April Fool Dead (15 page)

Annie was only dimly aware of the shocked silence in the long room. She studied the table of teachers. The book had slid from Mrs. Thompson's hand. She stared at the loudspeaker, her face stricken. Mrs. Riley clapped her hands to her cheeks, let out a shrill cry.

Annie pushed back her chair. “I need to talk to Mrs. Riley. Now don't forget what we decided about the meeting, Rachel.”

M
RS
. R
ILEY
'
S HANDS
trembled as she smoothed her hair against the breeze. “Of course I'll help. Will the service be on Saturday?” Her molasses-thick accent stretched each word.

“The time hasn't been announced yet. Mrs. Nevis's daughter and her family arrive tomorrow. I'm sure someone will call you. I know you were a very close friend.” They stood at the end of the pier, the green water bright in the sun.

The teacher shaded eyes that glistened with sudden tears. “We often walked out here after lunch. I love the kids, but sometimes you feel like you're smothering!” She lifted her arms as if pushing away a burden. “Kay used to scold me, tell me I took everything too hard and that I shouldn't get so personally involved. Just last week, she said, ‘Maureen, tell that boy'—one of my favorites, oh, it breaks my heart, he's so bright, so good, and he sees colors like jewels—‘that he can do drugs or he can have a life. Tell him to talk to a counselor, but you let it go. If he doesn't listen, it's not your problem.'” Maureen Riley flung out her hands, gave a huge sigh. “How can I not care? Of course, Kay cared, too. But she was a bear for personal responsibility. Hard choices, that's how she saw the world—for herself, for everybody around her.”

Hard choices.

Annie touched the weathered railing. Had Kay rested her fingers against this warm wood, welcomed the gentle sweep of wind off the water and thought about hard choices? “I know she was upset lately.”

Red nails gripped Annie's arm. “What was that about? She wouldn't tell me. I knew something was wrong. She hadn't been herself for a week or more, so quiet and—well, almost grim.”

Annie's flare of hope withered. “I thought you could tell us. All we know”—Annie doubted the editorial “we” had ever been used so loosely—“is that she was worried about something at school. We even wondered if it could have something to do with her murder.”

Maureen Riley's grip eased. She lifted her hand, smoothed her hair. Her heavy face creased in thought. “Here? At school?”

In the silence, Annie heard the chug of a motorboat, the slap of water against the pilings, the cackling call of a clapper rail.

“Last Friday”—Mrs. Riley's sweet soft voice was thoughtful—“Kay and I were in the cafeteria. We were running a little later than usual. I'd had to stop and leave some papers in the office and she waited for me. At the end of the line, she picked up her tray and looked toward our table. She just stood there, frowning. I guess I was a little impatient. I said, ‘Kay, get a move on.' She didn't budge. She took a deep breath and finally said, ‘Yes. I suppose I must.' When we got to the table, she said hello to everyone, but after we sat down, I swear she didn't talk at all.” Mrs. Riley lifted her plump shoulders in a shrug. “Of course, I have to
admit I always have lots to say. But there's so much to talk about. We're all going to have to take more computer instruction. I swear we just learn how to do it one way and they make us learn another and now they want us to take roll on the computer and we have to click on a student's picture if they're absent and I don't see why we can't just send a slip to the office like we always have. But Kay was always up-to-the-minute. She liked learning more about computers. We were talking about the new software that day and everybody chimed in, everybody but her. I thought maybe she didn't feel well. Anyway, she ate real fast—her usual lunch, vegetable soup and two packages of crackers and lime Jell-O. But now I wonder.” Big brown eyes looked earnestly at Annie.

Annie wasn't sure what she was supposed to take from Mrs. Riley's breathless report. “Wonder?”

“Yes. You see, when we were in the cafeteria line, she was looking at our table. I think she didn't want to go and sit down there. You see what that means!” She gripped her long amber necklace, held it tightly.

Annie imagined Kay Nevis in the cafeteria line looking toward the usual table. “Were the others already there?”

“Yes. Just like today.” Maureen Riley spoke the names slowly. “Lois Thompson. Algebra. She's the tiny little black woman who has such bright eyes, shiny as polished chrome. Amy Mendoza. Biology. Masses of dark hair and an elegant carriage. She models on the weekends. And on the other side of the table…”

Annie nodded, recognizing the same-pew-every-
Sunday syndrome, that human penchant for returning always to a particular spot.

