Devil Moon (4 page)

Maddie glimpsed the growing line of cars in the other lane. "Of course, let's just pull into this parking lot."

Once out of the stream of traffic, Maddie opened her glove compartment, immediately finding the current insurance card in its shiny plastic sleeve. The Queen of Organization, she had a motto: a place for everything and everything in its place. She also adored lists. Sometimes she made lists of the lists she needed to write.

After getting out of her car and walking to the man’s driver side, she watched him fumbling through his glove compartment crammed with papers. As he read each one, he mumbled an obscenity, crumpled it and threw it on the passenger side floor, where it joined an assortment of trash from various fast food meals.

Maddie shook her head at the disorder of the vehicle and said, "You know this accident is your fault. You rear-ended me."

He finally found the elusive slip of paper and uttered, "Ah!" as he got out of the car.

Looking her square in the eye he told her, "That's true, but I think there's a law about using your turn signal."

Maddie gave him her best school marm expression. "I believe there's also a law against tailgating."

"I was not tailgating you, lady."

"I beg to differ. First you impatiently honked at me, and then you followed me much too closely. You should always leave at least one car length between you and the next car. I've taught Driver's Ed. I know what I'm talking about."

Phil made a low growling noise and shot her the penetrating look he usually reserved for opponents through the facemask of a football helmet. "I don't have all day to receive driving tips from you Miss..." he looked down at the offered insurance card, "Harris. Let's just exchange the information and get the hell out of here."

She drew herself up to her full five feet seven. "Fine. I'll get a pad of paper."

She wrote a meticulous list, in duplicate, of necessary information: tag numbers, VIN numbers, phone numbers, addresses.

Phil leaned against his car and studied her. She was packaged all right in her basic black suit with the yellow scarf tied around her neck and the matching blouse peeking through the jacket. With arms crossed, he tried to give her a defining word in his mind–officious, uptight, high-strung, anal. He was sure she could be a real pain in the ass. But in his experience, that was true of all women.

She stood tapping her foot while worrying one end of the pen in her mouth. "Let's see, am I forgetting anything?"

"I don't know what it could be. I've given you everything but my mother's maiden name and the locations of my vaccination scars."

"No, I'm sure there's something…Well, anyway, Mr. Wilcox, my insurance company will be in touch with your insurance company."

Phil moved toward his car door. "I can hardly wait."

Without an attempt at a polite goodbye, he grabbed his list and got back into his car.

She appeared momentarily nonplussed at his rudeness, then slipped into her Camry. Her car blocked Phil's exit and he sat watching her go through her getting-ready-to-drive routine. After a quick look in the mirror, she adjusted her seat belt, observed the gauges on her dashboard, and shifted her skirt in place. Phil's patience wore out and he laid on the horn again.

Maddie jumped and glared at the uncouth baboon in her rear view mirror. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for school. Mr. Wilcox veered around her and gunned his old jalopy forward.

Unfortunately, traffic remained heavy and they stayed neck and neck with each other. Maddie started to get very nervous. Each time she took a turn, he took the same one.

The man was a stalker! Dear God, what should she do?

Well, she just wouldn't stand for it. She'd taken self-defense classes. Surely those karate moves would come back to her.

Meanwhile in the Skylark, Phil had turned on his radio and cranked up a country station, totally oblivious to Maddie's presence in the other lane. Football practice and designing plays occupied his mind as he wolfed down his remaining breakfast.

Turning into the school, he parked in the space marked
Coach
, cut the engine and took a minute to gather his briefcase.

He jerked as a startling banging on his window caught his attention. Amazed to see the punctilious blonde mouthing off at him, he got out of the car and tried to catch her drift.

"You've got exactly ten seconds to leave the premises, Mr. Wilcox, or I'll call the authorities. I don't appreciate your attempt at intimidation!"

"What the f–, what are you taking about?"

"What am I talking about? I'm talking about you following me to my place of employment. It's called stalking, Mr. Wilcox, and I'll not stand for it." She wagged a manicured finger in his face. "Don't forget, I have your tag number. I have your VIN number."

Phil glanced around and saw Maddie's car parked in the space marked
Harris
.

He shook his head. "Well, I'll be damned...It just so happens I work here, sweetheart."

Maddie took a step backward, blinking her blue eyes behind the dark-rimmed glasses. "What?"

"You heard me. I think 'place of employment' is the one thing you forgot to put on your list. I'm the new football coach for Beaver Cove High."

Phil watched the color rise in her cheeks. Blondes really can't hide a blush, he thought. For a moment he found it kind of cute and then he remembered her prickly personality.

"I've got a meeting, Miss Harris." He slammed his door and started striding toward the administration building.

Maddie fumbled for words. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed..."

Phil turned and looked her up and down. "Thought you'd like to know, you've got a run in your hose."

She focused on her legs, saw the light streak against the dark nylon and groaned, "Oh, darn!"

He turned away and chuckled.
Oh yeah, it's going to be fun to pull her chain.

* * *

Of course, Maddie ended up the last one to arrive for the budget meeting. Heading toward the old three-story school building, she barely noticed the familiar cracking concrete steps that led up to the heavy glass doors. Yanking on a handle, she made a sharp left toward the teachers lounge. Her heels pounded loud clicking noises that reverberated down the cinderblock-lined hallway. The smell of fresh paint assailed her nostrils, making her dimly aware of the sparkling new coat of pale green color on the walls.

Pushing on the door marked
Teachers Only
, she smiled wanly as all heads swiveled toward her. The lounge was divided into two sections, one containing an old couch and comfortable overstuffed chairs; the other held a long conference table where teachers could grade papers. The windowless room featured a large mural of Lake Luna, complete with a shining moon reflecting on water. The budget committee sat convened around the table.

