Murder as a Second Language (6 page)

I'd finished it (in ink, naturally) when Leslie's class ended and once again students streamed out the door. Keiko hastily led the ladies into her office before they were trampled. Miss Parchester waved merrily to me as she left; Miao glided by on her way to the restroom. The shaggy tutor and his student left together, talking loudly about Latino music. Gregory appeared, gave me a puzzled look, and continued into his office. The telephone, which had been behaving nicely, rang. In the lounge area, cell phones produced a chorus of blips, chirps, and jingles. The majority of the students responded in their native languages, doing their best to be heard over the polyglot explosion. Yelena winked at me as she followed Leslie into her office. The caller's heavy accent suggested that English was not his first, second, or even third language, and I was begging him to speak more slowly when Caron and Inez strolled in. Even from a distance I could smell doughnuts on their breath.

Caron's eyebrows rose as she spotted me. Inez blinked. After I gave up on the caller and hung up, my darling daughter said, “Whoa, who opened this can of crazy?”

“Not I,” I assured her. “Keiko needed a volunteer to handle the receptionist's desk this morning. If you'd been up, I would have mentioned it to you.”

“You mean you would have stuck me with it.”

“No, that didn't cross my mind, but it should have. I don't need to pad my college applications. You might have received extra credit.”

“Very funny.”

Inez gazed at me in awe. “Wow, Ms. Malloy. I don't think I could handle all these students and answer the phone. You must know a lot of languages.”

“Right,” Caron said, rolling her eyes in a manner I found less than enchanting. I should have been inured to it; she'd been perfecting it for the last five years. “Go ahead and ask her something in Cantonese, Inez.”

“Aren't you supposed to be tutoring some innocent victim?” I asked.

Inez scurried to the lounge area and zeroed in on a swarthy young woman in a headscarf. Caron shot a final look at the ceiling, groaned, and waved at Ludmila, who was still glowering. In a melodramatic whisper, she said, “If I don't survive, go ahead and send in my application to Vassar. Maybe they'll accept me posthumously.”

“I guess that'll save on room and board,” I said without sympathy.

“Yeah, but you'll have to hire pallbearers to take me to my classes.” She turned to Ludmila and said, “Good morning. How are you today?”

Ludmila muttered something, trudged past us, and went to a cubicle. Caron took a deep breath as she followed her. I wished them well. Most of the students were leaving. Yelena stopped by the desk to clasp my hand, her cell phone plastered to her ear, then joined the grand exit. Miao was seated at a table, her back straight and her feet crossed at the ankles, peering at a notebook. Keiko came out of her office with Mrs. Slater and the three potential donors, and gushed with gratitude until they went out the front door. Once the door closed, she fled back to her office.

Only then did Gregory appear. He glanced over his shoulder as he approached the desk. “Is it safe?” he asked me as if we were coconspirators.

“I haven't seen any lions, tigers, or bears since I arrived.”

“I thought I heard Ludmila,” he said.

“She's in a cubicle with my daughter. Is there a problem?”

He rubbed his face. “No, not really. Well, she has a problem, but none of us can figure it out. When she gets upset, she lapses into Polish, and she's upset most of the time. We have the pleasure of entertaining her several times a week. Her grandson's afraid to leave her home alone for more than a few hours. She doesn't get along well with the neighbors. He tried to park her at a senior citizens center. That lasted three weeks.”

“If she's not happy here, then why let her come?”

“We have to be very careful to avoid any hint of discrimination. Her grandson's a professor and may have friends at the law school. She could qualify under several categories: age, disability, and country of origin.” Gregory pulled down his mouth and widened his eyes, making a wickedly funny face. “Even Notre Dame has its gargoyles. Just smile and nod, and don't pay attention to anything she says.” He went into Keiko's office.

It was tempting to eavesdrop near the cubicle where Ludmila was berating Caron, but I'd done my good deed for the day. That, and I'd only had a muffin for breakfast. I folded up the newspaper, washed the cup and put it away, and was collecting my purse when Keiko caught me. She thanked me profusely, and I made polite responses while I eased out of her clutches. I'd almost made good on my escape when I heard Ludmila's voice bellow,
“Dupek!”

