55
FALLON NEVER DREAMED the answer to her problems would fall right out of the sky. Or walk in the door, as it happened.
Not after she found out about the reference letter Teddy wrote.
It took a lot of begging, and what was left of her money, to get it out of an aide at the admissions department at Columbia. She wasn’t allowed to have a copy of the letter—or even take a picture—but she did get to read it. That’s when she discovered Teddy had accused her of cheating:
It is my belief that the papers Fallon Knight has turned in were not written by her. Not in their entirety. While I was never able to find definitive proof of this, I do not believe she is capable of that level of work. Therefore, I cannot recommend admitting her to your fine institution.
Those words, now permanently etched in her mind, explained all her rejections.
She considered filing a complaint to Belmont, but without a copy of the letter she couldn’t prove anything. It was his word against hers. She knew which way that would go.
That’s when she gave up.
She was no longer in school. After spending two years at State, Fallon applied to transfer to a better school. One with a good name. One that would make her parents happy. She had a 4.0 GPA and a 1590 on her SAT, and still didn’t get in. Not anywhere.
In her third year at State, she flunked out. By choice? Maybe. Because she was depressed? Likely.
Either way, after that she was living in an apartment almost as bad as the one she has now, and bartending to keep it.
Then luck finally turned her way.
She was at work, slinging drinks and collecting tips, when one of the Belmont teachers walked in the door.
Frank Maxwell had never been her teacher, but she knew he taught math. She had seen him around, just as he must have seen her.
She started to say something to him. “Hey, Mr.—”
“Draft beer, please,” he said.
She poured it, looking at him over the tap. He stared at the mirror behind the bar with blank eyes. He didn’t recognize her. Couldn’t blame him, either. She was a cheesier version of herself these days. More makeup, fewer clothes. The tips were higher that way.
The bar where she worked was almost in the middle of nowhere, halfway between the airport and the city. The locals she knew. The others were usually visiting. He had to be the latter.
“So what brings you to town?” she said.
“Conference,” he said. “Education.”
“You’re a teacher?”
He nodded. “I got stuck at a cheap hotel near the airport. That room was driving me crazy.”
She poured him a shot of tequila and placed it in front of him. “You deserve a shot. You have a hard job.”
He smiled. She smiled. He drank the shot. And another.
When he was sufficiently intoxicated, she said, “So tell me what really goes on behind the scenes at school. I feel like teachers have a lot of good gossip.” She never asked where he worked, leaving him free to talk.
He did. The first thing he talked about was God, and the lack of God at his school. He went on and on about how teachers don’t live right and, therefore, set terrible examples for their students.
“Like what do you mean?” Fallon said. As a bartender, she had learned pretending to be dumb was considered a good thing. It was the opposite of everything she believed, and she did it anyway.
He told her about two teachers who were having an affair—a science teacher and a health teacher. She could guess who they were. Those rumors had been around when she was at Belmont.
He also mentioned a teacher who was into pagan rituals. That had to be Louella Mason, the art teacher.
Throughout all of this, Fallon kept feeding him drinks, acting like he was the most interesting person she had ever met. “What’s the worst thing you’ve seen a teacher do, though? Like the very, very worst?” She leaned forward across the bar, waiting for him to look at her cleavage. He did.
“Okay,” he said, lowering his voice. “But this is really bad.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s this English teacher. He’s nice enough, but pretty uptight.”
Bingo. There was only one male English teacher at Belmont.
“Yeah?” Fallon said. “What did he do?”
“He and his wife have been trying to have a baby. It’s been going on for a while now. Not that he talks about it, but she does. My wife knows his wife, because they used to work together at the hospital.”
Fallon nodded, not sure where this story was going. “So did this guy’s wife get pregnant?”
“No. She never did. She told my wife that Teddy got tested and was sterile. He couldn’t have kids.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” Frank paused to take a sip of his beer. He went quiet, but not for long. He had come too far not to tell the rest of the story. “The thing is, my wife now works for a private doctor. In the billing department.”
Fallon shrugged. “Okay.”
“This doctor, Tobin, he’s a fertility specialist, but he does other things, too.”
“Other things?”
Frank shifted in his seat and looked around, checking to see if anyone was listening. They weren’t. It was late, the bar was a half hour away from closing, and people were starting to leave.
“I mean, my wife shouldn’t have told me this,” he said. “She could lose her job, but she just couldn’t believe it. See, this teacher had gone to her doctor, only he didn’t get a fertility test.”
“Then why did he go?” Fallon said.
“To get a vasectomy,” he said. “That’s what the bill said. A vasectomy.”
“So he lied to his wife?”
“Yes, he did.”
* * *
BEFORE FRANK HAD even left the bar, Fallon’s mind started to spin. It was like she had just won the lottery and had to figure out the best way to spend the proceeds.
Spend them, she did.
