For Your Own Good

by Samantha Downing

  Hypothesis statement: If Zach is telling the truth, he would be a good partner.

  But she can’t use Bunsen burners and test tubes to figure out the answer. Back to the internet she goes, refreshing her memory on the rest of the method.

  Statements must be tested, and the tests must be replicable.

  Maybe that’s the wrong method to use. She needs to be more like a lawyer, asking questions she already knows the answers to.

  Maybe she needs to ask him about what she knows.

  That would mean revealing some of the information she has, but at this point she has nothing to lose. Still no answer from Teddy other than a visit to her apartment. And no answer to the third email she sent, either.

  She sits down in front of her computer and types out an email to Zach, explaining what she knows about Crutcher. Including the video of him sneaking into the school—although she doesn’t mention how she got it. He doesn’t need to know that.

  Fallon gets about halfway through before fatigue sets in. It’s late, and she can’t think clearly enough to finish.

  Tomorrow, she will. She’ll finish it and send it to Zach. Maybe then she’ll know if he’s telling the truth.

  79

  TEDDY MISSES INGRID Ross.

  He’s back in the tenth-floor conference room. Winnie hands him the final invitation list for the memorial. It’s coming up fast, and the addition of Frank Maxwell means they need to include clergy members from all religions.

  Ingrid would’ve known whom to invite. She knew everyone.

  So does Ms. Marsha, but she’s not here this morning.

  “I’ve called her twice,” Winnie says. “She hasn’t called back yet.”

  Teddy glances up at the clock. It’s twenty minutes past nine, which means Ms. Marsha is twenty minutes late. That doesn’t happen. The woman is more punctual than a Swiss watch.

  And it probably means she’s not coming at all.

  “We’re running out of time to decide,” he says to Winnie. “Make up a list of possible religious leaders, and let’s go through it.”

  She nods and starts typing on her laptop.

  Teddy picks up the invite list and reviews it again. Allison Crutcher’s name is not there. As his wife, it’s assumed she is already invited and that she will show up. He hopes she at least has the courtesy to do so, given that she hasn’t bothered to congratulate him yet. Not even an email that says:

  Sorry about the tragedy at Belmont, but you’ll do a great job as headmaster.

  Nothing. Not a word.

  She has been infuriatingly quiet. Being loved is one thing, being hated is another, but there’s nothing worse than being ignored. Which is why he still hasn’t signed those divorce papers or returned her lawyer’s calls.

  Winnie gets up and leaves the conference room. She’s a brisk, efficient woman, though not particularly intelligent. Maybe that’s what he needs in an assistant. Someone who does what he says without putting too much thought into it.

  But he can’t start looking for a new assistant quite yet.

  * * *

  ZACH AND COURTNEY are studying at Starbucks when she suddenly throws her pencil down.

  “I don’t like my tutor.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “Why couldn’t my dad just hire your tutor? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Zach doesn’t look up from his own work. They’ve been through this before. “Because Titus is a young guy, and your dad thinks he’ll hit on his little girl.” That’s why her tutor is an older, retired woman, who used to be a teacher.

  “I’m not a little girl,” she says. “I’ve been to jail, you know.”

  “Your dad didn’t buy that argument, I’m guessing,” he says.

  “Nope.”

  It’s about ten thirty, in between the morning and lunchtime rush, so the coffee shop is empty. Other than the employees, they have the whole place to themselves. Still, they keep their voices low. Courtney doesn’t advertise she’s the one who was in jail. She even cut her hair and dyed it a darker brown. It looks weird to Zach, but he keeps his mouth shut.

  He keeps his mouth shut about Fallon, too. No chance he’s going to tell Courtney about their conversation yesterday. But he keeps thinking about it. Wondering if Fallon will decide to believe him.

  Courtney turns around in her seat to look at the TV screen. Again.

  “Nothing’s happening,” Zach says. “They’re watching a talk show.”

  “I know. Nothing’s ever happening.”

  “The memorial is,” he says. “You going to go?”

  “Have to, because of Mom.” Courtney doesn’t look happy about it.

  “I’ll go with you. Even though I’m not a Belmont student.”

  “Loser.” She smiles.

  He’s about to call her a jailbird when a breaking-news banner appears on TV. Courtney hears the news theme and whips her head around to see.

  Ms. Marsha appears on the screen. In a mug shot.

  But she’s not alone. A second mug shot appears next to hers.

  Joe.

  The assistant to the headmaster and Belmont’s custodian have both been arrested.

  * * *

  IT’S ABOUT TIME.

  Teddy watches the breaking news in the conference room, along with Winnie and some of the administrators. Someone hooked up their computer to the smartboard so they can see the report in all its HD glory.

  Ms. Marsha looks a lot different when her hair isn’t done and she isn’t wearing lipstick. And Joe . . . Well, he looks exactly the same. Unhappy.

  “My God,” Teddy says. “This is . . . It’s just unbelievable.”

  “But why?” Winnie says.

