Hush Puppy

by Laurien Berenson

  Any Poodle person will tell you that in the show ring, neck hair makes the trim. Aunt Peg was going to have a fit when she saw what had happened.

  It probably says something about my state of mind that I was thinking about Poodle hair when I should have been worrying about the larger picture. Things like life and death, and how slender the line between them sometimes seems. By the time I went inside, I’d almost convinced myself that the fireman had been wrong, that the fire had been a fluke, caused by old wiring or a faulty electrical system.

  Detective Shertz managed to destroy my illusions with his first sentence. To his credit, he didn’t look too pleased about the situation either.

  “Did you hear what I said, Ms. Travis?” he was asking now. “That fire was set deliberately, right outside a room where you were the only occupant. I’m wondering what you think about that.”

  I let my arm dangle over the side of the chair, fingers scratching Faith’s ear. Usually, she’d have been content to stay somewhere in my vicinity; now she was lying on top of my feet, her body pressed hard against my legs. I knew just how she felt.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I replied honestly. It was true I’d placed myself in jeopardy once or twice before, in the course of other murder investigations. But Krebbs’s death had nothing to do with me. Hadn’t I made that clear to everyone? “Maybe it was a prank.”

  “Could be, although that wouldn’t be my first guess.” Shertz turned to Russell. “In your time at Howard Academy, how many other fires have there been?”

  “None,” the headmaster said quickly. “As far as I know, this is the first such incident in the history of the school.”

  “Following hard on the heels of the first murder,” Shertz said. “You see what I’m getting at? I’m not a big believer in coincidence.”

  “I don’t understand what you want me to tell you,” I said. “Do you think I had something to do with the fire?”

  “I know you have a tendency to get involved in murder investigations . . .”

  Only one in Greenwich, I thought. Well, two, if you counted Uncle Max. The problem I’d dealt with in the fall had been in Stamford. And the one the year before that had been in Ridgefield, so there was really no reason Shertz needed to feel that his toes were being stepped on.

  “. . . and I’m thinking maybe someone doesn’t want you involved in this one.”

  “But that’s just it. I’m not involved. Aside from the fact that I teach at Howard Academy and knew the man slightly, I have no connection to Krebbs at all.”

  “Would you mind explaining what you were doing down in the basement, where the fire just happened to take place?”

  As Shertz’s tone had grown increasingly strident, Russell’s frown had deepened. Now he cleared his throat and stepped in. “That was my doing. Ms. Travis is a member of the committee that’s putting together our spring pageant. We’re planning a play to celebrate the lives of the school’s founding family. Many of the old Howard family records are stored in the basement, and I recommended she have a look at them, in case there was something we could use.”

  “So the only thing in the room were boxes of old papers?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Were these papers valuable?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps a collector might have a small amount of interest in what’s housed there, but the chances of there being something of real value . . .” Russell’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “I’m afraid I would find that hard to believe.”

  “How about you?” Shertz turned back to me. “You’re the one who was reading the stuff. What did you find?”

  “Old receipts and bills of sale, correspondence between Joshua Howard and his sister, Honoria. Pictures and mementos of the children’s early years. From what I’d been able to tell so far, it was all just mundane, day-to-day stuff. Nothing that would be worth committing murder over, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So we’re back to where we started,” said the detective. “If the fire wasn’t set to destroy the records, what was the arsonist after?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

  “Been doing a little digging around on your own?”

  Russell glanced my way. His lips pursed as though he was considering the notion. I was pleased it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

  “No,” I said emphatically.

  “What about that girl, Jane?”

  “What about her?”

  “Seen her hanging around anymore?”

  “Once. Briefly. But her friend, Brad . . . ” I stopped, remembering. “He was here.”

  “When?”

  “Right after the fire started. He was the one who heard me yelling for help.”

  “Is that the boy who came to get me?” asked Russell. “I wondered who he was. Then, in all the excitement, I forgot all about him.”

  “By the time I was out, he was gone. I was going to thank him, but I didn’t see him anywhere.”

