Back To School Murder #4 (2 page)

“W
hat did you say?” Ted asked.

“A bomb!” Lucy yelled into the phone. “At the elementary school!”

“Calm down, Lucy,” Ted instructed patiently. “Take a deep breath. Now, tell me where you got a crazy idea like that.”

“I heard it on the scanner. The Chief called the bomb squad.”

“It's probably a hoax,” said Ted. He had been covering the news in Tinker's Cove, what little there was, for nearly twenty years. He'd reported on plenty of fires and auto accidents and the occasional domestic abuse incident, but he'd never yet covered a bombing.

“Ted, I'm not going to sit here and argue with you. Maybe there isn't a bomb, maybe it is a hoax, but Sara's in that building and I'm going over there!”

From the way his ears were ringing, Ted was pretty sure Lucy had slammed the phone down. He was standing in the courthouse lobby, leaning against the wall next to the pay phone, still holding the receiver in his hand. As he replaced it, he heard the distant wail of a siren. Even if it was a hoax, he decided, it was still a story. In fact, it was a definite first for Tinker's Cove.

Shouldering his camera bag, he hurried outside and quickly crossed the parking lot to his ancient VW beetle. In seconds, he was on his way to the school.

 

At the door, Lucy hesitated. She didn't have a key, so she would have to leave the office unlocked. Then again, crime wasn't exactly a big issue in Tinker's Cove, where people routinely left their doors unlocked. Hoping for the best, she turned the dangling
OPEN
sign to
CLOSED
and pulled the door shut behind her. Then she ran across the sidewalk to her Subaru wagon and jumped in. Looking over her shoulder, she made a big U-turn across Main Street and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. She didn't care if she got a ticket but she didn't think it was likely—all the cops were at the school.

As she raced down the quiet streets, images she had seen on the TV news crowded her mind and she tried to push them away. The Oklahoma City bombing; the fireman cradling a limp baby in his arms. The bloodied children who minutes before had been safe in the day-care center. The World Trade Center, where workers staggered down endless flights of smoke-filled stairs, emerging with soot-blackened faces. The twisted steel wreckage of a Jerusalem bus, and a city street turned into a morgue. “No,” she whispered to herself. “Not here. Not my baby.”

Turning onto Oak Street, she was almost surprised to see the tall, red brick school building standing exactly as it had for fifty or more years. Today, it shimmered in the heat, and rays of sunlight bounced off the glass windows. To Lucy, it seemed fragile, like a mirage that could shatter and disappear at any moment.

Lucy blinked and reassured herself that everything was all right, for now. Every rescue worker in the county seemed to have answered the call; the driveway and parking lot were filled with fire engines and other emergency vehicles. Hoses had been laid, several ambulances stood by with their lights blinking. There was no place to park so she pulled the Subaru onto the lawn and braked.

A shrill alarm bell sounded as she climbed out of the car and her heart skipped a beat. Seconds later the students began exiting the building in neat lines, led by their teachers. Years of fire drill training had paid off. She scanned the children's faces, searching for Sara and soon spotted her small, chubby figure. She was holding hands with Jenn, and following her teacher, Miss Kinnear. Lucy gave her a little wave.

The children were soon arrayed in orderly rows on the lawn, where they stood waiting for the usual signal to return to their classrooms. The signal didn't come. Instead, the principal, Mrs. Applebaum, made her way heavily across the driveway. She stood facing them on sturdy stockinged legs, her feet stuffed into sensible shoes. She smoothed the white collar that trimmed her size 20 washable polyester-cotton dress and raised a bullhorn to her plain, pleasant face. The sun bounced off her glasses.

“I am very proud of you today,” she began. “You have all behaved very well, and the school was evacuated in record time. The fire chief tells me it is not safe to go back into the building just yet. I am going to ask you all to step back. Teachers, when I give the signal, will you please have your classes move across the lawn to the baseball field—as far back as you can go.” She paused, making sure everyone was paying attention, raised her arm, and said, “Now.”

The group receded across the lawn to the outfield and reformed once more.

“Very good,” said Mrs. Applebaum. “Now, I'm going to ask you all to sit down. We are going to sit and wait until it is safe to return to our classes. Teachers, since this is the first day of school, I want you to check and make sure all your students are accounted for.”

Spotting Karen among a handful of anxious mothers clustered together on the lawn, Lucy approached them. “What's going on?” she asked.

“They haven't said, but it must be serious for them to evacuate the building,” offered Anne Wilson.

“There doesn't seem to be a fire,” said Vicki Hughes. “What could it be?”

Lucy's and Karen's eyes met.

“Maybe it's a water leak or something,” said Anne.

Lucy nodded. She wanted to believe it was something as harmless as a water leak. “The kids are behaving awfully well.”

“They sure are,” said Karen, pulling her oversized T-shirt from her sticky body and flapping the loose fabric. “It's sweltering out here.”

“I'm glad I sent my boys off in shorts this morning,” offered Vicki. “Some of those kids are wearing long-sleeved shirts and corduroy pants.”

