Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 06 - Whiskey and Soda (29 page)

I blinked at Jenx. “You’re saying ‘Yale’ isn’t even a college graduate? He’s perpetrating fraud at The Bentwood School?”

“Yup. But think about it, Whiskey. He couldn’t pull it off without help.”

“So there’s a cover-up. A conspiracy.”

Jenx nodded.

“How come the Board never figured it out?” I said.

“Bentwood took over for his grandmother, the school founder. She ran the place ’til she croaked. Bentwood handpicked his Board, with input from ‘selected’ parents and alums. The roster reads like a ‘Who’s Who’ of Old Money in Magnet Springs.”

“You’re saying the Board is in Bentwood’s pocket?”

“Yup. And some of ’em just don’t care. Chester says Vreelander made suggestions at every meeting. Nobody listened to him.”

“How’s that possible? The headmaster’s the captain of the ship.”

“More like the figurehead in this case,” Jenx said. “Bentwood’s name is on the school. Hell, he is the school.”

I thought about it. “Vreelander was an outsider. From the working class.”

Jenx nodded. “Nobody that anybody on the Board or PTO was gonna respect, but they hired him because their parents wanted a strong-looking leader.”

“Yes. Vreelander fit the bill. He was career Army and a professional educator. He looked like somebody who would bring The Bentwood School into the twenty-first century. Emphasis on looked like. Vreelander’s credentials were all that mattered to George, the Board, and the PTO.”

“Right,” Jenx said. “Nobody wanted him to change a thing.”

“Except admission test scores to private secondary schools,” I said.

“Only because Bentwood hadn’t found a way to fudge those,” Jenx said.

“The school looked respectable for hiring Vreelander,” I summarized. “And the PTO bought into it so long as he didn’t cause them or their kids any pain. But then he did cause them pain, or at least inconvenience. He tried an end run around the Board and the PTO in order to reform the school.”

“’Til somebody stopped him,” Jenx said.

“We’re back where we started! One of the PTO moms must have offed him. If Anouk’s right, it’s a mom who had an affair with Bentwood.”

“It’s an archer, Whiskey, and maybe also a mom who’s involved with Bentwood.”

“Loralee Lowe,” I insisted.

“If’s she’s an archer,” Jenx said.

I ran through the incriminating stuff we had on Lowe. She was Bentwood’s lover, the mother of his child, a vocal member of the PTO and a teacher whom Vreelander was threatening to terminate. Not to mention she had made two visits to the Fresno Avenue house that sure didn’t look like coincidences.

“Two days ago, I see her in Vreelander’s home office, where she doesn’t belong. This morning I see her leaving his house, and I find Pauline seriously hurt and the office ransacked.”

Jenx called my attention to a sticky little issue called cause and effect, which apparently depends upon another little issue called proof.

Fair enough, but I was no fan of coincidence. Loralee looked better for two crimes than anybody else we could think of, even though seeing the State Boys bust Kimmi would have been so satisfying.

“If Loralee didn’t do it, who did?” I demanded.

Jenx was quiet for so long I wondered where her mind had gone. I was about to repeat the question when she said, “Tell me again what Anouk told you. About the kind of clue you should be looking for.”

“She said to look for somebody in a ‘circular relationship’ with Yale—I mean, Bentwood. He needs something from her, and she needs something from him.”

As soon as I said the words out loud, my brain clicked.

“Jenx—Pauline said almost the same thing. How did she put it? She said the killer was probably someone who needed to please or protect George. Who would need to protect him?”

Jenx frowned. “Not his wife, if what you heard about her hiring MacArthur to investigate him is true. She’s not an archer, anyhow. But Anouk is. She might need to protect Bentwood if he’s throwing money at her or her kids.”

“I don’t think he is,” I said quickly. “But Loralee needs Bentwood to support her daughter. She needs to protect him and the school.”

“But we don’t know if she could land an arrow in Vreelander’s back. We’re looking for somebody with the skill to do that.”

That was the catch, all right.

Somebody’s knuckles rapped the passenger side window. I yelped. Trooper Pawlicki was bending down to peer in. Jenx lowered my window.

“We’ve secured the house,” Pawlicki told her. “Except for the broken window. Our crime scene team will take care of that when they finish. They’re en route now.”

