Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

  The door shut automatically behind them.

  Parker couldn’t help but to smile as she turned to the young woman who now sat at the desk of power. “Principal Mendez, is it? I must apologize, I thought Heller was the principal.”

  “I prefer that Heller be the public face of our school,” explained Mendez as she thumbed through her phone, as if searching for a number. “She’s been here forever, and we share this office, so naturally parents assume she’s the one in charge. I don’t mind. I’m busy enough trying to fix our budget and – other things.”

  “Of course,” said Parker. “And thank you for bailing me out there.”

  “Don’t thank me,” chided Mendez. “Just make sure there’s no more gunplay, pretend or otherwise. You know as well as I that guns are a hot button issue, especially pertaining to children and schools. The last thing we need is some hysterical parent misunderstanding something they saw and suing the district for negligence. We live in a world where common sense is a scarce commodity.”

  Parker nodded, impressed with the young woman’s answer. “Well put.” She gathered her purse and was halfway out the door when she turned back to Mendez in the middle of dialing a number. “Sorry, before I go, may I ask why Heller isn’t principal? You said so yourself, she’s been here forever.”

  “Digging for dirt on a new story, Ms. Monroe?” asked Mendez, offering a sly grin.

  “You’re familiar with my work.”

  “I’d always assumed you were a man with a name like Parker until I saw your picture all over cable news,” Mendez chuckled. “If you want to know Vice Principal Heller’s story just ask her.”

  Yes, thought Parker. Maybe I should ask Heller for a ride to the car pound too.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me.” Mendez flicked her wrist toward the door.

  Did you just dismiss me?

  Parker felt her neck strain from the smile she forced. “Of course,” she apologized. The last thing she needed was to get on this Principal’s bad side too.

  Parker softly shut the door behind her and stepped into the empty hallways of Oak Creek Elementary. All children were safely nestled away in their classrooms, leaving an eerie silence to linger in the toner-scented air. It was the first moment of calm Parker had experienced in months. The stillness reminded her of walking into the morgue a fateful day six months ago. The phone rang at four in the morning. Before she answered the unfamiliar number, she knew it would be the police. She knew they’d found Kurt. She knew she would be asked to come in and identify his body.

  When Parker finally stood in that cold morgue, and the doctor pulled back the cloth, and Parker viewed what was left of her husband, it was as though all the sound in the world was sucked out of existence at that precise moment. A moment, that lasted for a dreadful eternity.

  Suddenly, a man’s voice broke the silence.

  Kurt?

  Parker blinked as her mind raced back to the present day. She once again stood in the school halls. Parker wiped a tear from her cheek as her ears perked. A man’s voice exploded out of the silence again. Sharp. Angry. An argument was ensuing close by.

  Curious, Parker stepped forward, catching flashes of children working at their desks through the window slivers of doors she passed by.

  The man’s voice lowered to a harsh whisper now, and it came from a darkened room near the end of the long hallway.

  “That is unacceptable!” the man spat in a breathy voice. “Unprofessional! And you know it!”

  Parker crept slowly to the room’s entryway, where the door was barely ajar. She could see a few desks and music stands and make out brass instruments hanging on the far wall. The room was no doubt a music room – but why was class not in session?

  “This wasn’t my decision,” a hushed old woman’s voice answered.

  Parker knew that voice – it was Heller’s. She leaned forward to confirm with a closer peek. Just around the edge of the doorway, Parker spotted Old Yeller Heller frowning at the man who argued with her – just out of sight.

  Heller went on. “Don’t be angry with me. She insisted it happen today. It’s all her doing.” The old woman’s words dripped with disdain.

  Who is she talking about? Principal Mendez?

  Parker blinked to clear her head. This is none of my business. I should walk away right now before I’m discovered and even in more trouble.

  Suddenly, the man’s hands firmly grabbed Heller by her arms, startling her. “That’s a load of shit.” He growled.

