The Body in the Moonlight (10 page)

Faith was horrified. “You can't possibly believe that one of the steeple lovers would do something like this!”

“I don't really, but you've often said yourself that you have to consider every angle.”

This was true—or, as Dorothy Sayers put it, “Suspect everybody.”

“Okay, I'll keep steeple/crypt in the back of my mind—or bottom and top—but I think it's more likely that it's a parent,” Faith said. “And a current parent, someone with an elementary-school-aged child, given what was on television. Plus,
Wishbone
is a PBS show, so a parent with high standards.”

“That narrows things down,” Pix said sarcastically, which was an indication of how upset she was. Pix was never sarcastic.

“Okay, so it applies to virtually every parent in the school, every parent in town. Now how should I go about this? Have you heard anything negative about George as a principal?”

“Not for a long time. When Winthrop jumped on the Whole Language bandwagon and started using invented spelling, everybody in town became an immediate authority on education, as opposed to the principal. The school system ended up keeping the good parts of the program and ditching the rest, as usually happens. At the moment, there's all the MCAS business, but nobody blames the schools for that—especially since our scores are very respectable.”

The MCAS was recently mandated statewide proficiency testing, and it either wasted most of the spring for fourth, eighth, and tenth graders or provided an opportunity to assess how well they were being taught, depending on your point of view. The idea of an MCAS-crazed parent was appealing to Faith, who
weighed in on the side that believed it was a waste of time. Say little Johnny or Janie had been one of the few kids to do poorly and, thinking this might prevent early admission to one of the Ivies, the parent decides to make a statement by getting rid of the principal.

“But have you heard any direct complaints about George's ability as a principal, decisions he made on his own? He's had the job for a long time. All these hard-driving boomer parents. Some of them must think he's old hat.”

“If they do, he'd be able to come right back at them. He's always taking courses at the Harvard Ed School, and invited to speak at the Principals' Center there. But remember, I haven't been around Winthrop in over two years. Not since Danny was there.”

“Come on, Pix, I know for a fact you were still running the book fair last year.”

Pix Miller was the person Aleford called for any and all volunteer activities. Her husband, Sam, teased her by saying she was the epitome of “I'm Just a Girl Who Can't Say No,” but without having any fun.

“I'm not doing it this year. Janice Mulholland is. You know her. She was at my table at Ballou House”—Pix gave a slight shudder at all the memories those words conjured up—“and she's a member of First Parish.”

“The one with Rosemary's Baby for a kid, right?”

Pix laughed. It cleared the air for a moment.

“I wouldn't go that far, but Missy
is
a little difficult. It can't be easy for Janice. Apparently, shortly after
they moved to Aleford, her husband ran off with his twenty-one-year-old secretary.”

“Men can be so unimaginative,” Faith commented, but it didn't alter her view of Missy Mulholland. The child was a little demon.

Pix continued. “She's particularly bitter, because it's the old story—Janice dropped out of med school to put him through; then when she finally went back years later, she was only there a short while before she discovered she was pregnant. She dropped out again after Missy was born. I think she's given up at this point.”

“So Missy became her calling,” Faith said. “I guess Janice would be a good place to start. I can volunteer for the fair and infiltrate the school that way.”

“The fair is in the spring. School book fairs are always in the fall and spring. Winthrop's is in April, because we sell wrapping paper in the fall. This metamorphoses into magazine subscriptions when the kids hit middle school, so that grandparents and other relatives are able to dig out from under the thousands of rolls of the stuff accumulated during the elementary years.”

The prospect was daunting. Faith hated to sell things, except comestibles of her own making, and she had the feeling she was going to be forced to impose on any number of her near and dear for years to come. Unfamiliar as she was with school, it was still clear who made the actual sales, drove those totals up. She hoped the paper was nice. Her mother was very particular.

“So I'll volunteer for wrapping paper. How hard can it be?”

“Not hard at all, but volunteering to help out in the school library will put you on the spot and you'll hear more. Just make sure to get on a shift with a chatty mom, which shouldn't be hard. Most mothers who aren't working outside the home are very happy to talk to anybody other than the cat.”

