What the River Knows (21 page)

“That’s a lifetime of study.”

“Yes, it is. Some do things out of love, some from fear, some to get away from pain.” He sighed. “It’s never simple.” He glanced at the silk daisies in the bud vase next to the menus and napkin holders. “Take flowers, for instance. You walk into a house and there are flowers in a vase. You can get a story about motivation from what kind of flowers they are, who brought them in, and why he or she brought them in.”

Scott simply nodded, waiting to see where this lead would take them.

“If they are carnations, and the wife brought them in, maybe they are having a party. Or maybe she was down and wanted a lift. If they are roses and the husband brought them, maybe he’s hoping to get her in the mood for a little lovin’. Or maybe he’s trying to tell her he appreciates her, so he can get a little. Or maybe he’s trying to apologize for something he shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.” He paused to watch a couple walk into the restaurant and seat themselves at a table near the register. “Those two, for instance. They don’t look upset with each other, but they look a little stressed. They are sitting where a quiet relaxing lunch is not likely, but fast service is. They are not sitting next to each other, but across the table. My guess is that they are focused on working on something, and they need to get back to task quickly.” He continued watching, as Sandy waited on them. Seconds after she appeared at their table, she left for the kitchen. “They are talking to one another, but no hand holding or slamming fists on the table. This is a working lunch.” He glanced back at Scott. “Also, not likely to be flowers on their table tonight.”

“Looks like Mac’s not the only one who has an eye for details.” He took another sip of tea. “So when were you going to call me with this information?”

Al shrugged. “Not till I had a bit more. What I dug up is probably available in official sources or on the internet.” He glanced back at the couple, already digging into their meal. “Not until I had something you couldn’t find out otherwise. Or until I check it out further. You can’t call something a fact unless you can verify it somewhere else.”

“So how were you going to verify it?”

Al picked up his cup and drained the last of his coffee. “Well, I thought I’d head to the high school and talk to teachers that might have remembered Margaret. As I understand it, that’s what she was called when she was a kid.” He pushed his plate back from the edge of the table. “And maybe talk to old neighbors, the librarian, and so forth. Follow each lead till it hit a dead end.” He stood. “Care to go with?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Scott gulped the last of his tea before he stood up. “But what makes you think they’ll talk to you instead of me? I’m the hometown boy.”

Al looked up at him. “Hey, you may be the native, but you’re also a cop. I’m just ‘Sarah’s husband.’”

They reached the door to the restaurant. “And what happens when all your leads turn to dead ends?”

Al grinned as Scott opened the door. “Then I get off the road and start digging past the dead end signs.”

Chapter 46

The corridor to the high school office seemed shorter than it had when Scott attended school there. The lockers looked smaller, too. And the “All Visitors Must Check in at the Office” sign was new. He stopped before the door that said “Office” on the glass, still feeling a little dread, even though he had done nothing wrong. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stood, once again, before Ms. Hefferman.

“May I help you?” she said, looking at him over her glasses as she always had. She looked past him. “Hello, Al.”

“Hey, Pauline.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scott answered reflexively. Then he remembered his task. “I’m Scott Aylward with City PD.” He paused to show her his badge; it didn’t impress her. “I’m investigating the murder of Delia Enfield, who attended school here as Margaret Stillman.” She still simply stared at him. “I wondered if I could talk to anyone who may have been here when she was in school, like yourself, for instance. And if I could get last known address information on some of her classmates.”

She did glance at his badge then, and read his ID carefully. “Well, Mr. Aylward, I do remember you, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to access to student records. You will have to have a subpoena.”

“That’s prudent,” Scott responded, slipping his badge back into his pocket. “Could you tell me which teachers or staff are still here that were here when she was in school?”

She pulled out a pad. “Let’s see, Ms. Frank still teaches math, Mr. Smith history, Ms. Nelson is still here as counselor, but no longer gym teacher.” She wrote a few more names. “Lillian Helms still cooks. And Mr. Potter is still janitor.” She added one more name. “Judith Vendace is now librarian here; she was a classmate of Margaret’s.” She looked up at Scott with empathy in her eyes. “It really was a tragedy, her ending that way. She was such a nice girl and had so much potential.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked up as a teenaged girl in ripped jeans and multiple shirts entered the office. “That’s why I’m determined to bring her killer to justice.”

