Schooled In Lies

by Angela Henry

  “Now, I know you can do better than that.” He laid a real kiss on me that took my breath away. He hugged me close and I enjoyed his warm familiar scent of Obsession. I didn’t realize how much I needed that hug and by the way he held me tight, he must have needed one, too.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Of course. Why, don’t I look okay?” He tossed his suit jacket on my couch.

  “I thought I saw your ex today,” I said casually. “At least I thought it was her. Looks like she’s put on some weight.”

  “Yeah, most pregnant women do,” he replied dryly. I turned to look at him and caught the tail end of a frown.

  “She’s pregnant?” I followed him into my tiny kitchen. He opened my fridge and pulled out a bottle of Japanese plum wine. I handed him two wineglasses from the cabinet.

  “I ran into her when I went over to Estelle’s to see if you wanted to go out to dinner. She asked me to have a coffee with her. That’s when she told me her good news. She’s six weeks along.”

  He handed me a glass of wine and I sipped it as I watched him down his glass and pour himself another. I wondered how he was really feeling about his ex-wife’s pregnancy. Carl and Vanessa were planning to start a family right before she abruptly left him. I knew on some level this news had to sting. I also couldn’t shake the feeling that something between Carl and me had just changed.

  Chapter Three

  BEING SUPER BUSY ALLOWED me to put my worries about Carl out of my head over the next few days. We were short staffed at Estelle’s. On top of working my regular shift as a hostess, I was working extra hours as a server until Alex hired more help. My pitiful bank account would appreciate the extra funds, but my feet were singing the blues, and my nerves were shot to hell. I hate waiting tables. Having to wait on a diner who sends their steak back fours times because it’s not rare enough, or thinks it’s funny when their toddler throws his catsup drenched chicken fingers at me, is enough to make anyone want to go live on a mountaintop.

  I’d just left the literacy center and was on my way to the restaurant when my cell phone rang. I answered it with an irritable hello.

  “Kendra?” said an uncertain female voice that sounded familiar.

  “Speaking,” I said, softening my tone.

  “It’s Ivy Flack. Is this a bad time?”

  “Oh, hi. No. I’m just on my way to work. What’s up?”

  “Well, I’m sorry to bother you. But I’m calling an emergency meeting of the reunion committee tonight at eight at the high school. Can you come?”

  Damn. My plans were to be in a hot bubble bath nursing a glass of wine or a cold beer at eight. I was tempted to say I’d still be at work. However, something in her tone changed my mind.

  “What’s wrong?” By the time I’d pulled into a spot in front of the restaurant, she still hadn’t answered me. “Ms. Flack, are you still there?”

  “Sorry. I’d rather not say until I get the whole committee together. Can you make it?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” I started to ask if there was anything I needed to bring but she’d already hung up.

  Curiosity, or in my case, outright nosiness, had me wondering all afternoon what Ms. Flack wanted to see the committee about. I noticed her red Mercedes already in the parking lot when I arrived at the high school a little before eight that evening. Summer school was in session but the students and most of the staff were long gone by eight. I headed inside and thought I heard faint disembodied moaning coming from someplace. I stopped to listen but heard nothing and proceeded on.

  The cafeteria was located just off the school’s front entrance and down a flight of about a dozen steps. The same old smell of tomato soup, peanut butter, and bleach that accompanied every high school lunch I ever ate, greeted me as I approached the stairs. Back in my day, the steps leading down to the cafeteria were carpeted in a sickly greenish yellow. Now, the carpet was gone, which made for a much cleaner look, not to mention being easier for the custodians to clean up dirt and the occasional vomit.

  I rounded the corner and was at the top of the steps when I discovered the source of the moaning. It was Ms. Flack. She was at the bottom of the steps on the floor. I hurried down to her.

  “Are you okay?” I helped her into a sitting position. She pulled down her black skirt, which had ridden up exposing her lacy silk slip. She only had one shoe on. The other kitten-heeled pump was a few feet away. I went to retrieve it.

  “I feel like the biggest fool. I slipped and fell down the steps. The custodians must have mopped the floor and it hadn’t dried yet.”

  “Are you hurt? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?” I handed her her shoe and then helped her to her feet after she put it back on. She winced and sat down on the bottom step.

  “I think I’ll be alright. I’m more embarrassed than anything. I just twisted my ankle a little. I’ll live.” She rubbed her ankle and then flexed it.

  “Well, someone really needs to tell the custodian you fell. They should have put up a sign.” I got up and looked around for the offending party. I started to head back up the steps to go look for the custodian when she stopped me.

  “Kendra, don’t worry about it. It’s partly my fault. I usually tell them when I’m going to be here late. This time I forgot. There’s no reason to put out a sign to warn people about a slippery floor when you don’t know there are going to be people in the building.”

  She stood up slowly and I followed as she limped over to the infamous round table. She was quiet and subdued as I helped her set up the table with cans of soda and a platter of cookies. I started to ask her again what was wrong when I heard the sound of voices. The other committee members were arriving and they didn’t sound happy.

