekbones or Maggie's wide smile, but her face was regular with a strong chin and the hint of dimples. Maggie told her she needed those dimples otherwise her face was too serious, with the eyes, brow and forehead of someone who read books, and studied.