Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_02 (20 page)

“Forever would be too short.” Gina’s voice cut through his banalities. “This was not a childish prank, Chuck. This was a vicious, thoroughly nasty, depraved attempt to deliberately destroy a vulnerable child.”

“Those are strong words.” Another sorrowful head-shake. “I must urge you, too, to seek counseling, Mrs. Abbott. Our counselors are available to our patrons. You must work through your anger.”

“Yes,” Brooke murmured. “We’ve got to put it all behind us.” She smoothed back her silky hair. “We can’t let it destroy Walden School. And we can’t let poor Franci’s name be dragged in the mud.”

Gina jammed her hands in her raincoat pockets, scowling at Selwyn and Brooke. “I see. Least said, soonest mended, that sort of thing?” Her voice was even, uninflected, her eyes opaque with anger.

The headmaster beamed at her as if she were a difficult pupil making unexpected progress. “Exactly, Mrs. Abbott. I knew you’d understand.”

But Brooke knew her better. She said carefully, “I know it isn’t perfect, Gina. But we have to take everything into account. We must think how it would make Edith feel. It would be so humiliating for the family to have all that come out. And it would be dreadful for Walden School.”

Gina stared at Brooke in disbelief.
“All what?”

Brooke looked faintly bewildered. “Well, you said it— all those awful things in those notes. Why, it would just kill Edith.”

“Brooke, the notes were filthy lies—”

“That doesn’t matter. If people say things, then there are whispers and everything could get so ugly, and you can’t fight that kind of thing. And what if it got in the newspapers? It would be a dreadful scandal. It could ruin Walden School.” Brooke nodded decisively. “I know Patty Kay would want us to do everything possible to protect the school.”

“So you and Chuck want to hush this all up?”

Brooke glanced at the headmaster.

Selwyn smoothed back that lock of hair. “Mrs. Abbott, the board is meeting here tomorrow night. My strong recommendation will be to keep matters as calm as possible. We must realize that our acts have repercussions.” He looked hard and long at Gina. “I certainly can envision a loss of scholarships resulting if this unfortunate incident became public. And we would hate to have to withdraw scholarships that have already been awarded. Dont you agree, Mrs. Abbott?” His eyes challenged Gina.

It was like watching a balloon deflate.

“Oh.” Gina’s shoulders slumped. “I see.”

No one had to tell me that her daughter was attending Walden School on a scholarship.

I almost jumped into it. God knows I wanted to. A little girl driven to suicide … But Craig was alive and in jail and in desperate need of help. Young Franci Hollis was beyond any help I could give. Poor little lost lamb, walking out into cold water, the muddy bottom sucking at her shoes, tendrils of reeds clinging to her body …

Selwyn clasped his hands together prayerfully. “We shall weather this storm. I’ve scheduled an upper school assembly Thursday morning. It will be a wonderful opportunity to bring us all together as a family.”

Brooke nodded eagerly. “That might be a good time to announce a memorial for Patty Kay.”

The memorial was clearly Brooke’s agenda. She intended to address it no matter what the others had in mind.

“I believe,” the headmaster interjected carefully, “that it would be better to delay that announcement. Perhaps on Founders Day next month … That’s when we traditionally recall our debt to the Prentiss family—”

But I, too, had an agenda. “Mr. Selwyn, I’m Henrietta Collins—”

Gina looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce you. Chuck, Mrs. Collins is Craig’s aunt.”

It didn’t take a calculator to add up the headmaster’s thoughts in swift sequence:
Craig Matthews’s aunt, Craig Matthews might inherit a good portion of Patty Kay’s fortune, Craig’s aunt must be treated with deference
. Selwyn looked toward me. His smooth, attractive smile was dutifully in place.

“I’m sorry to intrude when I know you have so much to attend to, but I wanted to find out about your disagreement with Patty Kay.”

The charming smile congealed.

Brooke gave me a startled glance, then her eyes jerked toward Selwyn.