  Parker’s heart raced. She clenched her fist, ready to spring into action. She had no love for Heller, but if the old hag was being threatened, Parker would have to step in.

  Heller’s eyes remained calmed and focused on the man who gripped her so tightly. “You will kindly remove your hands,” she demanded.

  The hands eased their grip, as if suddenly realizing what they were doing, then slowly dropped to pull away.

  “I didn’t mean to—” one of the man’s hands clenched into a fist. “This is on you, Heller. However this goes down? You own it.”

  Heller’s eyes darted to the doorway, prompting Parker to step back. After a moment, Heller’s eyes returned to the man and stayed glued to him as she slowly reached for the door handle to shut it. The door latched shut, muffling the rest of their conversation.

  Parker released a long exhale. That was tense. I’ll give it to Heller, though, she can handle herself.

  Jon Bon Jovi parsed Parker’s thoughts as he announced to the world he was once again, living on a prayer from her phone.

  I really need to turn that down.

  Parker quickly plucked her phone from her purse and put it to her cheek. “Hello?” she asked. She exited the empty school hallway – unaware of the Vice Principal’s eyes that trained on her like a hawk from the sliver of a reopened doorway.

  9.

  “Where in the name of Julie Andrews are you?”

  blasted Valerie over Parker’s phone. “You were supposed to be home thirty minutes ago so I could head to lunch with Daisy and the girls.”

  “I’m just leaving the school now,” answered Parker as she stepped onto the school parking lot. “I served hard time in the principal’s office for brandishing a weapon on school grounds.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. Listen, Mom, can you come and pick me up? I need to get to the car pound.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  “I wish I was. My car has been towed.”

  “What do you mean? Is something wrong with the car? It’s a brand-new car!”

  “No, nothing is wrong with the—” Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a massive headache coming on. “Mom, please, just grab Ally and get over to the school.”

  “I can’t do that, Parker, the only car seat for Ally was in your Highlander.”

  Oh, that damn car seat. Parker lived for the day Ally wouldn’t need it anymore. “Can’t we just skip it this one time? I’m literally stranded here.”

  “Do you know what the fine is in Southern California if you’re caught carting a toddler around without a car seat?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t either, but I presume it’s astronomical.”

  Parker wanted to reach through her cell phone and shake her mother. “Are you seriously not going to come and pick me up?”

  “Listen, Parker, I’ll call Daisy and reschedule so I can watch Ally. But I’m not going to tote her around town without a car seat when you can just as easily call a ride share or a cab.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it, thanks for the help, Mom.” Parker stabbed her finger at her phone, abruptly ending the call. She didn’t need to be so short with her mother, but she was tired and exhausted and needed this god forsaken morning to end.

  Parker’s thumb flipped through her apps on her phone. Does Oak Creek even have a cab service? The town hardly seemed big enough. She decided to try for a ride share.

  A driver is three minutes aw
ay, the app informed.

  After a few lonely minutes of standing on the corner sidewalk, Parker’s ears caught the roaring engine of a black, 1982 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am as it screeched around the corner. With its tan trimming, the Trans-Am could’ve doubled for the car in the old David Hasselhoff TV show called Knight Rider. It merely lacked the pulsing red LED on the front hood.

  The Trans Am skidded to a halt before Parker, revealing another distinct difference from its television doppelganger. The side door carried a large white label that read: “Wonder Plumbing.”

  Plumbing. Plumbing? What? No – it couldn’t be!

  The passenger window lowered to reveal the moustache framed smile of the Tom Sellick - wannabe Parker had encountered only an hour earlier – Glory the Plumber. “Evening!” greeted Glory.

  Parker sighed. Fuck no. “It’s still the morning.”

  “Yeah it is,” agreed Glory. “But you need a ride, right?”

  “Me? No,” Parker subtly cancelled her car ride on her phone. She glanced at the back seat of the Trans Am to make sure there were no women tied up in it. All she saw was a messy pile of plumber’s equipment, pipes and wrenches. “No, it must have been that other guy,” she lied. “He’s gone now.”