“Their back-to-school clothes,” said Lucy. “I guess they can't wait to wear their new things, even if it's ninety-five in the shade.”

“Ladies, I'm going to ask you to move back, if you don't mind,” said Officer Barney Culpepper, crossing the grass toward them.

Barney had been Lucy's friend ever since they'd worked together on the Cub Scout committee. Over the years Barney had added some weight, and nowadays a sizable belly hung over his heavy police belt. His hair was still thick, but the buzz cut he favored was turning decidedly gray. He planted his feet firmly and hitched up his pants.

“Hi, Barney. What's up?” asked Lucy.

“Well, you didn't hear this from me,” said Barney, leaning forward conspiratorially, “but they've found a device attached to the school clock.”

“A device?” asked Anne, stepping closer.

“Like a bomb?” whispered Vicki.

“That's what they think,” said Barney, nodding. “They think it's set to go off when the lunch bell rings. At eleven-thirty.”

Lucy looked at her watch. “That's in ten minutes!”

“Right. That's why I want you to move back.”

“No problem.” The women scurried across the green grass and joined the children on the baseball field.

“There's Ted,” said Karen, pointing to the driveway where a battered yellow VW was pulling up.

“It's about time,” said Lucy. “He almost missed the biggest story in Tinker's Cove since…I don't know when.”

The women watched as Ted made his way over hoses and around squad cars and approached the men in charge: Fire Chief Stan Pulaski and Police Chief Oswald Crowley. Their heads bobbed and hands waved as they conversed, and Lucy wished she could hear what they were saying.

A sudden commotion among the children drew the women's attention; kindergarten teacher Lydia Volpe was running through the seated students, her hand at her mouth.

“Uh-oh,” said Karen.

The women watched the awkward pantomime as Lydia pointed to the building and then tried to run in, but was restrained by two firefighters.

“What's that all about?” asked Vicki.

“Somebody's still in there,” said Lucy, who never hesitated to jump to a conclusion.

“Oh my God,” breathed Anne.

“Who could it be?” asked Vicki.

“You know, I didn't see Tom Spitzer with the rest of the kindergarten kids,” said Anne, whose daughter was in Lydia's class.

“You're right,” said Vicki, scanning the group of kids. “He's not there.” All the mothers knew Tommy; he had been born with cerebral palsy and was a familiar figure at school gatherings with his aluminum crutches and his brave little grin.

“Maybe he's home with a cold or something,” said Karen.

“I hope so,” said Lucy, glancing at her watch. It read eleven twenty-six. Four minutes.

“I don't think he's home,” said Anne, indicating the front of the school, where two members of the bomb squad were hurriedly pulling on padded suits and helmets. They were just entering the building when they were almost knocked off their feet by a small blond woman in a pink suit. She dashed past them and disappeared into the evacuated building.

“Who was that?” asked Lucy. “That wasn't Tommy's mother.”

“That was Carol Crane, the new assistant principal,” said Karen. “What time is it?”

“She's got three minutes, if my watch is right,” said Lucy.

“I can't stand it,” moaned Anne. “What if she doesn't make it?”

“How's she going to find him?” asked Vicki, wringing her hands. “He could be anywhere.”

Lucy looked down at her watch, holding her breath as the sweep hand lurched from numeral to numeral. The children were unnaturally silent, sitting with their classmates on the lawn. The teachers gathered together in little groups. The rescue workers stood by, manning their stations. Ted fingered his camera. All eyes were fixed on the green double doors of the school.

The big hand of her watch fell on the six, and Lucy reached out and gripped Karen's arm. Karen covered Lucy's hand with her own.

The doors swung open, and Carol Crane staggered out, followed by the two bomb squad members. She was clutching little Tommy tightly to her chest.

The students began cheering as Carol ran down the steps, supported by the two helmeted men. A sudden, thunderous boom silenced them, and everyone watched as the first-floor windows ballooned out and shattered. Clouds of thick, dusty smoke billowed out of the empty window frames. Carol was thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, and she fell on top of Tommy, protectively covering his body with her own. The two bomb squad members were also thrown forward onto their knees, but quickly scrambled to their feet. Carol, with Tommy's small body folded beneath her, lay quite motionless.

T
he seconds following the explosion were absolutely quiet. No one coughed or moved, not even a bird sang. The children sat in stunned silence on the grass with the sun beating down on them. Everyone stared at the blasted building, waiting for the inevitable collapse. But time ticked on and the school remained standing, a scarred backdrop for the drama unfolding in front of it.

The paramedics had rushed to aid Carol and Tommy. They carefully rolled Carol onto her back and began to examine her. She appeared to suddenly regain consciousness; her hand flew to her head and in the silence everyone heard her first words.

“Is Tommy okay?” she asked.

They were already transferring the little boy to a stretcher, but before they could fasten the straps, he popped up into a sitting position.

“I was locked in! I couldn't get out!” he exclaimed, shaking with outrage. Then he burst into tears. A female paramedic hurried to him, patting him on the shoulder and wiping his tears.