Jenx and Pawlicki exchanged a few remarks across invisible, irrelevant me before the chief raised the window again.

“Let’s get outta here, Whiskey. We got leads to follow. I wanna beat the State Boys at this game.”

“Do we have to tell them what’s on Chester’s flash drive?”

She gave me the kind of look I would expect from an officer about to make an arrest.

“Don’t ya mean the victim’s flash drive? The one you illegally removed from the premises?”

“Like you said, you got leads to follow,” I told her, reaching for the door handle. “And I got real estate to sell.”

“Did ya call Jeb yet? Ya know he’s gonna hear about this from somebody. It oughta be you.”

Obediently I whipped out my cell and dialed. When Jeb answered, I took a deep breath and dove into the shortest, least alarming version of events.

“Better call your mom,” Jeb said. “She just texted me that something bad went down at your appointment. One of her friends picked it off the police scanner.”

Many residents got their news that way. The usual “10-whatever” code didn’t apply in Magnet Springs, where we went beyond the standard numerical system. I didn’t have a scanner, but Chester did. He swore that most regular listeners knew the codes for Abra’s assorted escapades, as well as my own dances with danger.

I assured Jeb that I was fine and told him I would see Mom in person at the office. He was in his car, en route to The Castle to retrieve Sandra Bullock. Avery had phoned him when the second photo shoot wrapped. She said she was sorry—right!—if Jeb didn’t like the idea of Sandra in costume on the cover of Cassina’s next CD, but the pop diva would make it worth his while.

“Anouk called,” Jeb added. “She told me to bring Sandra straight over for her first pet psychic session. Later I’ll get Abra, and she’ll have a session, too. Anouk’s also going to try a joint appointment.”

“Will that solve the problem?” I asked.

“Anouk isn’t making any promises. She says the process can take time.”

Ka-ching, ka-ching, I thought and then felt petty. Anouk had been honest with me so far. At least it seemed that way. In Magnet Springs more than a few folks had paranormal talents. Maybe Anouk’s name belonged on that roster. We needed help with our dogs—yes, our dogs, I thought, wincing—and Stevie McCoy had recommended Anouk. For starters, maybe she could teach Sandra to wear fewer hats and Abra not to eat them.

I told Jeb I loved him and would see him soon. When I tucked my phone back into my pocket, Jenx was grinning at me.

“What?” I said.

“Feels good to have a partner again, doesn’t it, Whiskey?”

I started to say that Jeb was my boyfriend, not my partner; that Leo was the only man who had earned that title, and Jenx should mind her own freakin’ business. Except, of course, she was right.

Pushing open the passenger door was a lot harder than it should have been, thanks to a sudden frigid wind. The trees were bending over, and the temperature was dropping fast.

Before I could close the door, Jenx shouted, “Change in the weather. I was right about that, too.”

Drawing my leather jacket tight around me, I wished I had left home with earmuffs and mittens. It was beginning to feel a lot like Michigan, if not Christmas.

Doing the right thing. An inconvenient notion, yet ever since I’d scrawled that note on my palm, I’d felt compelled to follow it. Never mind that the words had washed off days ago.

Next stop, Mattimoe Realty. I only hoped I wouldn’t find my mother doing receptionist duty in her negligee. Even Odette might fire her for that.

Mom was wearing what she called “Florida business casual”—Capri pants with a bright cotton shirt. Thankfully, she and Howard had managed to pick up their clothes before the rising wind could scatter them across town. She was even more chipper than usual.

“Whitney, isn’t the weather wonderful?”

I waited a beat, in case there was a punch line coming. Nothing happened.

“Mom, the weather’s getting worse. Those are fifty-mile-an-hour gusts.”

“Exactly. We might have sleet soon.” She positively beamed at me.

“And that’s wonderful because … ?”

“You of all people should know. The weather is turning out exactly like it’s supposed to at this time of year.”

“Not quite, Mom. For the past three weeks, it was supposed to be cold and snowy so that Magnet Springs merchants could sell Christmas to tourists. Now that Christmas is almost here, and there are no tourists in Magnet Springs, what’s the point of having crappy weather?”

Irene Houston smiled and sighed. The phone on her desk rang. She answered it with more cheer than I could bear, so I walked rapidly toward my office.