“Hi, Ms. Hefferman.” The girl slipped around the counter and picked up a stack of papers. She moved to the north wall of the office and started distributing the papers into the cubbyholes on the wall.

“Mr. Aylward, I hope you are able to do that.” She handed him the list of faculty and staff she had jotted down. “We can’t let you interrupt any classes to talk to the faculty, but school will be out in a couple of hours. And you could talk to Ms. Vendace and the other non-teaching staff.” Tapping a sheet of paper on the counter, she reached under the counter and pulled out two plastic clip-on ID badges marked “Visitor.” “If you’ll sign in, I’ll hand you your ID badges, and you can start talking to them.”

“Thanks, Ms. Hefferman.” Scott signed his name, then clipped the badge to his shirt. “You were always so helpful when I was in school here.”

“You always managed to stay out of the office as much as possible when you were in school here, Mr. Aylward.” She must have been in the prime of her life when he attended Homedale High, but at the time he considered her ancient.

“See you around, Al,” she said as Al clipped on his badge.

“You, too, Pauline. Tell Ed I’ll drop those iris bulbs by in a couple of weeks.” Al followed Scott through the door. They turned left toward the stairway that would lead them to the second story library. “Pauline and Sarah were classmates.”

Scott shook his head. “You do have a leg up on me.”

“And a few more years experience.”

Scott pulled out his cell phone and dialed Bates’ desk. “Hey, Del, I need a favor.” Quickly he outlined the years of attendance records he needed to view from the school. “Thanks, Del.” He smiled at Al. “Should have the subpoena soon, maybe even before we leave.”

“That’s good,” Al said, as they turned into the library.

A slender woman with auburn hair looked up at them from a stack of books she was cataloguing at the counter. Her gaze flicked to the “Visitor” badges. “Hello, Al. May I help you?”

Once again, Scott pulled out his ID. “Are you Judith Vendace?”

She nodded, glancing at Al.

“I’m investigating the Delia Enfield murder.”

Judith looked down. “Poor Margaret.”

“Yes,” Scott agreed. “That’s why I’m still trying to piece together the story to see if I can find her killer.” He paused. “And get justice for her.”

A sudden fire passed through Vendace’s eyes. “She certainly deserves it.”

Scott could see Al watching as intently as a brown bear poised at a trout stream. “How so?”

Wariness replaced the fire in Vendace’s gaze. “Margaret was always so—so
fair
to everyone.” She slid the books to the side and leaned her elbows on the counter. “She always stood up for the underdog, like those foster girls her mother took in, and that boy, Caden or something.”

Al moved closer. “Sounds like you knew her well.”

“I wish.” Vendace ducked her head. When neither Al nor Scott said anything, she went on. “I wasn’t the ‘librarian’ type in high school.” She propped her hands on her elbows. “I was with the ‘in’ crowd then, and I did my share of making fun of Margaret for being such the hero. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“Who else was involved?” Scott’s pen hovered over his notepad.

Vendace met his eyes for a second. “I wouldn’t say people were ‘involved’ in making fun of Margaret and other kids as much as they were just being a part of a crowd.” She shrugged. “A stupid, teen-aged crowd. Not as mean as I see today, but mean enough.”

“Any of them mean enough to want to hurt Margaret?”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone that I knew hurting anyone more than maybe keying a car.” She studied her nails. “And they were much meaner to some of those foster girls and that boy than they were to Margaret.”

Al spoke up again. “What about those girls and the boy? Any idea where they ended up? Or how they felt about Margaret?”

“Oh, the boy and Margaret were best friends. You could see that he worshipped the ground she walked on.” She stared at the desk for a moment. “Those girls? Well, some of them came from some pretty rough backgrounds, but I think most of them made the best of their time in Margaret’s house.”