  The bobblehead reporter is already on it.

  “Marsha Fowler and Joseph Apple have both been employed by Belmont for over twenty years, and now both have been accused of murdering three people and poisoning half a dozen others, including students. If this is true, the only question is why? What would make them do this?”

  Relief. Teddy has to stop himself from visibly relaxing in front of everyone. The FBI finally got it right, and it feels like a miracle.

  “Reporters are already calling,” Winnie says.

  “We have to send out an email to the faculty and staff,” he says. “Direct all inquiries to the headmaster’s office.” Teddy looks around the room, knowing that Ms. Marsha would have been the one to send that email. His eyes land on Daphne, Belmont’s registration and admissions secretary. She’s a young, somewhat awkward woman, the kind people feel a little sorry for. “Daphne,” he says. “Can you arrange this?”

  Her eyes widen, but she nods. “Yes. I can.”

  “Good.” A lot more will need to happen over the next couple of days—meetings with lawyers, with the board, with the faculty—but first things first. “We also need to issue a statement, expressing how heartbroken we are to hear the news of these arrests.” He’s still looking at Daphne. She sits down and starts typing as Teddy dictates.

  Winnie stares at the TV, tears streaming down her face. For the second time today, Teddy misses Ingrid. She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a crier.

  She was a mistake anyway. One he has spent months correcting, starting with Sonia and then having to poison the milk and plant the evidence. A receipt for syringes buried in Ms. Marsha’s desk. The remnants of a sprig of doll’s-eyes in Joe’s office. He did, after all, have a habit of sneaking into the kitchen to make himself breakfast. Alone.

  And who else would have become so sick of catering to rich kids and parents but the two employees who had been at Belmont the longest? Especially when they were posting anonymously on a blog complaining about it? All that research into fake profiles had been more useful than Teddy had ever expected, like knowing how to set up an IP redirect to the school’s server. He’d used t
hinly veiled email addresses and confidential information that only they would know—both signs of people who don’t know what they’re doing. Like Ms. Marsha and Joe.

  Finally, it had worked. Courtney was released, Zach was no longer under suspicion, and now Belmont could get back to the business of educating the students.

  80

  “IT ACTUALLY MAKES total sense when you think about it. I mean, at first it didn’t seem right, because we had talked about Crutcher so much, you know? But then when I think about Ms. Marsha and Joe, and all the shit they’ve put up with from kids like us. Can you imagine cleaning up after us year after year? Or taking all those calls from angry parents? I’m not saying I’m not pissed. I’m just saying, like, I can see the motive . . .”

  “I know, right?” Zach says, reminding himself that it’s good to see Courtney happy again. Not stressed about the news, not obsessively checking social media. Just happy.

  Even if he does have reservations about these arrests.

  They’re in his car, heading back toward her house, and the radio is tuned into the news. Courtney pauses to listen, then talks, listens again, repeat. Zach isn’t about to interrupt. And he’s not about to tell her that the FBI could be wrong.

  But maybe he’s the one who’s wrong. Maybe it was never Crutcher.

  But the book.

  The milk.

  Fallon.

  Maybe she’s the craziest one of all.

  Courtney’s dad calls, and she spins off again, repeating everything she just said. Her reasoning grows bigger. Stronger.

  “It’s so obvious, don’t you think . . . ? Exactly, why didn’t anyone . . . ? That’s what I’m saying! How did we not see it? Thank God for the FBI, right? . . .”

  When she hangs up, she turns to Zach. Beaming. She is literally beaming.

  “Awesome, right?” she says.

  “Obviously.”

  “My dad and I are going out to lunch to celebrate. Wanna come?”

  Zach shakes his head. “Can’t. I’m meeting Titus.”

  “Boo.”

  “I know.”

  He isn’t meeting Titus, but Courtney believes it because Zach doesn’t lie to her. No reason to. Usually. But he’s been lying for a while now, if only by omission.

  After dropping her off at her house, he pulls over to the curb to think about where to go next. The Grove? No doubt everyone will be there, according to the text from Lucas.

  TWO Mad Scientists?! Get thee to the Grove to discuss, STAT.

  In Lucas lingo, discuss meant “get high and talk shit.” Not a terrible option. Although Lucas doesn’t know anything about Crutcher, or Fallon, and the last thing Zach wants to do is let any of it slip. If he’s high or drunk, it might.

  No to the Grove.

  Then there’s Fallon, whom he could try and talk to again. Not the best idea, not the worst. She hasn’t contacted him, though, so the idea of going to see her again makes him really feel like a stalker.

  Home. He could go home and study while watching the news. Boring, but probably the best option. He’s not an FBI agent, he doesn’t have access to the evidence and interviews and everything else, so why even think about it? Not his problem.

  Still, it bothers him. Not being able to do anything is the worst feeling of all. Dad doesn’t have a saying for that.

  * * *

  TEDDY IS BACK at home, watching the news. Once in a while, everything is just as it should be. Today is one of those days.

  Except Allison isn’t around to see it.