Finding a fertility doctor named Tobin wasn’t hard. Dr. Leo Tobin, fertility specialist, had an office just a few miles from Belmont. She called the office, and a nice woman named Sandra answered.
“Hi, Sandra. My name is Mary. We’d like my husband to get a vasectomy, and I’d like to know how much Dr. Tobin charges for this procedure.”
“That depends on your insurance.”
“I work at Belmont Academy. We have insurance through them.”
“Ah, well, in that case, hold on a moment.”
When Sandra returned, she gave Fallon the approximate price, which she said could vary depending on extenuating circumstances or needs.
Fallon thanked her, hung up, and created a fake bill on her computer. The only “mistake” she made was on the envelope.
Mrs. Theodore Crutcher
Whoops.
56
ON THE COLDEST morning so far this year, the roads are slick. Teddy hits a patch of black ice and skids right off the road, almost ending up in a ditch. A man in a checked coat and matching hat stops to see if he’s okay.
“You’re lucky you didn’t go in,” he says, pointing at the ditch.
Teddy grunts. “Not so lucky I hit the ice in the first place.”
The man scurries away, and Teddy continues on to school. No reporters in sight. Too early, even for them. The sun isn’t even up yet.
As he gets out of his car, he notices dirt on the cuff of his pants, no doubt from when he got out of his car near the ditch. An annoying start to the day. If he had come to work at the normal time, some of that ice might have melted. But that wasn’t an option. He had to arrive early to check the cameras.
They still aren’t fully functional. Not until after the weekend check. Today is Friday, his last chance to take note of where they’re located without being recorded.
Cameras have been placed in every hallway, recording in both directions. They’re over every door leading into the building, inside and out—including the teachers’ lounge, given that’s where Sonia’s salad was kept. But they aren’t inside the classrooms, the lounge, or the meeting rooms. And there is no camera outside the headmaster’s office, either.
Finally, the dining hall. He swings open the door, looking up at the ceiling. No camera right inside the door. He walks around the entire room, corner to corner, and doesn’t see anything.
Maybe no one wants to see the kids eating. Can’t blame them for that.
Next, the kitchen.
He sees the light too late.
Joe is in the kitchen, standing at the counter, with a plate of eggs and toast. When he sees Teddy, his fork freezes in midair.
Caught.
How fortuitous.
“What a surprise to see you in here,” Teddy says, glancing down at the plate of food and the frying pan next to it. “Eating breakfast.”
Joe nods, straightening up a bit, trying to recover. “Teddy,” he says. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Working. I heard something as I passed by and came in to check it out. With everything that’s happened recently, I almost called the police.”
“They would’ve been disappointed to find me.”
“Yes,” Teddy says, looking at the plate of food again. “Nothing to see here, is there?” He turns and walks away, leaving Joe to his stolen breakfast.
Teddy also notes the cameras in the kitchen. After this weekend, the food will be watched.
* * *
FALLON’S MORNING BEGINS in chaos. She wakes up freezing, because the heat stopped working. Unable to get back to sleep, she spends hours on the internet, researching anything and everything to do with Teddy: His students. His ex-wife.
His family.
Teddy doesn’t have one. At least not that Fallon can find. Both parents are dead and have been for a while, one from cancer, the other from a car accident. No brothers, no sisters, no children.
She knows all of this because she has googled him many times. Too many. She keeps hoping something new will pop up, but today it doesn’t. With nothing left to google, she gets ready for work and goes in early. At least the school is warm.
The only car in the parking lot, other than Joe’s, is Teddy’s.
Odd. It’s unlike him to be so early. He usually keeps to a tight schedule.
The hallways are empty, as expected, and her shoes click as she walks to her classroom. After putting her things down and warming up a bit, she gets an idea. Maybe a good one, maybe not. Hard to make a judgment with so little sleep.
She decides to go ahead with it anyway and heads straight to Teddy’s classroom. He looks up when she appears in the doorway.
The look of surprise on his face is already worth it.
“Fallon,” he says. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she says. The temperature feels like it drops a good ten degrees when she walks into his room. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here yet.”
They stare at each other.
All she feels is anger. Not surprising—the anger is always with her. Sometimes, it’s buried deep, simmering away at a low temperature; other times it feels like red-hot rage. Right now, it’s somewhere in the middle.
“So,” Teddy says, standing up. He walks closer to her, then leans back on his desk. “How are you settling in at Belmont?”
“Oh, it’s been fine so far,” she says.
“Good to hear it. Sonia was always quite organized. I expect her lesson plans are in order.”
“Yes, they are. That’s been helpful.” Fallon’s voice sounds normal, though she feels anything but. She clears her throat. “I wanted to apologize to you,” she says.
He doesn’t look shocked. Not one bit. “Oh?”
“Some of those emails I sent were . . . out of line. Stupid, really. I’m sorry about that.”
