Let Sleeping Cats Lie: The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series, Book Four

by Louise Clark

  Christy nodded agreement. “I have to get Stormy into the tote and we can be off.” Off was to the school where a dress rehearsal for the annual end of year concert was being held. The principal strongly believed that children were more focused and gave their best if an audience was included at every performance, rehearsal or official concert, so parents had been invited to attend the afternoon presentation. Christy thought the evening performances would be too crowded for Stormy’s comfort level, so she and Ellen were taking him to the dress rehearsal so Frank could enjoy seeing his daughter in action.

  Stormy entered the tote with his usual fussy care, one prim step at a time. He settled at the bottom calmly enough and Christy and Ellen set off.

  Though it was mid-week and midday, there was a substantial audience in the school’s gym where the concert was being held. A stage had been set up near the main access. Wooden benches for the audience to sit on were laid out in rows throughout the rest of the large room. Christy and Ellen found seats at one end of a bench near the wall and not far from the front. Christy settled the tote in her lap and pulled it open to let Stormy see. His head popped out, but he didn’t try to jump out of the bag or off her lap.

  She looked around at the rapidly filling gym. The audience, she noted, was made up of a large percentage of grandparent-aged adults, plus a smattering of moms with toddlers, not yet school age, and babies.

  The student body was also attending. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the benches. According to Rebecca Petrofsky, the evening concerts would be so packed that the kids would have to stay in their classrooms before and after their time on stage. During the dress rehearsal, however, they were allowed to watch. As each class had two songs the result was a constant procession of students from the audience to the stage.

  Frank was totally charmed by the concert and particularly Noelle’s class, which sang “Take Me Out To the Ball Game” and did a skit mimicking an audience watching a baseball game. They followed up with a modified version of John Fogarty’s “Centerfield,” which was both sweet and funny. Ellen and Christy clapped wildly at the end of their set. Stormy purred.

  When the concert was over, Christy picked up Noelle and Mary Petrofsky, who was spending the afternoon with them, and they all walked home together. The concert had done a great deal to improve Christy’s mood. How could it not? The enthusiasm of the kids, their energy, and the whole feeling of excitement had been exactly what she needed. She only wished Roy and Quinn had been able to attend today. They had both promised to take in the final performance on Friday night, however, and Noelle was looking forward to that.

  The girls cavorted around Christy and Ellen, still so full of performance energy that their excitement lasted all the way home. When they reached the house, Christy said, “I haven’t checked the mail in a couple of days. Anyone want to come up to the boxes with me?”

  Both girls shouted agreement. Ellen took Stormy in the tote, and headed into the house. Christy set off up the hill with the girls skipping and dancing around her. When she unlocked her mail slot, she found six envelopes, a couple of flyers and another half-dozen pieces of unsolicited junk mail. She dumped the junk mail in the handy recycling bin kept beside the mail station for just that purpose, scanned the flyers and dropped both in as well, then took the envelopes home with her.

  Noelle and Mary decided that this bright, sunny afternoon was the perfect day for a good game of hopscotch, especially since Christy had recently invested in a new box of pavement chalk that featured neon colors. Noelle grabbed the box from the shelf in the carport where Christy had stashed it and the girls got busy drawing the board, using multiple colors to make things interesting. Christy sat down on her front steps and sorted through her mail.

  As usual, it was mostly bills. She opened each to make sure there were no surprises, then set it aside to be paid when she went inside. The final envelope had the distinctive logo of Noelle’s former school, Vancouver Royal Academy.

  Christy stared at it, puzzled. Noelle’s departure from the school at the end of last year had been final. Hilda Toutov, the principal, had been polite, but dismissive. Even if Christy had the funds to pay the expensive fees, there was no room at VRA for the impoverished child of an embezzler. Leaving the institution she had attended from pre-school on had been a painful experience for Noelle, but she’d bounced back and found friends, and particularly her dearest buddy, Mary Petrofsky, here at this unpretentious school on Burnaby Mountain. Christy could think of no reason why VRA was writing to her now. She shrugged and tossed the envelope, unopened, on top of the bills.