  That’s the one thing he can’t fix. He can’t take back the lie, can’t even come up with a reasonable explanation for it. And he’s tried. God knows, he’s tried. And he’s not even sure if he believes in God.

  All of it could’ve been avoided if he had agreed to have a child. Just one. Everyone would still be alive, and Allison would still be here.

  Thinking about this makes the worms start to move around in his stomach.

  He turns up the TV louder, forcing himself to enjoy his success. And he does enjoy it, right up until the doorbell rings.

  81

  FRANK. AGAIN.

  Teddy stifles any frustration, shoving it deep down inside so Frank can’t see it.

  “Twice in one week!” Teddy says, opening the door to let Frank inside. “How nice to see you again.”

  Frank smiles without showing his teeth, and it’s strange. “Sorry to barge in on you again. I tried calling, but I know you must be so busy.”

  Teddy smacks his forehead with his palm. “I’m so sorry. I had it on my list to return your call, and then the news came on and . . . Well, I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

  “I have.” Frank’s smile disappears. Solemn face. “It’s devastating. Simply devastating.”

  They walk into the living room, where Frank again sits on the couch.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Teddy says. “Some tea, perhaps?”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’d just like to go over the program for the memorial, if that’s all right.” Frank reaches into his pocket and pulls out the agenda distributed to all the speakers. “Do you mind?” Frank says.

  “Of course not.” Teddy sits.

  For the next half hour, Frank reviews every item on the program. His idea is to insert a prayer whenever possible. After every speech, ideally. Teddy explains, repeatedly, that representatives from other faiths will be there and that, yes, they will be leading prayers as well.

  A negotiation ensues.

  “I believe it’s important that I lead the final prayer,” Frank says. “Given that I’m family.”

  Family. The Belmont family is an exclusive one. As headmaster, Teddy is now part of it.

  Frank is not.

  “The official programs have already been printed,” Teddy says. And they were damn expensive. No chance he’s going to reprint them. “I’ll announce at the beginning that we’ll have prayers throughout the day. The master list will be at the podium for everyone to see. And, yes, you will go last.”

  “Thank you, I do appreciate that.” Frank smiles for real, with teeth and everything. “Now, before I go, I’d really like it if you would pray with me.”

  “You want me to what now?”

  “Pray with me. Please. After the terrible news today, I think the two of us should pray for Belmont,” Frank says. “And for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Of course.”

  As headmaster, Teddy knows he has to pick and choose his battles, because he can’t fight all of them. He can fight some, though. After saying yes to everything else Frank has asked for, it’s time to say no.

  “I respect your beliefs and support your right to have them,” he says. “However, your beliefs aren’t necessarily the same as mine.”

  Frank reaches over and places his hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “I understand that. I also think the best thing for us to do is pray for forgiveness for our past sins. Together. Only then will all of us, including Belmont, be able to move forward with a fresh, cleansed start.”

  Teddy moves away, causing Frank’s hand to drop. “I think it would be better if you prayed with your fellow believers.” He stands up. Their time together is over.

  Frank sighs.

  They walk to the door, which Teddy is more than happy to open for Frank. Before leaving, Frank turns to him.

  “I will pray for you,” he says.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  As soon as he’s gone, Teddy goes back to his office. He probably has a hundred new emails to catch up on, not to mention the latest report on the school’s financial situation.

  But first, the news. The website for the local newspaper is already pulled up on his computer, and he refreshes the page. He’s been watching the Metro section, waiting for news about Fallon.

 
; * * *

  ZACH HAS A headache. Not because he’s sick, but because he’s been thinking too hard about Crutcher. That must be it. The man is nothing but a headache—always has been.

  And a dick.

  But would the FBI believe Zach? After he’d presented himself as some lovestruck teenager willing to break the law to see Courtney, probably not. That alone could make him seem unbalanced. A good idea at the time. Not so much now.

  Maybe he should’ve done what his parents and his lawyer said and kept his mouth shut.

  Exhausted. He’s exhausted trying to figure out the best thing to do every minute of the day. He almost feels like giving up.

  Maybe that’s what he should do: give up on trying to get Crutcher, give up on trying to do the right thing. Maybe he should just be a teenager and get high, eat junk food, and crash on the couch.

  Which is exactly what he does.

  He turns on the TV. All the local stations are talking about Ms. Marsha and Joe. Interviews with their neighbors and friends, pictures from their personal lives, all cobbled together into a story that ends with murder.

  Click.

  Zach turns on an action movie instead. He lasts ten minutes before flipping back to the news.

  He surfs through the local news channels, looking for any glimmer of hope. Any sign that the FBI has figured out their mistake. But they’re done with Belmont, and someone gives the weather report, the sports report . . .

  Then he sees a picture of Fallon’s apartment building.

  “A twenty-three-year-old woman is found dead of carbon monoxide poisoning in her Hidden Palms apartment. Police say an old water heater may be to blame. Tonight at ten: how to make sure your . . .”