“…Jack Quinn. Chemistry and track. As you might expect, he's the tall skinny guy. He wears his hair longer than Dr. Allensworth likes, but”—a quick smile—“Jack pretty well does what he likes. Three state championships in a row for boys' quarter mile. And some of his top students always AP out of ChemOne. And next to him, you may have noticed the chunky guy with a carrot top and a big grin. George Wilson. Counselor.” Her lips curved in a smile. “Everybody loves George. He could make Silas Marner laugh. Loudest man I've ever known. Talks a mile a minute and he knows something about everything—the latest quiz shows, the average high temperature in Manila in December, Clare of Assisi is the patron saint of television, a gross is twelve dozen—” She paused for breath, peered at Annie. “Really, you'd love him.”

Annie's idea of male perfection was summed up in her tall, blond, agreeable, good-humored, sexy husband, who definitely didn't talk nonstop. “Hmm,” she replied pleasantly.

Mrs. Riley plucked at her amber beads. “The kids adore George. And he's awfully good at getting them to really look at what they're doing. And next to him”—her tone was suddenly dry—“that terribly pretty girl, Nita Harris. Spanish.”

Annie remembered the young teacher sitting with the men, a tangle of blond curls, a hairdo that looks windblown and casual but is the result of art and care,
a fresh open face with a merry smile, an aura of exuberance and enthusiasm.

“If anyone else wore a skirt that short…” Mrs. Riley lifted an eyebrow. “The men all go right to her, just like lemmings. It is lemmings, isn't it, that get all caught up in a swarm and try to cross the sea and drown? You know, propelled by a force they can't resist. Men will be men. They simply can't help themselves. And I swear, I don't think she does a thing. All she has to do is walk into a faculty meeting and there's a mass migration. But I have to say she's a nice girl.” Her eyes squinted in thought. “If only I could remember exactly where Kay was staring. She might have been looking at that side of the table. But really, Kay liked Nita, said she was just one of those women men can't resist and it didn't matter whether a man was married or not. Jack and George are both married. Jack's wife is a very successful lawyer and George's wife is a pharmaceutical rep and makes a lot of money. And Nita has a boyfriend, so it doesn't mean anything.”

Annie tried to sort everyone out in her mind: the precise teacher the students had nicknamed Minnie, the model, the lanky track coach, the ebullient counselor and the femme fatale. Had Kay quarreled with one of them? Was there some reason for her to avoid sitting at the lunch table? But the dead woman had taken her usual place on Friday, though she'd had little to say. Mrs. Riley had wondered if she was sick.

A bell rang.

“Oh, I've got to get back.” Mrs. Riley started up the pier. “The more I think about it, the more I think Kay
was looking at our table. There was a stillness about the way she stood, a reluctance to move. She didn't want to sit with someone at our table.”

 

Max frowned at the map. Last night Laurel must have been in the Sound fairly near the inlet where Kay Nevis had lived. There were only the two houses there, the Nevis house and the Muir house. South of that inlet there was a long stretch of undeveloped marshland, part of a nature preserve. To the north, a thin finger of land poked out into the Sound. There was only one house there. It belonged to Eva and Terry Crawford, owners of Smuggler's Rest, the newest gift shop on the marina. Max picked up the phone. He'd call Ben Parotti, rent a motorboat and be out in the Sound tonight.

Max hesitated, remembering the crisp, imperative tone in his mother's voice when she had insisted that she had a matter to attend to. Max sighed. That meant—had to mean—Laurel would be abroad tonight. But if he took a boat into the Sound, he might—

The phone rang.

“Hello.” Max pulled the map a little closer.

“Maxwell, dear.” Laurel's husky voice brimmed with eagerness, goodwill, and affection.

Max felt a huge rush of relief. “Ma! Listen, you've got to tell me what you're up to.” He talked fast, knowing the connection with his mother might be terminated any instant. “Were you near the Nevis house last night? Don't hang up. You've got to tell me. She was shot. What did you see?”

“I'm so glad I called.” Her voice lifted with contentment. “I simply had an inkling you might be disturbed, a roiling of wavelengths when I envisaged you. Usually, dear Max, you exude the most soothing aura of mellow cream. My dear, you must learn to relax.” Her tone was earnest and reassuring. “If you go out to your hammock and stretch out and breathe deeply, you will feel much better.”