  “That gives us something to start with.” The detective pulled out a pad and made a note. “We’ll hunt Jameson down and have a chat.”

  “Do you think he might have been the person responsible for the fire?” asked Russell.

  “Hard to know just yet, but it’s certainly worth looking into. The kid’s a troublemaker, though arson would be a new string in his bow. If he wasn’t involved, I guess he’s going to have to come up with a good reason to explain why he was out here hanging around.”

  Shertz flipped the pad shut. “I guess that’s all for now. If either of you think of anything else I ought to know, you know where to reach me.”

  “Thank you,” said Russell, coming out from behind his desk to walk the detective to the door. “We greatly appreciate the efforts you’ve made on our behalf and we look forward to the speedy resolution of our problems.”

  Jeez, I thought. With rhetoric like that at his disposal, the guy ought to run for political office.

  “There’s something I’ve been curious about,” I said. Both men paused. “Who tipped you off that there might be something hidden in the caretaker’s cottage?”

  “Funny you should ask a question like that,” Shertz said slowly. “Seeing as you don’t have any interest in Krebbs’s murder and all.”

  I might not be involved, but I wasn’t brain-dead either. Russell was looking interested as well.

  “As it happens, we got an anonymous call down at the station. It came in through the switchboard.”

  “Do you guys have caller ID?”

  The only sign of Shertz’s annoyance was a slight narrowing of his eyes. “The call came from this school. The pay phone out by the front hall. Somebody here tipped us off. And whoever it was, he knew what he was talking about.”

  As soon as Detective Shertz left, Russell told me to go home. The students had already been dismissed for the weekend and most of the faculty had left as well. There was concern in his expression when he asked if Faith and I needed any help. I’m sure I looked a little ragged around the edges. I know I felt that way.

  “No, we’ll be fine,” I said, though I was grateful for his interest.

  My shoulders were throbbing; and now that the painkillers I’d had at the emergency room were beginning to wear off, my wrist hurt like hell. Still, if there’s one thing a single mother learns how to do, it’s cope with adversity. I was sure we’d be able to manage.

  “I imagine the pageant committee will need to have another brainstorming session on Monday,” Russell said absently. “The archives in the storeroom were nearly a total loss.”

  I glanced up, surprised. “I thought the fire never reached them.”

  “It didn’t, but the water damage was extensive. Even if anyone wanted to go through the task of separating the papers and drying them out, I’m not sure it would be possible to salvage most of what was there.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly. “I know those records were an important part of the school’
s history.”

  Russell shrugged slightly. “A week ago, I imagine I’d have found the loss devastating. Now I find myself putting things in perspective. At least this time nobody was seriously injured.”

  He looked so forlorn that I found myself blurting out a small confession. “Not everything was destroyed. Joshua’s youngest daughter, Ruth, kept a diary when she was a teenager. It talks quite a bit about the family life in Deer Park. I took the book home with me last night and forgot to bring it back. It wasn’t in the room when the fire started.”

  “I guess that’s something,” said Russell. He thought for a moment. “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “I mentioned the book to Michael Durant, and maybe a couple other people. But nobody else knows that it wasn’t ruined with the rest of the stuff. Do you think it matters?”

  “It’s hard to know what to think, isn’t it?” Russell closed his eyes and pinched his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “The fire might have been somebody’s idea of a sick joke, but like Detective Shertz, I’m not inclined to think so.

  “That leaves us with two options, neither of which is very appealing. All I can say is, if we do have a monster in our midst, the sooner we discover his or her identity, the better. I want your assurance on something.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Detective Shertz seemed concerned that you might feel the need to take part in the murder investigation. I must say, for a number of reasons, that I think that would be a very bad idea.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed quickly. Though I’d only been at Howard Academy six months, I already knew this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my teaching career. I had no intention of jeopardizing my position at the school. “I promise you, I haven’t done anything but try to stay out of the way.”

  “I wouldn’t say your efforts have been entirely successful.”

  “I’ll try harder.”

  “Do that. And one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d bring Ruth’s diary back to school. Perhaps you could deliver it to me first thing Monday morning?”