Hands jammed into the pockets of her raincoat, Gina stared moodily at the floor.

It was so quiet for a moment that the
bong
of the grandfather clock announcing the noon hour sounded obscenely loud. Faintly, we could hear, too, the boisterous shouts of students from the athletic fields and the roar of a passing car.

The headmaster’s handsome face creased in lines of sorrow, but anger flickered in his eyes. “If we could but recall words spoken in anger, especially over so trivial a matter.” Now his smile turned rueful—and, of course, so boyishly appealing. Except for those angry eyes.

Brooke’s face softened. She nodded encouragingly at him.

Selwyn sighed. “I’ve not even had time to come to grips with Mrs. Matthews’s passing.” He gestured mournfully.

I almost interrupted to remind him that hers was scarcely the natural departure implied by his words. I restrained myself.

He continued: “And to think we parted in anger. Over nothing, really.”

“What was it?”

His eyes flicked irritably toward me.

I wasn’t winning any popularity contests with Headmaster Selwyn.

“A matter of policy,” he replied smoothly. “As you know, Mrs. Matthews was a person of such enthusiasm. Whenever she became involved in an activity, she felt very strongly that the world should also participate.”

“What did Patty Kay want you to do?”

“To offer our students flying instruction.”

“Flying?” Brooke swiftly shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s too dangerous.”

Gina explained, “Patty Kay’d just learned how to fly. I don’t know if Craig’d told you. She loved it.”

The headmaster turned his hands up. “Her enthusiasm was unbounded. She was furious when I told her that it was out of the question. The insurance alone would be insurmountable.” He looked at me earnestly, the fund seeker’s eagerness seeping into his voice. “I’m sure you appreciate, Mrs. Collins, that no matter how prosperous a school may appear, our budgetary concerns are always pressing. There is the new technology to provide. It’s astonishing how quickly computer labs become obsolete and new machines must be purchased. And upkeep for this magnificent physical plant requires an enormous—”

“Was that why she treated you with such cold contempt on Friday?” I waited attentively.

His eyes blazed now, but still he managed to keep his voice pleasant. “I would not characterize her attitude in that fashion—”

“Contempt
is not the right word?” I looked at him inquiringly.

Brooke was staring at me, her eyes troubled.

“Certainly not, Mrs. Collins.” His smooth façade cracked. Finally, he spoke sharply. “That is a gross misinterpretation. As these ladies know, Mrs. Matthews was quite open about her feelings and I will certainly be the first to admit that she was deeply—deeply—disappointed at my response. And I’m sure I would have heard much more about it. In fact, I believe she intended to proselytize for her plans at her dinner party Saturday evening.” His voice dropped lugubriously. “The dinner party that never was. Ah, we must always be aware of our mortality and strive to do our very best at all times.”

I didn’t have a chance to answer. There was a sudden flurry at the door, the murmur of voices, all suitably hushed.

But perhaps it was just as well. It wouldn’t have been seemly in those civilized confines to inform Headmaster Chuck Selwyn that I thought he was phonier than George Bush in calling for a kinder, gentler America while authorizing inflammatory Willie Horton ads.

I contented myself with a sardonic glance.

Selwyn’s face didn’t change from its suitably somber mold; his eyes glistened with smug satisfaction.

The secretary’s voice announced: “Mr. Selwyn, I’m so sorry to interrupt. But the student council officers are here for their appointment.”

The headmaster moved toward the door. “Come in, young people. Come in.” He waved the three students to seats. There was one familiar face, Brooke’s son, Dan. “These ladies are just leaving.” Selwyn was trying to shepherd us toward the door. “I hope I’ve addressed everyone’s concerns adequately.”

Gina gave a tiny shrug and turned to go. Her lips were set in a grim, tight line.

To my surprise, socially obedient Brooke didn’t move. She was looking at her son. Her face was open and vulnerable. The passion of a mother’s love was as loud as if she’d shouted it to the world.