He shrugs. It’s such a casual gesture, as if he’d barely read them. “Ah, those emails.” He smiles a little. “Your apology is unnecessary. Sometimes, students get angry. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Fallon shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. He sounds so normal. “Still, they were uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.”
Again, they stare at each other. She looks for something in his eyes, something that reveals his true feelings, but nothing’s there. “I better get to work now,” she says.
“Have a good day, Fallon.”
“You too, Teddy.”
She walks out feeling like she’d made a mistake. The whole point was to check his reaction after she left, on the video, and now she’s pretty sure there won’t be any. He’ll probably sit right back down at his desk and go back to work. Like she was never there.
That’s how he gets away with everything. By appearing so normal.
57
NO MORE SCHOOL.
That’s what Zach’s parents had said. While he was out at the coffee shop, neither receiving nor returning their calls, they’d made use of the time. The decision was made to pull Zach out of Belmont and have him homeschooled for the remainder of the semester.
No discussion. No questions. No negotiation.
His mom, in all her efficiency, had already hired a tutor. No chance she would stay home and teach him herself. First thing in the morning, she notified the school and arranged for his lessons to be sent over. When she moves, she moves fast. And she spends whatever is necessary to get it done.
“After classes begin,” she said, “Ms. Marsha will meet you at the front of the school so you can clean out your locker.”
Zach nodded, trying to look more upset than he was.
By nine o’clock in the morning, he has collected his things, walked out of Belmont, and he heads straight to Starbucks. His first meeting with the new tutor isn’t until noon. Mom must have paid a lot to make that happen.
Until then, he’s free.
Back to the list of poisons. Narrowing them down isn’t difficult. First, he eliminates any that cause symptoms neither Courtney’s mom nor Mrs. B had. Next, he eliminates anything that takes days, rather than hours, to kill someone. Last, he removes anything that someone would have to eat too much of. The amount had to be small enough that they wouldn’t have known it was there. And if the police were right about Courtney’s mom, it had to be something that could be added to coffee.
Many of the poisonous plants—like hemlock, snakeroot, and castor bean—cause nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea long before someone dies. Nightshade leads to paralysis. No one had those symptoms.
Only a few of the poisons can be absorbed through the skin. Just touching them can be dangerous. Oleander is one; touching it can cause skin irritations. Another is the inside of a rosary pea seed; it can actually be deadly, especially if it gets into the bloodstream.
But whatever killed Ingrid and Mrs. B was ingested, and Ingrid had a heart attack before she died. Not many plants cause that.
One is Cerbera odollam, otherwise known as the “suicide tree.” It’s found in India and Southeast Asia, Colombia, and Costa Rica. North America, not so much.
The other is Actaea pachypoda, also called white baneberry or doll’s-eyes. The plant is found in Canada, and in the midwestern and eastern United States. The berries are the most poisonous part, and the toxins in them can have a sedative effect on the heart. Eating them can lead to cardiac arrest. There it is.
Zach packs up his things and sends a text to his mom. Got my things from school. Waiting for tutor.
Her answer comes quick
ly. Great. I love you.
Too bad his parents didn’t think of this homeschooling thing earlier. It’s almost too easy.
Except for that whole felony business.
He heads back into the freezing cold to find out where this plant grows around here. His first stop is the closest nursery on Google Maps. Rare Earth is on the posh side of town, the kind of place where Zach’s mom would buy plants. If she bought plants.
He greets the woman at the desk with a big smile. She’s older, maybe his grandmother’s age, with long grey hair braided down her back.
“Good morning,” she says. “You surprised me. I didn’t think anyone would be out in this cold.”
“I’m actually looking for a gift. It’s for my mom.” Another smile. “I bet you can help me.”
She smiles back at him. Even the corners of her eyes turn up. “I bet I can, too.”
Off they go, into the greenhouse, where Zach keeps an eye out for those doll’s-eyes berries.
“Are you looking for flowers?” the woman asks.
“A plant, actually. Maybe something that can stay inside until winter is over, then be planted out in the yard?”
“Smart,” she says, throwing him a smile over her shoulder. “Does your mother like to garden?”
“Loves it. So I’m looking for something a little unusual.”
“I’ve got just the thing.”
She shows him a variety of plants, talking about each one at length. Zach gets the feeling she’ll talk all day if he lets her. He keeps her going, but only until he sees what he’s looking for.
“This is interesting,” he says, pointing to the doll’s-eyes plant. “So unique.”
“And poisonous. Not a good choice if you have pets or small children.”
“Really? It’s that poisonous?”
“Yes,” she says.
“And it just grows outside? Naturally?”
“It does, especially here in the Northeast. In the spring, you can usually see it over near the Grove.” The Grove is the old area of town, with big Victorian houses built on huge plots of land. His mom loves those old houses, but his dad always says they’re a money pit. Dad won that argument, so they live in a much newer house.
For Your Own Good Page 19