Doug McCall, the burly, gray haired principal, held court at one end. The department heads had their appointed chairs denoting pecking order by their proximity to McCall. She immediately noted Phil Wilcox sat to the principal's left, while the chair to Doug's right remained empty for her. She passed Randy who sat between Phyllis Green, the Home Ec teacher, and Phineas Manchester, the self-important head of the English department.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Harris," McCall said with his Alabama accent, eyes staring over the reading glasses perched on his nose.

Maddie smoothed her skirt as she slid into a chair. "I had a little mishap this morning. I'm sorry I'm late."

She exchanged a quick glance with Phil, whose mouth appeared to be suppressing a grin. Maddie unzipped her briefcase and opened up the traveling office on the table.

"I was just going over changes in the budget," McCall said as he handed her a printout.

His voiced droned on about science textbooks, school lunches, the new copy machine and athletic equipment. Maddie studied the line-by-line entries, finding few surprises. Athletic equipment did seem higher than usual. Then she searched for the new theater chairs. She couldn't find them.

She tapped her finger on the table. "Excuse me, but I don't see the new seats for the theater."

She glanced at Randy who gazed down doodling on a pad of paper, avoiding all eye contact.

"No, Miss Harris," McCall said, "if you'd been on time, you'd have heard we have to put that off for a year."

"What? We've sold wrapping paper, fresh fruit, and over-priced candles as fundraisers. I've gotten soaked in car washes for two years to buy those chairs. What happened to the money?" Maddie demanded.

"We had an emergency come up and those funds were needed elsewhere."

"Emergency? What kind of emergency? I don't remember any fires."

McCall crossed his arms. "When Mr. Wilcox arrived and saw the state of the athletic equipment, he immediately called it to my attention and I had to appropriate the theater funds."

Maddie shot Phil a slit-eyed stare. "Oh, I see. We need new towels, balls, and punching bags for the big boys to play with, so let's just rob the drama department."

Phil spoke up. "May I say something?"

Maddie gave a wave of her hand. "By all means."

He stood up and addressed the room. "I'm Phil Wilcox, your new football coach. I understand it's been a while since Beaver Cove had much of a team. When I got here two weeks ago, a quick appraisal of the athletic equipment revealed you had real problems. Safety problems. If I'm going to get these kids in shape, I've gotta make sure the practice uniforms and equipment are going to prevent as many injuries as possible." He shot Maddie a quelling glance. "That seems to me to be a higher priority than some parents getting their butts pinched while they're watching
A Midsummer Night's Dream
at the next school play."

Well, of course, when he put it that way, what could she say? Let the jocks get hurt? Still, it really frosted her that the money had been stolen from Randy's department. She didn't see the library or science departments losing any of their new computers.

"Any more questions?" Phil asked pointedly at her.

She shook her head, really hating his arrogance. This guy bugged her big time.

The meeting ground on with each speaker taking a turn. Maddie had several issues to cover and carried them off with her usual competent efficiency. Yet, every time she made eye contact with Phil, she experienced a prick of warm awareness. He sat with his jock, macho smugness. She longed to bring him down a peg or two. Fortunately, she kept her cool and no one sensed her fancy emotional footwork, or so she hoped.

When the meeting broke up, people chatted and caught up on the events of the summer. Phyllis Green made a beeline for the new coach. Broad in the beam from eating too many students' fritters and tuna pinwheels, her biological clock ticked at a furious rate. She honed in on any potential candidate for the groom's spot on the wedding cake of her dreams. Mr. Wilcox was trapped by the cloying woman with the bowl hair cut.

Maddie smiled as she packed her briefcase, seeing him hemmed in by the husband-hungry kitchen queen. But she soon found herself fending off her own familiar unwanted suitor, Phineas Manchester.

The tall, thin professor moved into her personal space. "Madeleine, you've had an excellent summer break, I assume? I've called you several times, but never found you home."

Maddie mentally thanked the inventor of caller I.D. with all her heart.

"Oh, I've been in and out. You know how it is. How's the dissertation going, Mr. Manchester?"

"I wish you'd call me Phineas." The way his tongue waggled to the tips of his crooked, discolored teeth gave her the creeps. "It's coming along. Comparing the works of Chaucer and Stephen King is a major undertaking."

Lord, what was that aftershave—Old Fish?

He leaned closer. "You know, we never have had that dinner you've promised me..."

Mercifully, Randy startled the whole room with a huge cry of pain. Maddie sighed with relief. Randy to the rescue from Phineas Manchester again. It was a game they played. Whenever Phineas had her trapped, Randy staged a diversion. Today he enacted "old war injury." Of course, Randy had never been in a war, or served in the military.

Maddie backed away. "Excuse me, Mr. Manchester, I have to help Mr. Bailey. We'll talk later."

Maddie grabbed her briefcase, dashed to the groaning Randy's side saying, "Put your arm around me. I've got your medicine in my office."

Randy hooked an arm around her and supported his back with the other. "I just get these terrible, sudden spasms. I should have never jumped out of all those airplanes!"

"I know, I know. Just lean on me." She led him out the door.

Phil watched the scene as the pair made their dramatic exit and thought it was the biggest display of bullshit he had ever seen in his life.

Phil wondered what she'd look like without the stiff suit, glasses and taut hairstyle. There could be a babe under the uptight facade. In the old days, he only went for the obvious bimbos, who waved T and A in everyone's face. Not that he went for this school marm, but he had a feeling there was more to her than met the eye. And what met the eye wasn't bad.