I suspected a great many parents of Walden School students were looking at their children today with equal emotion. No parent who cared would be untouched by Franci’s tragic suicide.

Dan Forrest gave us a subdued smile. His handsome face was pale. “Hi, Mother. Mrs. Abbott.” He nodded politely to me. He wore the uniform of an upper school student,
blue blazer, white button-down Oxford shirt, and khaki slacks. They looked better on him than on Selwyn.

The headmaster’s greeting was brisk. “Hello, Dan. Appreciate your stepping in and taking charge since Walt can’t be here today.”

An awkward silence followed this greeting. Gina reached out and took Brooke’s hand, then told me soberly, “Walt is Franci’s brother.”

The teenager took a deep breath, then, obviously impressed with the seriousness of his task, addressed the headmaster. “Thank you for making time to see us, sir. I’m here as student council vice president and acting president to represent the student body”—was there just the slightest lift of self-importance?—“in the matter of a memorial for Franci Hollis. I met this morning with my fellow officers”— he nodded toward the tall, willowy brunette and stocky, athletic blond who accompanied him—“Secretary Laurie Adams and Treasurer Mark Kennedy. We voted to ask the board of trustees to plant a rose garden near the lake and name it in honor of Franci.”

Selwyn stepped forward and shook the boy’s hand vigorously. “I’m impressed with the thoughtfulness and delicacy of feeling this request represents. Out of this tragedy can grow a greater understanding of the needs of all students. Franci’s rose garden can be an ever-present reminder of the beauty of each individual and the need to take time for reflection and communication of our care for one another.”

Gina pressed her lips together.

Brooke smudged away a tear.

Dan’s stiff shoulders eased slightly. “I thought—we thought maybe we could get it planted, then have Walt lead the dedication.”

“A splendid proposal, Dan, Laurie, Mark. I’ll present your plan to the board. I feel confident it will be adopted.”

Another flurry of handshakes. Then the students were gone.

As the door closed on them, Selwyn seemed to realize we were still with him. Pointedly, he glanced at his watch. “Ladies, I do have another appointment in a few minutes….”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Brooke moved toward the door. “We understand. There is so much to be done. I’ll see you at the board meeting tomorrow night.”

Gina wasn’t saying a word. She moved toward the door.

I held up my hand. “Just one thing more.”

Gina and Brooke paused.

Selwyn eyed me with the enthusiasm of a zookeeper spotting an escaped viper. I could almost hear the calculations running through his mind—
a meddlesome old bitch, but the Prentiss money, the Prentiss money, the Prentiss money
…

“Yes, Mrs. Collins?”

“I’d like to ask where each of you were between four and five o’clock on last Saturday afternoon.”

Gina looked at me sharply, but her reply was icy and swift. “At my office. Working on a bid.
Alone.”

Brooke stared at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re asking
me
where I was when—isn’t that about the time Cr—” She broke off, clapped a hand to her mouth. “—the time someone shot Patty Kay?” she finished in a rush.

“Yes.”

Her eyes searched our faces. I’m not sure what she sought. Outrage on her behalf, perhaps. When she finally
spoke, her voice was indignant and beautifully controlled. “I was working in my garden.”

“Alone?”

“Why, yes. Of course. David doesn’t like to garden. Besides, he was at his office. But Dan was in the clubroom. I could hear his music.”

That left Mr. Eternal Youth.

In Selwyn’s eyes I could read it as sharp as three lemons in a slot machine window:
meddlesome old bitch
. Yet he replied.

“I was hiking. At Lake Radnor.”

Lake Radnor is one of the great joys of Nashville, a patch of wilderness in an urban area, a lake that on placid days reflects the trees on its banks in shimmering shades of ghostly green. And it is so safe that solitary women can walk its trails and roads. That in itself makes it special.

“Alone?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” I nodded. “It’s good to know where we stand.” I opened the door and walked out.

Three hostile pairs of eyes watched me go.

I knocked on the partially open door.