Pix never failed to impress Faith with her knowledge.

“I'll call the librarian right away. No, better, I'll go over there.”

Having a plan always made Faith energetic. But before she left, she wanted to talk to Pix about Gwendolyn Lord. The visit to Millicent had stayed with Faith like yesterday's garlic—no matter how often one's teeth were brushed, there remained a hint of it in the back of one's mouth. Faith wanted to know if Pix had any ideas about the murder, but she didn't feel much like talking about it with Pix. Pix, her best friend. Pix, who could see through her.

It was Pix who introduced the subject. “Mother thinks whoever killed Gwen Lord is someone with no connections to Aleford. Someone Gwen knew from somewhere else—from her work, perhaps.”

This was good news. There was enough going on in Aleford at the moment. And Ursula Rowe was seldom wrong in her hunches. Years of living in Aleford and on a small island off the coast of Maine had provided invaluable training in assessing human nature.

“I suppose you're looking into it,” Pix continued with studied nonchalance.

“You mean am I trying to solve the case because she died after eating my food and dancing with my husband?” It was out. “Yes, I'm looking into it,” Faith said, and felt good to have it all on the table.

Pix grinned and stood up, opening the back door for Faith to leave. “You know where I am. Anytime—day or night.” The smile faded. “But please, please, do be careful, Faith.”

 

Faith drove to Winthrop Elementary a little too fast, downshifting at corners to transform her sensible Honda into a Miata. Patsy wanted to meet later in the afternoon. She said she'd leave work early and come to the house, despite Faith's objections. She didn't want Patsy to try to fit another thing in. She knew the volume of Patsy's work, and at the moment, it was enough to know that she was around and could jump in whenever Faith needed. Besides, Patsy hadn't been able to find out any more than what Faith knew from Dunne and Charley. She could, Patsy had explained, if she presented herself as Faith's legal representative, but neither of them thought that was a good idea. “No sense running up a flag,” Patsy had said. She hadn't repeated “Don't worry,” and Faith was thankful for that—thankful also in the end that Patsy was coming. Legal counsel was very reassuring, even if one hadn't broken any laws. The catering cancellations had infuriated Patsy as much as they had Niki. The thought
hovered over the wires between them—if Have Faith's reputation wasn't definitively cleared, the only food-related job in Faith's future would be making fries at McDonald's—possibly.

Faith parked the car by the playground and went in the back door of the school, making her way into the well-stocked library. Countless book fairs and other PTA fund-raising had supplemented the diminishing contribution from the town budget. There were several computer terminals, comfortable reading areas, and books, books, books. Susan Glidden, the librarian, was processing some new ones with obvious pleasure.

“Mrs. Fairchild, how nice to see you. Ben is just tearing through books. And he's already quite proficient on the computer.”

While this was well and good for a mother to hear, it wasn't what Faith was there for, and she plunged in, offering her services during what she referred to as a “downtime” at work.

“Fantastic! We can use all the help we can get. When can you start?”

“How about now? I have about an hour.”

“It's tedious, but would you mind shelving books and helping if anyone comes in to check books out? It's very simple. I'll show you, then I'm due to read to the third grade.”

Sue left, with
Charlotte's Web
tucked under her arm, and Faith got to work. It was pleasant to have such a mindless task and she felt a bit like Charlotte herself, waiting for a fly to walk in. When one did, she
hadn't expected it to be such a catch. It was Mrs. Black, patron saint of the Fairchild household but also a veteran teacher, who would be more apt than most others to know what was going on in the school. She'd served as principal herself the year George took off—Polly Hammond's last year of life.

“The children have gym now,” she explained to Faith. “I thought I'd pull some books on birds. We're making feeders and starting a life list for each child.”