  “I can’t stay long. I had to get my sister to watch the kids and she has to leave in half an hour,” said Audrey Grant, looking annoyed. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and had dried baby food smeared on her T-shirt. She’d arrived along with Gerald Tate.

  “And I can’t really stay at all. I’m having dinner with a client this evening. I just stopped by on my way to see what’s up,” he said, making a show of looking at his expensive black Movado watch and making me wonder if he was really concerned about the time or just showing off. In contrast to Audrey, he was dressed in a grey suit and black crew neck shirt and loafers.

  Dennis Kirby was next to arrive followed closely by Cherisse Craig. Dennis was being his usual obnoxious self but didn’t seem as bothered by the last minute meeting as Audrey and Gerald.

  “Okay, where’s the fire, Flack?” He plopped down at the table popped the top on a can of coke and helped himself to a cookie. His dark blue nylon warm-up suit crackled when he moved and made him look like a giant blueberry.

  Cherisse, on the other hand, had opted not to sit at the round table and sat down at the table next to it. She looked around the room, not so much timid but expectant like she knew she was about to be attacked and had resigned herself to her fate. She was the only one so far who hadn’t asked what the meeting was about.

  “Since we’re all here, I’ll go ahead and get started,” said Ms. Flack.

  We all turned to stare at her.

  “Earlier today I went to the bank to check on the funds for the reunion. It was my understanding that about thirty-five hundred dollars had been collected last year and since the reunion was cancelled, that money should still be there but—”

  “That’s right,” said Audrey, interrupting her. “I was on the committee last year. We had a fundraiser and the rest of the money came from alumni donations.”

  “Is there money missing from the account?” I asked. Everyone’s gaze shifted back to Ms. Flack, everyone except Gerald that is. He stood staring at his black tasseled loafers.

  “Try all of it,” said Ms. Flack bluntly, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

  Everyone went silent. Even Dennis’s chubby cookie-stuffed hand froze halfway to his mouth.

  “The money’s gone!” exclaimed Audr
ey angrily. “All of it?” she screeched.

  Ms. Flack nodded solemnly.

  “How the hell can it be gone if the reunion got cancelled?” asked Dennis with an angry snort, looking suspiciously at all of us. Gerald was now picking imaginary lint from his black shirt.

  “Okay, hold up, everybody,” I said to try and relieve the sudden tension in the room. “Now, who was in charge of making deposits to the account?”

  “Yeah, who was on the committee last year?” piped in Cherisse speaking up for the first time.

  “You can count me out on this one. I was still living in San Diego this time last year.” Dennis shoved another cookie into his mouth. I made a mental note to grab one before he ate them all.

  Audrey, in the throes of some kind of high school flashback, threw up her hand like she was in class, while Gerald finally looked up and reluctantly held up an index finger.

  “Which one of you was in charge of making deposits to the account?” asked Ms. Flack.

  Audrey and Gerald stared at each other.

  “Julian was in charge of the reunion fund account,” said Gerald softly. “Julian insisted all our names be on the account, to avoid this very thing. But we let him handle all the money because he was an accountant.” He ran a hand over his balding head.

  “He was the head of the committee. He was the one who opened the account and had all the paperwork and account number,” added Audrey.

  “Yeah, right. Blame the dead guy. I knew you guys were gonna try this shit. I can’t believe you think my cousin fucked with that money. Either one of you could have done it.” Dennis stood up abruptly. A flood of cookie crumbs cascaded down the front of his warm-up jacket.

  “Oh, shut up, Dennis! No one accused Julian of stealing anything. They asked us who was in charge of the money, and we just answered the question. And how dare you accuse us of stealing.” Audrey jumped forward to get in Dennis’s face.

  I looked over and saw that Cherisse appeared to be having the time of her life witnessing the round table gang turn on each other. She sat watching the drama with a big ole’ grin on her face. In fact, I don’t ever remember seeing her look so happy. It suited her.

  Dennis and Audrey were red-faced and staring each other down. Gerald was looking at his watch again.

  “All right, everyone.” Ms. Flack stepped between Audrey and Dennis. “We need to calm down and figure this out. Why don’t we all sit down and have some refreshments.”

  “Sorry, but I really gotta bounce. My client is probably wondering where I am.” Gerald backed up towards the steps. “Ms. Flack, I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. I’ll see you guys later,” he said over his shoulder as he headed up the steps.

  Audrey rolled her eyes at his retreating back then sat down and grabbed a can of diet Coke. Dennis reluctantly sat down, too, but was still glaring at Audrey.

  We were all silent for a few minutes. But apparently a certain someone hadn’t had enough drama.

  “Then if neither you nor Gerald took the money, and you don’t think Julian took the money, then what could have happened to it? One of you had to have taken it,” Cherrise said in a not so subtle attempt to fan the flames further. Audrey didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken and swung around to face Ms. Flack.

  “What I’d really like to know is how you got access to the account?” Audrey took a long sip of soda and waited.

  “That’s simple. Julian thought that since I was the principal it would be a good idea to list me on the account in case of some kind of an emergency. All the reunion fund stuff has been in an envelope in my desk drawer for a year. Today is the first day I took a look at it,” Ms. Flack replied completely, unfazed.