  She was watching and laughing along with the girls as they hopped from box to box on the hopscotch board, giggling whenever one of them made a mistake, when the door opened a few minutes later.

  Ellen came out and sat down beside her. “We had the strangest message on the voicemail.”

  Christy sobered. Strange messages on voicemail did not usually bode well. “What’s up?”

  “Principal Toutov from VRA called. She wants you to phone her to set up a meeting.”

  Christy frowned. “Did she say why?”

  Ellen shook her head. They exchanged thoughtful and not particularly happy looks.

  Christy twisted away, reaching behind her for the stack of mail. She picked up the VRA envelope. “She sent me a letter, too.”

  Ellen raised her brows. “You didn’t open it?”

  Christy looked at the envelope, then at Ellen, before looking back at the envelope. “No. I thought it was probably a fundraising request.” VRA had been an establishment institution in Vancouver for decades. Ellen was a graduate, as had been Frank’s mother. Christy had no ties to the school, but the Jamiesons did and Noelle was a Jamieson.

  “Well?” Ellen indicated the envelope with a nod. “Are you going to open it?”

  “I suppose.” Christy picked at the edge of the flap to make a hole, then used her thumb to rip away the rest. The letter inside was on heavy cream paper, like the envelope itself, and as Christy read the contents aloud her voice faltered from sheer astonishment.

  The principal thought that she and Christy should meet to establish a program to ensure that Noelle’s reintegration to the school and her year group occurred in the smoothest way possible.

  Ellen looked at Noelle and Mary, still deeply focused on the hopscotch game. “I didn’t know you were re-enrolling Noelle at VRA. I thought you believed she was happier at her school here.”

  “I do. She is.” Christy began to laugh. “I don’t believe this! What on earth is going on?”

  Ellen remained somber. “Principal Toutov must have heard about the return of the Trust.”

  Christy looked at her sharply. “You think?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “Well! Of all the ridiculous ideas, this one tops it.” She tossed the letter to one side. “There’s no way I’m going to pull Noelle out of a warm, supportive school where her friends are close by so she can commute for an hour to and from VRA every day.”

  They watched the girls in silence for a couple of minutes, then Ellen said, “You should call and make that appointment.”

  Christy’s breath caught. She wondered if Ellen resented her reluctance to have Noelle return to VRA. After all, the school was her alma mater. “Ellen … ”

  Ellen must have guessed what Christy didn’t want to put into words, for she straightened and shook her head. She shot Christy a long, raised-eyebrow look. “Candis Jarvis Blais, Fred’s daughter, has a child at VRA. Am I correct?”

  Understanding began to dawn. Christy nodded.

  “Yes. We know that Fred had a liaison with the principal of his son’s school. I think it is entirely possible that he did the same thing at his granddaughter’s school.”

  Christy’s eyes widened. “Principal Toutov?” She began to laugh. “The old dragon who considers bad manners a sin right up there with coveting thy neighbor’s wife?”

  Ellen was shaking her head before Christy
had even finished. “Not necessarily the principal. One of the teachers, perhaps. Someone who had influence over the child’s school experience.”

  Christy sobered. “The girl’s classroom teacher.”

  “Or maybe her music teacher, if the child is talented. Or the librarian if she loves books and reading.”

  “Or the phys ed teacher,” Christy said. She picked up the letter and scanned it once again. She looked at Ellen. “Can you watch the girls while I call? There’s still time to catch Toutov before she leaves for the day.”

  Chapter 26

  Hilda Toutov, the principal of VRA, was a formidable woman, all the more so because she had a warm, open manner that hid an implacable will. Her hair was short and impeccably styled. She wore a tailored dress that hadn’t come off a rack, and dark leather pumps that were hand stitched and probably made in Florence or Milan. She was the CEO of an organization that catered to the very rich and she looked the part.