I froze and then looked over my shoulder, hoping she wasn't physically assaulting Caron. I still was burdened with a few maternal obligations, one of which was packing my offspring off to college intact. Ludmila was pointing her finger at Gregory, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a Sherman tank. Caron was peeping over the wall of the cubicle, as were Inez and her student. Keiko stumbled out of her office. Leslie appeared in the doorway of her office, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand. Miao cowered behind her notebook.

It was a splendidly melodramatic scene. I replayed it several times as I drove home, chuckling at the images of stunned faces and ungainly poses. Once I was inside my perfect house, however, I dismissed it and curled up with a cookbook. Peter would be home in time for dinner, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

 

4

Peter and I had a lovely time Friday evening, despite a small problem with the
Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort
(my sauce refused to homogenize properly). We dawdled in bed the next morning, and had breakfast on the terrace. Caron had rescheduled her pool party for the afternoon, and shortly after noon a horde of hormonally addled teenagers descended. Peter conveniently remembered that he had paperwork at the PD and deserted me. I spent the rest of the afternoon playing on the rolling ladder in my library, with occasional forays to the pool area to keep an eye out for pot, beer, and/or undue rowdiness. I did not anticipate any problems, since they all knew that Peter was a cop. Later, I was able to assure him that there'd been no felonies committed under my watchful scrutiny. I did not comment on the likelihood of misdemeanors in the demilitarized zone.

On Sunday morning Peter and I were sharing the newspaper when Caron dragged herself out to the terrace and grabbed a bagel. I handed her the comics. After she'd had time to compose herself, I said, “Everyone seemed to have had a nice time yesterday.”

“Yes, I know I left a mess in the kitchen. I'll clean it up, so don't bother to—”

“I already took care of it,” Peter said from behind the sports section. “The trash bags are in the trunk of your car. You can put them in the Dumpster behind the PD, unless you want to keep them as souvenirs. There's a red bikini top on the dryer in the laundry room.”

Caron frowned. “Red?”

I did not want to hear any details. “I noticed you didn't invite Toby Whitbream to your party.”

“I didn't invite the French ambassador, either. What's your point?”

“You're volunteering together,” I said. “I ran into him at the Literacy Council Thursday evening.”

“Toby Whitbream?” She looked so astonished that I might as well have made the same claim about the French ambassador. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't you tell me that Miss Parchester is a tutor?”

“You didn't ask.”

I heard muffled laughter from behind the newsprint, but I opted to ignore it. “No, I didn't ask you if Miss Parchester is a tutor. You didn't ask me if I encountered Toby Whitbream on Thursday. Let's think of all the things we didn't ask each other, shall we? Are those my sandals on your feet? Did you ever repay me for the last advance on your allowance? How long do you plan to go without making your bed? Do you honestly believe that I wouldn't notice the stain on—”

“Okay, okay,” Caron said. “I meant to mention it, but I forgot. It's not like she's going to cause trouble like she did before. It's kind of funny. She has two students, one a skinny Chinese girl and the other this six-foot-seven black guy from Africa. She doesn't come up to his armpit. One day last week he hadn't done his homework, and she scolded him like he was a little kid. If he wanted to, he could crush her head in one hand. Instead, he got all teary and apologized.” She nibbled on the bagel for a moment. “Toby Whitbream is a tutor?”

“Not exactly. He cleans the building in the evenings.”

“The janitor?”

“I suppose you could call him that. His father's on the board of directors. Apparently Toby got into trouble with the police and was ordered to do a hundred hours of community service.” I flicked my finger on a photograph of a gentleman in a baseball uniform. “You know anything about that, Sherlock?”

“Nope.”

“This is rich,” Caron said as she stood up. “Inez will totally freak when she hears this. Imagine the great Toby Whitbream scrubbing toilets! I Love It! He thinks he's the meanest dude at school, just because he's the star quarterback. Rhonda's been panting after him for three solid years.”