Scott would run down each and every girl who had lived in Margaret’s family home. Interviewing her mother was out of the question. The woman was succumbing to Alzheimer’s, not able to put together a coherent sentence. She might remember the girls, but would never be able to communicate anything she remembered. It was a blessing that she would never understand how her daughter had died. He pulled out a business card. “In case you think of anything else that might help find anyone who had a grudge against Margaret, please let me know.”

Vendace took the card and fingered the edge. “I will. But what if there’s no connection, no reason? What if she just happened to be in the wrong place when someone snapped?”

Scott stared at her and felt Al’s eyes upon him. His stomach tightened at the possibility. “There still has to be a way of finding him.”

****

Fred the janitor had more information. “All them cheerleaders had it in for Margaret,” he said, as he ran an oily rag over the boiler in the maintenance shop. “Probably because they knew deep down that she stood for the right thing, but they was afraid of the others making fun of them, too.” He stopped to take a sip from a plastic bottle of Diet Coke. “But Margaret wasn’t the pure angel they are makin’ her out to be neither.”

“Oh,” Al leaned against the boiler. “How so?”

“Well,” Fred paused to take another sip. “Once I come around the corner into the shop, and caught her and that Kyle boy makin’ out.” He waited while the air conditioner squealed as it kicked on, then settled down to a mild roar. “Another time, I almost caught her and some of the foster girls smokin’ pot down by the stream.”

“Pot?” Scott would have to check these girls out in detail. Maybe one of them had stayed in touch with Margaret. Maybe there was a dark side to the hero.

“I think it was pot.” Fred shrugged. “Coulda just been a cigarette.”

“We’ll check it out.” He flipped the notebook shut. “Anything else you can tell us?”

“Naw, not that I can think of now.”

Chapter 47

As the last student filed out of her classroom, Ms. Frank looked up from her desk even as she tapped a sheaf of papers into a neatly aligned stack. “Hello, Mr. Aylward. Hello, Al.”

“Hello, Ms. Frank.” He greeted her with less trepidation now than the last time he had faced her. “Did you think of any other leads I should check out in Delia’s case?”

“No, Mr. Aylward.” She tapped the stack again, then laid it down at the front of her desk. “Nothing more than the leads I already gave you.” She tipped her head toward him. “Did you follow any of those?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “Found most of them on Facebook.”

“It’s the basis for 60% of all divorce evidence these days.”

He suppressed a shudder as the thought hit him that he should check Rica’s Facebook page. What would he find there? “Yes, it is. I guess some folks don’t realize how many people actually read their pages.” His mind wandered to Rica, but he forced it back to work. “But I did find them, one way or the other. Dr. Athens died three years after he moved to Montana. Mr. Denton moved to Illinois after he graduated and was laid up in the hospital with shoulder surgery the day Delia died. Robert James is in Virginia, teaching at a private school. He did admit that he stayed in touch by phone and email for a few months after Delia left school, but—” He flipped back through his notes. “He was judging a science fair that day.”

Ms. Frank looked skeptical. “Still, it could have been someone they introduced her to, someone from those days.”

Al spoke up. “But it could also be someone who never laid eyes on her until that day.”

Ms. Frank stared at him. “Statistically, that’s unlikely. Most murder victims are killed by someone they know.”

“That’s true, Ms. Frank.” Scott suddenly wanted to go home to his computer and check out his own life online. “And that’s why I’m trying to find out more.” He closed his notebook. “And I think I’m going to head home soon and track some of those new leads.”

“Good luck, Mr. Aylward.”

****

“Well, Al, what do you think?” Scott waited for the car’s air conditioning to start cooling before he pulled away from the curb.

Al waved at school staff he knew as they drove through the school parking lot. “I think that I may find out more at the co-op with a cup of coffee before you get the subpoena to look at old student records.”

Waiting for a traffic jam of five cars at the bottleneck that served as the only entrance and exit to the faculty parking lot, Scott glanced at Al. “Ye of so little faith.”

“I just know how long it takes to get legal paperwork, unless someone is in immediate danger.” Al leaned back in the seat. “The victim here is already dead, so I’m sure the judge won’t be in a big hurry. Plus, the Quick Shop case is the news now, and you have the killer in custody.”

“Except that it’s an election year, so the judge wants to be seen as hard on crime, so he keeps his seat.”