  “Really?” Glory puckered his lips. “Darn. Who picked him up? Was it a guy in an A-Team van? Or a guy in a DeLorean?”

  Parker grimaced. What’s with all the 80’s vehicles? “I wasn’t paying that close attention.”

  Glory shook his head. “Son of a bitch, those guys are always taking my fares,” he grumbled. “You sure you don’t need a ride?”

  Parker folded her arms. “I thought you were a plumber?”

  “I am a plumber,” said Glory, almost offended by the statement. “But when I fix stuff, it stays fixed, you know? So, on slow days, I drive for a ride share. Or deliver pizza. Or hang Christmas lights. But you know, that’s around Christmas time. I got skills!”

  “I have no doubt,” Parker bit her lip. Glory might be creepy as all hell, but he was honestly no worse than half of Parker’s contacts in Chicago. And with as much as he drove around town and serviced people he might have some useful knowledge. “Listen, Glory, how well do you know Oak Creek?”

  “Born and raised,” he answered. “I know her inside and out.”

  Yuck. “A friend of mine had her car towed this morning. Any idea where she might find it?”

  Glory’s eyes widened. “Was she the one who parked at Heller’s house?”

  “Maybe?” Parker scratched her head. “I didn’t ask. Did someone park at Heller’s house?”

  “It’s all over social media. The PTA is up in arms about it. Nobody recognized the car, but if they ever find out--”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, so where is the car pound again?”

  “The Sheriff’s office,” answered Glory. He pointed just ahead through the windshield. “On main street, about five miles South. Go up Chalmers Avenue, then take a left on Main.”

  Five miles? She looked at her black Jimmy Choo pumps. In these things? Parker had a hard choice to make.

  10.

  “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  Glory’s smile was all but gone now.

  Parker bit her lip so hard her teeth nearly broke the skin. Riding with Glory would save her a ton of time, but she wanted more out of the deal. An idea hit her. “I will take that ride, Glory, but can you do me a favor first?”

  “Sure.”

  Parker stepped a few paces back and raised her phone. “Just smile for the camera.”

  Glory gave his best smile and even pointed a gun finger at Parker for extra flare.

  “Thank you,” said Parker as she snapped the picture. She immediately texted the picture to her mother along with the message: You left me no choice. If I am not home before noon, call the police. “Alright, Glory, get me to that car pound.”

  “Alright!” Glory’s triumphant smile widened. He revved his engine. “Hop in!”

  There would be no hopping. Parker did her best to climb into the low riding car without splitting her skirt or popping any more shirt buttons. The car smelled of leather, old pizza, metal and something she could only guess was “plumber’s butt.” She hadn’t even completely closed the door before Glory peeled out.

  Valerie replied with her own text: Oh, that’s Glory! He’s a hoot! Say hello!

  Parker cringed upon reading it. Of course, my mother would know him.

  As Glory sped to the first stop sign, Parker couldn’t help but to notice Huey Luis and the News’ Power of Love blasting from the stereo. “You know, you’ve got the wrong song playing for this car,” she stated.

  “Say what?” Glory’s tone betrayed a legitimate concern, but his eyes stayed glued to the road with his hands firmly in the ten and two positions on the wheel.

  “This song is from the movie Back to the Future,” explained Parker. “If you’re going for the whole Knight Rider thing with this car, you need the theme song from that show. Or at least something by Hasselhoff.”

  “Oh shit, really?” asked Glory. “Was Hasselhoff like some kind of famous composer?”

  “What?”

  “You know, like that Mozart guy?”

  “How would you not know who Hasselhoff is?”

  “I think he was before my time.”

  Parker winced. “You’re not an 80’s child?”

  Glory laughed and checked himself out in the rearview mirror. “It’s the moustache, right? Makes me look way older! I wasn’t even alive in the 80’s!” Glory took another corner. “I only graduated like ten years ago.”