  When Christy and Ellen were ushered into her office she held out her hand and smiled with apparent pleasure. “Mrs. Jamieson. Ms. Jamieson. Welcome. It is wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Jamieson. And Ms. Jamieson, it is always delightful to welcome back a returning alumna.” They all shook hands.

  Christy was wary of the principal’s open bonhomie. Hilda Toutov was a prime example of the world Christy was cautiously stepping back into. The world of sharing air kisses with people you really didn’t like and smiling agreeably just because someone had position and power.

  Knowing she’d be meeting Ms. Toutov today, she’d taken a private moment with Noelle the previous evening and asked her how she felt about her current school and if she missed VRA. The answers had been a resounding “I love it” and an emphatic “no.” When pressed, Noelle had said she didn’t want to move—back to the mansion, back to VRA. She liked Burnaby, she loved Mary Petrofsky and her other new friends, and she was looking forward to the next school year because the grade four teachers were awesome.

  Her conversation with Noelle gave Christy the emotional armor she needed to deal with Principal Toutov. Her clothing provided the mental freedom to go on the offensive.

  When Noelle had been a student at VRA and Christy had chaired the parent council, she been Frank Jamieson’s wife and Noelle Jamieson’s mom. She’d worn casual styles, well made, of course, but still not the kind of clothes that said ‘I’m in charge.’ For this meeting, she picked an outfit from the ones she had been amassing for her new role as the representative of the Jamieson Trust. A stylish jacket in a cream-colored silk-wool blend, with a silk shell beneath, topped a straight skirt that ended a couple of inches above her knees. On her feet, she wore needle-heeled shoes that added inches to her height. The whole outfit was designed to generate a sense of quiet power. It certainly gave Christy’s outlook an added boost.

  After shaking hands, Ms. Toutov directed them to a grouping of club chairs set around a burnished walnut coffee table placed in near the windows, and away from her desk. “Mrs. Jamieson, I cannot tell you how pleased we will be to welcome Noelle back to this school. She is a delightful child. We missed her while she was away.”

  “How interesting,” Ellen said, raising her brows.

  Ms. Toutov didn’t even have the grace to blush.

  A smile quirked Christy’s mouth at Ellen’s comment, but she simply said, “I completely agree. My daughter is very special.”

  In her term as chair of the VRA parent council, Christy had never had cause to oppose Toutov on any major issue. There was no reason for the principal to now think that Christy Jamieson would be difficult. She smiled and reached for a portfolio resting on the coffee table. “For her grade four year I’ve placed Noelle in a split three-four class—”

  “You cannot be serious!” Ellen’s eyebrows snapped together in a frown. She tilted her head imperiously. Her indignation was part of the plan she and Christy had worked out last night. Christy would be magisterial, Ellen passionate. As Ellen was an alumna, the principal would expect her support. Toutov would be unsettled if she didn’t give it. Since their purpose in coming today was not to re-enroll Noelle, but to find out if Fred Jarvis had had a mistress amongst the faculty or administration, Christy figured that keeping Hilda Toutov on edge would not only be helpful, but necessary.

  Christy raised her brows. “An interesting selection, Ms. Toutov. It is my understanding that VRA only uses split classes for children with learning problems. What is your reasoning for putting Noelle in such a class?” Inside she was seething, but there was nothing in her voice to indicate her feelings.

  Toutov smiled in an encouraging way and said, “I am sure you are surprised and probably upset as well—”

  “You are stating the obvious, Ms. Toutov. There is absolutely no reason to think Noelle couldn’t cope in a regular grade four classroom.” That was Ellen at her most imperious. Christy stifled a laugh.

  “In a normal situation, I would agree, Ms. Jamieson. However, Noelle has spent the last year in a public school.” The principal’s expression was serious, even concerned, as she looked from Ellen to Christy.

  “Are you saying that the level of education Noelle is currently receiving is sub-standard?” Christy asked in that same non-committal tone.

  Toutov nodded. “Exactly. Noelle is a bright child. She will catch up, but she’ll need help.”

  “I see,” Christy said. “Have you assigned a teacher to the class as yet?”