Then, all eyes were drawn to Carol Crane as she awkwardly and painfully got to her feet, assisted by one of the helmeted rescue workers. She staggered a bit, then turned slowly and faced the crowd of students and teachers, who began cheering and applauding.

Carol stood there for a moment, a tiny fragile figure in pink surrounded by the uniformed paramedics. She gave a little wave and turned to bend solicitously over little Tommy's stretcher.

As she watched the drama unfold, Lucy felt tears pricking her eyes and blinked them away.

“That is one brave lady,” said Karen, fumbling for a tissue and blowing her nose.

“The whole building could have come down on top of her,” said Anne.

“She risked her life to save Tommy,” added Vicki.

As they watched, Tommy was carried to a waiting ambulance and placed inside. Carol climbed in after him, assisted by the paramedics, and the doors closed. Then the ambulance proceeded slowly down the drive.

“No lights or sirens,” said Karen. “They're probably just taking them to the Cottage Hospital to make sure they're okay.” The women nodded, knowing that if they had been seriously injured they would have been rushed to the trauma center in Portland.

“What a relief,” said Vicki, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and fanning herself with a paperback novel she had been clutching for dear life.

“What book is that?” asked Lucy.

“I don't know,” admitted Vicki. “I was just holding it. I think I wrecked it.” She looked down ruefully at the crumpled romance, whose cover still pictured the busty heroine swooming in her muscle-bound lover's arms, and giggled.

The tension that had gripped everyone was suddenly gone. The children were growing restless on the lawn. Some of the younger boys began wrestling, and a few very bold boys began chasing each other. The teachers ignored them, laughing and talking with each other while the rescue workers were congratulating their fellows, shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. Only one person didn't seem to be sharing in the general mood of celebration.

Sophie Applebaum, the principal, stood watching as the ambulance came to the end of the driveway and turned onto Oak Street. When she turned to consult with Chief Pulaski, Lucy caught a glimpse of her expression. She didn't appear relieved, or grateful; she looked thoroughly disgusted. Then, giving her head an abrupt little shake that made her tightly permed gray curls bounce, she once again raised the megaphone.

“Attention, students. Attention.”

She waited and the students gradually fell silent.

“Today has been a very unusual day and I want to thank you all for your cooperation. I'm going to ask you to be patient just a little bit longer. Chief Pulaski tells me the building may not be safe, so we cannot go back inside. The buses will arrive in a few minutes to take you all home.”

A few of the older children began cheering, but were quickly silenced with a stern look from Mrs. Applebaum.

“You will remain with your teachers until school is dismissed. If there is no adult at home, please tell your teacher and we will make special arrangements.”

She lowered the megaphone with a trembling hand, and Lucy saw the toll the morning's events had taken on her. Her usually rosy cheeks were pale, and her face seemed flaccid and droopy. The school nurse also noticed the principal's distress and hurried to her side.

“There's no sense making the kids wait for the bus,” said Karen. “Why don't I take the girls to my house? Are you going back to work?”

“I guess I should,” said Lucy. “I forgot all about it.”

“No wonder. We had quite a bit of excitement, didn't we?”

“Too much if you ask me. I'll get Sara and meet you at your car.”

Lucy hurried across the coarse grass to Sara's class and got Ms. Kinnear's permission to take her daughter home.

“This has been quite a shock for the children,” said the young teacher, nodding wisely. “I'm sure we'll have counseling available for the students who have trouble dealing with their emotions. If Sara seems upset, or afraid to go to school, I hope you'll take advantage of it.”

“I will, thank you,” said Lucy, taking Sara's hand. She gave it a little squeeze, and impulsively bent down to kiss Sara on the head.

“Mom, not in front of everybody,” Sara complained.

“Sorry,” apologized Lucy. “Mrs. Baker has invited you to spend the afternoon with Jenn—how does that sound?”

“Okay,” answered Sara.

She seemed less enthusiastic than usual, and Lucy wondered if she had been frightened.

“What did you think of all this?” asked Lucy. “Were you scared?”

“I wasn't scared. It was a rip-off!” announced Sara with a scowl.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought the whole school was going to blow up and then we wouldn't have to go back for a long time. But look—it's still right there.” Sara pointed indignantly, one hand cocked on her hip.

Lucy followed her finger. The school did seem to have survived the explosion with only minor damage. The office windows were blown to bits, but the sturdy brick building appeared otherwise intact. Nevertheless, Tommy had had a close escape. There was no telling what might have happened if Ms. Crane hadn't saved him.

“Shame on you!” scolded Lucy, grabbing her by the hand and hurrying her along. “Think of poor Tommy! We're all very lucky it wasn't worse.”

Sara straggled along beside her mother, a stubborn pout on her little round face. Lucy looked down at her precious and adorable little girl and smiled. In her heart, she couldn't blame her. What normal child wouldn't miss the freedom of summer vacation, and wish for a reprieve?