“One moment, please,” I heard her tell the caller. “Whitney, there’s a Stevie McCoy on the line for you. Such a happy-sounding woman. I do hope you won’t bring her down.”

Through gritted teeth, I said I’d take the call in my office. I closed and locked the door.

“Hey, Stevie. Thanks for taking care of the repairs to my property so fast.”

“Whiskey, that is the absolute least we can do for you. Tate still owes you a formal apology.”

Indeed, he did, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around the kid long enough for him to offer one.

“The reason I’m calling,” Stevie continued, “is that I’d like to buy you lunch.”

“You bought me dinner the other night,” I reminded her.

“Well, that hardly counts, given everything that’s happened.” She lowered her voice. “Listen, Tate is doing community service in addition to making restitution, but I want to personally thank you for your goodwill. You have been so gracious about this.”

“No problem,” I said.

“I wish I could sign you as my Realtor, but I don’t know if I’ll still have a job here next year.”

My ears pricked up in the hope of hearing new gossip that might translate into new clues to the Vreelander case.

“Why? Is the school down-sizing?”

“No. Well, let’s just say that it doesn’t help the career of The Bentwood School’s P.R., Marketing and Recruitment Director when her son, who attends the school, gets arrested.”

“Are you afraid George Bentwood will fire you?”

“He might have to if the PTO pressures him.”

“I thought the police agreed not to press charges, provided you and Tate settle everything with the affected homeowners.”

“That’s true,” Stevie said. “But you know our PTO. If they get a whiff of this, I’m afraid they’ll make such a stink about Tate smearing the school’s reputation that we’ll both be history.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Kimmi, Loralee, and Camo-Mom were only three members of the PTO, but they were the three members I knew and they scared me shitless. All of them were mean, not to mention that I was pretty sure Loralee was a cold-blooded killer.

When I didn’t reply, she said, “Please don’t think I’m trying to make you feel sorry for me. Everybody’s fighting some kind of battle, right? The police have been very reasonable, especially Chief Jenkins. She’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“Jenx and I go way back,” I said.

“I thought so. How’s her investigation into Mark’s death? Does she have a suspect?”

Before I could comment, Stevie said, “Sorry. You’re probably not allowed to say anything, are you?”

“The Michigan State Police took over the case,” I said.

“I see. Well, I hope they catch the guy soon. Just knowing there’s a killer out there makes people nervous. Our whole school is tense.”

“I think the whole town is tense,” I said.

Stevie surprised me with a short laugh. “Yeah, it isn’t just a problem for The Bentwood School, is it? Although, I’ve got to tell you, it’s not helping recruitment.”

“Really? It didn’t happen on your campus, and none of your students got hurt.”

“I know. Once everything settles down, I’m sure we’ll look good again. George is going to be Acting Headmaster for the rest of the school year, and that will give us stability. We’ll launch an official search for Mark’s replacement in the spring.”

She paused.

“Whiskey, I enjoyed our dinner the other night. If this thing with Tate hadn’t happened, I was hoping we could become friends.”

“We still can,” I told her.

“Great. Then I won’t take no for an answer. Even if I can’t buy real estate right now, I can buy you lunch. Today. Would you mind picking me up? We could eat at that new Italian café, if you’re up for it.”

“Sure, I’ve been meaning to try that place. You’re at work?” I said.

“I took another personal day to make sure the handyman I hired finishes all the repairs, but I live on campus, remember?”

I did remember. She told me how to find her cottage and added, “Tate’s back in class today. He’s such a strong kid. Nothing scares him for long.”

Because he’s a sociopath, I thought.

“You know, Tate might be home by the time we finish our lunch,” Stevie continued. “If he is, I’ll have him apologize to you in person.”

I looked forward to that about as much as I looked forward to an episiotomy. When Stevie said she would be ready to go to lunch in an hour, I told her that would work. In the meantime, I would tackle the stack of papers on my desk.

I had barely made a dent in the pile when I heard a knock on my door. Not Odette’s distinct three-rap rhythm but the same knock I used to hear on my locked bedroom door way back in my teen years.

“Yes, Mom?”

“Whitney, there’s something here that requires your attention.”

“Slip it under the door.”

“That’s funny, dear. No, this is something you’ll need to step outside to see.”