  “Yes.” Toutov smiled. A little cautiously, Christy thought. She knew why when the principal named the proposed teacher. “Mrs. Boyle.”

  Mrs. Boyle was the teacher VRA used to whip the children who were lagging behind into shape. She had a reputation among the parents as being a no-nonsense teacher who got results. Christy happened to know that she was the terror of every child in the school.

  “I see,” she said, and thought she did, very clearly. Time to move away from the ostensible reason for the meeting and on to the real one. “When I was chair of the parents’ council there were a number of projects on-going and the head teacher, Mrs. Fulton, was about to retire. Can you speak to those changes?”

  Toutov looked relieved that Christy hadn’t produced any parental theatrics over the class and teacher choice. She said enthusiastically, “Indeed I can! Our music room has been upgraded, which has allowed us to expand our music program. We have two new science labs. These are mainly for the upper year students, but children grow so quickly, it will be no time at all before Noelle will be using them herself.” Here she smiled warmly, inviting Christy and Ellen to join her in celebrating the natural miracle of children growing and learning through the years. “Our new head teacher is Leslie Bankes. She came to us three years ago as a classroom teacher. She taught the late Fred Jarvis’ delightful granddaughter, Frederika. Frederika was two years ahead of Noelle, so you might not have known Leslie when Noelle was here before.”

  “I didn’t,” Christy said. “Will we have the chance to meet her today?”

  “Yes, of course,” Ms. Toutov said. She smiled with satisfaction. She clearly thought she had Noelle’s return wrapped up and in the bag. “I arranged for Leslie to give you a tour of the new facilities as soon as we finished going over the details of Noelle’s placement. I’ll buzz her now and she will be with us in a moment.”

  Leslie Bankes must have been hovering in Toutov’s outer office, because she was opening the door almost before the principal’s finger was off the buzzer button. “Ah, Leslie, excellent. This is Mrs. Christy Jamieson and her aunt, Ms. Ellen Jamieson. They are looking forward to getting to know you and to see our new improvements. Mrs. Jamieson, Ms. Jamieson, this is our head teacher, Miss Leslie Bankes.”

  The woman who entered the office appeared to be in her early thirties. She was of medium height, had short hair and wore a serviceable dark blue skirt with a plain, light blue polyester shell top, covered by a cream, summer-weight sweater. Christy heard Ellen draw in a quick breath as recognition hit her. She allowed herself a moment of sa
tisfaction. It looked like finding Fred’s mistress at VRA was going to be easier than they’d expected.

  She smiled at Leslie Bankes and said, “I believe we met at Fred Jarvis’ funeral, Ms. Bankes. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Leslie nodded, her expression momentarily downcast. Then she smiled as they shook hands. “Yes. I remember. Such a sad time.”

  They headed out of the office, leaving the principal behind. Ellen said, “Ms. Toutov told us you were Frederika Blais’ teacher.”

  “Yes, I had her in my class for two years.” Leslie blushed.

  Christy knew why. Having the same teacher in consecutive years was against VRA policy. Fred Jarvis must have pulled strings to keep his granddaughter in Leslie’s class.

  Christy realized that she’d seen Leslie around the school when Noelle had attended VRA, and that was why the woman had seemed so familiar when they met at the funeral. She also remembered other parents complaining about Frederika Blais getting special treatment—field trips tailored for her, the lead in school performances, front row seating at school events. If Leslie Bankes was one of Fred’s mistresses and followed the patterns of his other women, she’d have done anything she could to please him.

  “I was on the parents’ council when my daughter attended VRA,” Christy said as they walked down the wide hall. It was quiet now, as the children were all in class. “I didn’t realize Frederick Jarvis’s granddaughter was a student here. I don’t remember her mother, Candis, being involved in our activities.” That wasn’t true, but Leslie wouldn’t know that.

  “Candis is the CEO of her family’s charitable foundation,” Leslie said. “She has a very busy schedule. Mr. Jarvis, Frederika’s grandfather, was much more involved in Frederika’s program.”