  The statement blew Parker’s mind. Suddenly, she felt very old, and Glory’s youth became overly obvious. His skin was that of a man in his twenties, and his soft hands were now a dead giveaway. Parker must have missed it all before because she refused to look at him. Her mind now raced to make sense of the anomaly chauffeuring her. “And you’re also a parent?”

  “My boy’s a second grader – Gavin. I try to work as much as I can while he’s in school.”

  Parker studied Glory more closely now. The moustache, the Hawaiian shirt, none of it made sense. “What about Mrs. Glory?”

  Gavin smiled. “Oh, there is no missus. Glory runs a free market, know what I mean?”

  God help me. “So why are you driving a car that is older than you?”

  “Oh, this thing?” laughed Glory. “My ride share buddies and I get together every year and decide on a theme, right? We buy old beaters, spruce ‘em up, and it’s like, fun for the older passengers. You know. This year, we went with 80’s action cars!”

  Parker couldn’t help but to shake her head in disbelief. Now everything was starting to make some kind of deranged sense. “With the shirt and the moustache, I figured you’d be driving a red Ferrari like Magnum PI.”

  “Yeah, Magnum. That’s who I am, right? I’m Magnum! Like the condom!”

  “No, like the Private Investigator. You’ve got the wrong car. This is the KITT car.”

  “No shit? What’s KITT look like? She hot?”

  “KITT is the car,” Parker threw her hands up. “Oh wow, I thought kids your age were obsessed with the 80’s! You’ve got so much to learn!”

  Glory smiled. “I’m willing to learn.”

  “Careful, Glory,” Parker flashed him a stern look, but hid her own smile. Maybe Glory wasn’t so bad? She wanted to test him further. “What do you know about Vice Principal Heller?”

  “Who?”

  Clearly, if a woman wasn’t on Glory’s bedroom radar, she didn’t exist. “Scratch that. What do you know about Principal Mendez?”

  Glory smiled. “She’s super hot. And new. And hot. This is her first year at Oak Creek, I think. But there was no announcement or anything. To be honest, it feels like she just kind of came out of nowhere.”

  Parker allowed herself an approving smile. “Interesting.”

  Glory slammed on the breaks, pulling up alongside the brick building that served as the Sheriff�
�s office. “Alright, alright, here we are!”

  Parker nodded. “Thanks for the ride.” She awkwardly climbed out of the car, once again trying not to flash her driver one way or the other.

  “My pleasure,” answered Glory. “Any time you need a ride, you just let ‘Ol Glory know.”

  “I will.”

  “And not just for a ride share, I mean sex too, okay?” Glory tried to shout out his clarification as fast as he could before Parker slammed the door shut.

  Parker waved goodbye, pretending not to have heard the invitation. Glory’s Trans Am disappeared around the corner.

  11.

  Parker had never been to the Oak Creek Sheriff’s department before and wasn’t sure what to expect –

  other than it might be occupied by living, breathing people wearing unflattering tan and brown uniforms. There was none of that. When Parker first walked through the tinted glass door, there was no one sitting behind the bullet proof shielding at the front desk. No deputies were in sight. Only an elderly, petite Spanish woman sat in the corner of the lobby with a half-finished needlepoint of a rose in her lap. Her wrinkled hands never moved, her beady eyes never blinked, and her breathing remained so shallow that Parker briefly wondered if she had died of old age in that exact spot.

  “Hello?” asked Parker to the room. She stepped up to the speaker on the bullet proof glass and pressed the intercom button. “Is anyone here?”

  There was no response.

  Parker trained her eyes on the old Spanish woman. “Do you know where everyone is?”

  The old woman remained stalwart, never raising her head. She simply stared at her needlepoint.

  Parker slowly approached the woman and bent low to bring their faces within inches of each other. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Parker greeted in fluent Spanish. “I’m hoping you’ve seen someone that might be able to help me.”

  The old woman’s eyes widened, as she raised them to meet with Parker’s. “Your Spanish is good,” she said in a weathered voice.