This was a very New England thing, Faith had learned. Pix kept a little red leather notebook, embossed on the front with a robin, in her purse. Her mother had given it to her as soon as she was able to toddle in Ursula's footsteps and tote her own binoculars. Pix was always saying things like “I see the yellow-rumped warblers haven't left yet” in a ruminative tone, suggesting that their suitcases should be at the door. At night, when it was too dark for most birds, she'd say fondly, “Oh, look, good old Pegasus's great square is directly above us.” Faith had discovered that many of the people she'd met were on similar speaking terms with nature. She herself was not. Apparently, her children would be.

How to begin?

“I have a bit of spare time at the moment and thought I'd help out in the library.” Establish her presence and score a few points for later when she refused to make blue jay costumes or whatever.

“Sue can always use extra hands. She really needs an assistant now that the library functions as a computer center, too.”

Faith wasn't about to volunteer for that, but it gave her an opening.

“Perhaps the PTA could raise the money for one. I've been thinking I should get more involved in fund-raising, since I have some business experience. Who are the movers and shakers in that department?”

Mrs. Black stopped selecting books and scrutinized Faith, who felt distinctly uncomfortable under the teacher's gaze. No one, child or adult, was going to put anything over on this lady.

“You should come to the next meeting and speak to one of the officers. They move and shake about equally.”

Faith flushed. She was going about this all wrong. And she wasn't getting anywhere. She made a sudden decision. After all, if she couldn't trust her son's kindergarten teacher, whom could she trust?

“I do want to get more involved in the school, but I also want to get to know people for another reason. I wonder if you've heard anything negative about the principal recently? My husband and I have become aware of something and want to find the source. We care about George very much.”

“We all care about Mr. Hammond,” the teacher said sharply. “I don't know exactly what you've heard, but if it's what I think it is, the best thing you can do is stay as far away from it as possible and keep your own mouths closed.” She was clearly angry.

Faith took a deep breath. Not only was winning Mrs.
Black over crucial to her investigation but vital to Ben's well-being. The way things looked at the moment, he could kiss Giant of the Week good-bye and count himself lucky with Dwarf of the Day.

“I agree with you—in theory. But the problem with rumors of this sort is that they don't go away. If those of us who know George and want to defend him keep quiet, the playing field is wide open for those vicious enough to start and spread the lies. If I know and you know, then we can assume the whole Winthrop community has some inkling, and we have to trace it back to the source. How did you hear? From someone on the faculty or from a parent?” “Playing field”—Faith couldn't recall ever having used this particular phrase before. It must be the sight of all these low tables and small chairs, plus inspirational posters that urged children to make lemonade when given lemons and reach for the stars.

Mrs. Black paused a moment before answering. Faith sensed the teacher knew that the mother in front of her hadn't been an eraser monitor in her day, but she hoped her words would convince Mrs. Black to help. The pause ended and Faith was reassured. “You're right,” Mrs. Black said in a resigned but determined tone. “And I apologize for overreacting, but George has made this a place where teachers love to teach and students love to learn. It's his achievement, his leadership. I can't bear the thought that he might have to leave—and what will precede it. I've seen it happen in other school districts, and someday I hope we'll look
back at this particular era and see it for the Salem it is. I heard the rumor from another teacher and promptly asked the same question. She'd heard it from a parent, who had requested anonymity. The parent didn't want to get involved in anything. She just wanted to know whether it was true or not and was satisfied when the teacher told her that there had never been even the slightest indication of that kind of behavior—or any other accusations before. Of course we've been talking about it among ourselves, but we can't figure out why George is being targeted—or by whom.”

“For a start, we have to find out who that parent was. Anonymity doesn't count in a case like this.”

“I agree and I'll work on it.” She reflected for a moment. “George has never had enemies. Oh, the occasional fuss over a student's placement—you'd be amazed at how passionate parents can get about the need for their child to have a specific teacher—but he's remarkably adept at smoothing ruffled feathers. And placement decisions are made with the teacher the child is leaving. There's nothing arbitrary about it. We spend an endless amount of time on it each year. We try to accommodate parents—educating a child is a collaborative effort between home and school—but often they'll fix on one teacher and refuse to accept our reasons for why another might be a better match.”