  “How convenient,” mumbled Dennis, his mouth filled with cookie. Ms. Flack just laughed.

  “I make sixty thousand dollars a year being principal of this school. I have no need to steal a measly thirty-five hundred. I spend more than that a year on shoes alone.”

  “Well since you, Audrey, and Gerald were all listed on the account, shouldn’t you all have been receiving bank statements showing deposits and withdrawals?” I asked.

  “I never got any statements. As far as I know the bank sent Julian all that stuff and that was fine by me. I’ve got five kids and a husband to take care of and I don’t have time to worry about stuff like this, which reminds me,” Audrey said, jumping up abruptly. “I gotta scoot. My sister’s going to kill me if I’m not home in ten minutes. She has a date tonight. I’ll see you guys at the next meeting.” She drained her soda can and hurried up the steps.

  “I never got any bank statements, either. That’s why I had to go to the bank to check the account. I didn’t have any statements showing the account balance and I wanted to make sure of what was in there before we started writing checks off that account to pay a caterer or rent a banquet hall,” said Ms. Flack to the rest of us in a weary sigh.

  I didn’t know what else to say and grabbed a cookie myself.

  “Okay, so the money’s missing. The bigger question is, what are we going to do about the reunion?” asked Cherisse.

  “No money. No reunion,” snorted Dennis in disgust.

  “As head of the committee, I don’t want to make any decisions about the reunion until we can all meet again. Maybe we can have a picnic down at Lake Mead. That’s pretty cheap. Right now I’m too tired to think about this anymore tonight. I need to get home to feed my cat.”

  We all stood to go and as we headed up the steps I noticed the remains of a small slick spot near the top step. This must have been what Ms. Flack had slipped on. As the others headed out to the parking lot, I stopped to examine the spot. I noticed it was way too shiny to be water. I bent down to get a closer look and rubbed the spot with my fingers. I was right. It wasn’t water. It was baby oil. Why would baby oil be on the floor at the top of the steps? Could someone have put it there on purpose so someone would fall? That didn’t make any sense. I realized I was tired, too, and headed out to my car. Dennis and Ms. Flack were already pulling out of the parking lot, but Cherisse was still in the process of putting on her seat belt. A thought occurred to me. I tapped on her window, startling her. She rolled it down looking a little impatient.

  “Sorry. I just had a question for you.”

  “That’s all right. What did you want?”

  “Well, I was just wondering since you used to be Julian’s secretary if you had any idea what could have happened to the money? Did he ever mention it at all?”

  I thought it was an innocent, straightforward enough question. Apparently, I was wrong. Cherisse’s face tensed up angrily and her head jutted out of the driver’s side window like an angry chicken ready to peck my eyes out. I took half a step back from the car.

  “Don’t you think if I knew anything about that damned money I’d have said so in the meeting? Why are you asking me this?” she said with more aggression then I’d have thought her capable of.

  “Hey, there’s no need to snap at me. I‘m just trying to figure out what could have happened to the money.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she let out a long breath then gave me a contrite look.

  “I’m sorry.” She grinned sheepishly. “Anytime anyone asks me anything about Julian, it’s usually to imply that I’m to blame for him falling off his roof.”

  “To be honest, I’m really surprised you even volunteered to be on the committee. A lot of people made your life hell in high school. Why would you want see any of these assholes again, especially since you know they think you’re to blame for Julian’s death?”

  She seemed to think for a minute before responding.

  “I spent the majority of my high school days living in terror of Audrey and her crew. Even after high school when I’d see one of them at the grocery store or the mall, I’d turn and walk in the opposite direction. But I’m almost thirty. I need to get past what happened to me in high school. I thought serving on the reunion committee would help me do that. I thought things would be different
since we’re all adults now. The only difference now is they hate me because of what happened to Julian and Julian’s death wasn’t even my fault,” she said bitterly.

  My ears perked up at that last part.

  “Whose fault was it?” I watched her closely. For a minute I thought she was going to say something. I could see the indecision in her eyes. Then, as if a curtain had fallen, her face went blank.

  “I gotta go. It’s getting late and I have to be up early tomorrow. Bye,” she said, avoiding my gaze.

  I watched as she pressed the button to raise her car window and stepped back as she pulled out of the parking space and drove away. I wondered. Could Julian’s death have been anything other than a freak accident and did it have anything to do with the missing money? And why didn’t Gerald seem at all surprised the money was gone?

  It was after nine by the time I left the high school, and I’d yet to eat. I called Carl to see if he wanted to meet me for a late dinner. He answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Hey, sweetie. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Um. Sort of,” he said slowly.

  “What do you mean sort of? Either you’ve eaten or you haven’t.” I laughed because I thought he was being silly.

  “Yeah, I just ate. I’m uh…I’m kinda busy right now. Can I call you back?” he replied with an annoyed little sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” I was confused by his tone.

  “Nothing. I’ll call you back, okay?” More sighing.

  That’s when it hit me. He hadn’t even referred to me by name and he was trying to rush me off the phone. He wasn’t being silly. He was being shady.