I waited until she was out of earshot before saying, “Caron seems to have forgotten that she's been panting herself.”

“What about that boyfriend of hers? What's his name? The gawky kid who stutters.”

“Teenagers are capable of multitasking. Her crush on Toby is an idle fantasy. And by the way, Joel does not stutter. You go out of your way to terrify him.”

“Do not.”

I flicked the paper once more, then picked up the other half of Caron's bagel and settled back with the editorial section of the paper. I was gritting my teeth over a particularly absurd column when I heard shrill giggles from Caron's bedroom.

Juicy gossip travels at the speed of light, and then some.

*   *   *

Monday evening arrived, to my regret. The parking lot at the Literacy Council was nearly full. I deftly maneuvered into a narrow space. I assumed the students taking classes after work were likely to be unfamiliar to me, but I was wrong. Miao was there, as were Yelena, Ludmila, and Inez's Egyptian student. I recognized several other faces. I smiled and nodded as I made my way to the classroom at the back, where Frances North was making notes and Sonya was distributing papers in front of each chair. Willie was seated at the end on one table, dozing. I sat down and pretended to be engrossed in what proved to be a monthly financial report. After all, what can be more intriguing than utility bills, office expenditures, insurance payments, and the ever so fascinating cost of paper towels?

“Thank you for coming, Claire,” Frances said. “This shouldn't take too long. There's a copy of the agenda among those papers. Old business, committee reports, new business, and then we can all go home. Isn't that right, Willie?”

“Hallelujah.”

Sonya came up behind me and patted my shoulder. “We're so grateful, Claire. You must be very busy solving crimes, and it's so wonderful of you to take the time to serve on the board.”

Frances gave me a sharp look. “Crimes?”

“The only crimes I'm aware of are happening in my own kitchen, and I'm the perpetrator. Ask my husband.”

“Claire's husband is the deputy chief at the Farberville Police Department,” Sonya explained to Frances, who seemed unsettled. “Claire has helped them solve all sorts of murders.”

Frances's eyes narrowed. “Murders?”

I was relieved when Rick and Austin came into the room. Austin was carrying bottles of gin, vodka, and vermouth. Rick had a silver cocktail shaker, an ice bucket, and a stack of plastic cups. “No wine,” Austin announced as he set the bottles down on the counter. “We wouldn't want to upset the Muslim students, would we?”

“That is not what I meant!” Frances forgot about me as she pointed her finger at the miscreants. “Rick, I thought you had a smidgen of common sense.”

“I do,” he murmured, “but no olives. Would you prefer a gin or vodka martini, Your Honor?”

Willie was wide-awake. “Gin, thank you, and go easy on the vermouth.”

Sonya wiggled her fingers. “Me, too.”

I admitted a preference for vodka. Frances continued to mutter under her breath as Austin mixed martinis and Rick delivered them. When Drake arrived, he chose gin. I decided I could survive the meeting.

The minutes were approved without comment. An addendum acknowledged my election to the board. Nobody bothered to vote. The old business included the dismal attendance at the last open house, the inconclusive results of a student poll on night classes, and generalized rumbling from those present. I was toying with the idea of a refill when Keiko and Gregory came into the room. Keiko twinkled as best she could as she rattled off the numbers concerning students, tutors, volunteers, and recent library acquisitions. When no one had any questions, she left the room with an audible sigh.

Gregory smiled broadly, but his face was flushed. “I spoke to a Rotary Club last week and came away with checks totaling three hundred dollars and change. The United Way is demanding more paperwork before they decide on the grant. The Otto Foundation will give us another eight thousand dollars, but money has to be used for an in-school program for non-English-speaking mothers of elementary school children. Leslie says she doesn't have time. None of our tutors are certified to teach ESL.”

“What did we do last year with their money?” asked Rick.

“We did our best to comply.”

Sonya was flipping through the financial report. “I don't see how we're going to stay open this summer. If anything breaks—the air conditioner, the hot water heater, the vacuum cleaner—we're broke, too. I don't understand, Gregory. Money is evaporating. When we set the budget at the first of the year, we had all the anticipated expenses covered.”