It was that old familiar feeling that often occurred when he spoke with his mother, like stepping into a cobweb, little tendrils of obfuscation twining around him. “Ma, stop fooling around. I'm going to get a boat and be in the Sound tonight—”

“Absolutely not.” Her tone was sharp. “To put your mind at rest, let me assure you that I have no information of interest to the authorities except the fact that I was in the Sound around midnight not far from the inlet where Kay Nevis lived. I encountered a motorboat without running lights. To my surprise, the occupant shot at me. So, of course, I departed immediately. I cannot describe either the boat or my attacker. Therefore, we have no obstruction of justice here.” A light tinkling laugh. “However, I do have a matter to which I must attend this evening. I promise that”—a thoughtful pause—“let's see, tonight is Thursday and tomorrow is Friday, ah yes, I promise that I will be home either Saturday or Sunday. I assure you that I am quite safe and well and that I will be in no danger unless”—now she was crisp and compelling—“there is well-meaning but terribly misguided interference. There is definitely a possibility of terrible danger if you contact the authorities. Please continue, should anyone in
quire, to say that I am in Atlanta. It is, Maxwell, a matter of life or death.”

“Ma—” The empty line buzzed in his ear. He clicked off the phone.
Terrible danger
…Max took a deep breath. All right, he had to do as his mother demanded. But he couldn't ignore what he knew. Max hurried toward the door. There were some of those flyers at his office. Who among those named could have been on the Sound last night at midnight? Certainly Pete was going to explore the people cited in the fake flyers. He was a careful, thorough and intelligent cop. But nobody was shooting at his mother.

 

“Class,” Mrs. Thompson, a woman who felt no need to raise her voice, said softly, “we will have a short quiz. Please work the problems on page 89.”

The students flipped open their books and set to work.

Mrs. Thompson held the door for Annie. She looked back to the class. “I shall return in fifteen minutes.”

When they stepped into the hall, the door closing behind them, Lois Thompson fingered a silver filigree brooch in the lapel of her gray suit. Her shiny eyes studied Annie.

Annie decided Mrs. Thompson indeed looked like a dusky mouse, a highly intelligent, thoughtful and curious mouse. “I appreciate your willingness to take a few minutes to speak with me. We are planning the service for Kay and her daughter hopes you will agree to speak.”

The teacher's shiny eyes blinked in her small, in
tense face. “Of course I will. Is there a particular aspect of Kay's life you wish for me to discuss?”

Slowly, Annie nodded. “The family wishes to remember especially her devotion to duty and her commitment to high moral principles. I understand she was presently engaged in a dispute here at school about some matter she found distressing.”

Perfectly formed eyebrows rose a fraction. “Really? I was not aware of a specific problem.” Mrs. Thompson clasped her smooth hands together, the nails shiny with colorless polish.

Annie almost left it at that. Obviously, Kay Nevis hadn't told her best friends on the faculty about any difficulty at school. If she hadn't told either Mrs. Riley or Mrs. Thompson, it was unlikely she'd told anyone else. Told them what? Mrs. Riley suggested Kay didn't want to sit at the lunch table. Why? What could Kay know about a teacher that would distress her enough that even a brief lunch period seemed intolerable? It would have to be a matter of great seriousness, something that could lead to the loss of a job, perhaps even criminal charges…
not aware of a specific problem
…Annie looked into bright, shiny, intelligent brown eyes. “Specific?”

Mrs. Thompson's small nose wrinkled. Annie had a quick vision of a mouse sniffing. A quick smile revealed even white teeth. “Kay was a forward-looking woman, but she was not comfortable with today's lax standards. Last week in the lounge, we were drinking tea and discussing the difficulties teachers face today—students who are overscheduled, undisciplined, exposed to endless corrupting influences, most
especially senseless violence and promiscuous sex in every aspect of their entertainment—when Kay said, and I can only describe her tone as bitter, ‘Parents have a responsibility. When they don't oversee a child, there will be trouble.'” Mrs. Thompson turned to look through the glass panes in the door.

Annie looked, too. It did not surprise her that Mrs. Thompson's students, heads bent, were writing industriously.

Mrs. Thompson gave an almost imperceptible approving nod, returned her calm gaze to Annie. “At the time, I noted Kay's tone was more exercised than usual. But now I believe—though it is perhaps easy to invest a momentousness to the event because of Kay's death and your question to me—that she might have been grappling with a decision regarding a student. She took a last sip of tea and gathered up her papers. Her manner was abstracted, as if she was deep in thought. That was the last conversation we had.”