  “Certainly.” I stood up. Faith, ever the trusty companion, did the same. Together, we headed for the door. “I wonder if you’d answer one more question.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Reading through the Howard family records has made me curious. Whatever happened to Joshua and Mabel’s children? There were six of them. Are any still alive? Do their descendants take an interest in the school?”

  Russell shook his head sharply. He didn’t look pleased by the topic I’d chosen. “The Howard family has all but divorced itself from this institution. Their interests and ours ceased to coincide many decades ago.”

  “Why?”

  His frown grew. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “I gather there was a good deal of acrimony about the financial decisions Joshua made at the time. Some, if not all, of the children seemed to feel that the school received money that by rights should have been their inheritance.”

  “That was their father’s decision.”

  “Quite so, but that didn’t alleviate the bitter feelings that arose. While Joshua was still alive, there were plenty of resources to go around. The children, who were of course quite grown up by the time the school was established, felt they had nothing to lose by indulging their father’s ‘hobby.’ It wasn’t until later, when his will was read, that they realized how total his commitment to Howard Academy had been.”

  “It seems a shame,” I mused.

  “Yes, it does,” Russell said brusquely. “But it all happened a long time ago. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with now.”

  He was right. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have plenty of bigger, and more immediate, problems.

  A phone call when I got home arranged for Davey to spend the night with Joey Brickman. Joey’s mother, Alice, stopped by to pick up some of his things. She saw the bandage on my arm, heard a much-abbreviated version of what I’d been up to, and promised to keep my son until late afternoon Saturday.

  Alice is an angel of mercy. I took her up on her offer before the words were even out of her mouth.

  Though it was barely dusk, I fed Faith her dinner and fell into bed, exhausted. Sleep claimed me like a black void. I was half-afraid I’d dream of smoke and fire and pools of blood, but I was wrong.

  I slept like the dead and dreamed of nothing at all.

  Nineteen

  I woke up Saturday morning with an aching wrist, a groggy head, and a dog who needed desperately to pee. At least one of the three was easy to fix.

  Eugene Krebbs’s memorial service was scheduled for eleven o’clock. By ten-thirty, after several cups of strong, black coffee, a long walk around the neighborhood with Faith, and a cold, bracing shower, I found myself struggling to pull on panty hose one-handed.

  Until that moment, I hadn’t been sure I was going to attend. Krebbs had been, at most, an acquaintance. To be honest, his death wouldn’t have made much of an impression on me if the fact that he’d been murdered didn’t keep intruding on my otherwise peaceful life.

  Now, however, I was curious to see who else would put in an appearance. It also wouldn’t hurt to show myself, bandage and all, and see if that elicited any shifty looks among the assemblage. Besides, if I stayed home that would only give me more time to worry about the upcoming luncheon with Peg and Sheila Vaughn.

  All in all, I was better off keeping busy.

  Since I planned to go straight from the service to Aunt Peg’s, I took Faith with me. The March weather was suitably cool, and I cracked the windows in the Volvo and left her lying on the backseat, chewing on a new pig’s ear. Earlier, I’d brushed through her mane coat and tried some artful draping to hide the hole near her neck. It didn’t do any good. Barring an unexpected miracle, Faith was going to be out of the show ring for at least several months.

  The chapel was a small building, seldom used, and joined by a covered walkway to the far end of the original stone mansion. Neither Joshua nor Honoria had been deeply religious, and Howard Academy was nondenominational. I imagined that the chapel’s original purpose must have been to serve as a refuge, or place of solace, rather than a house of prayer.

  The one room was octagonal in shape. Stained-glass windows, depicting patterns of color rather than religious figures, adorned three walls. The pews were few in number, and when I walked through the door, most everyone I saw was standing. It looked as though the majority of the Howard Academy faculty had decided to attend. Since I doubted most of them had known Krebbs any better than I had, I could only assume that they’d all taken Russell’s speech about family to heart.

  The headmaster stood up at the lectern first. He thanked everyone for coming, then spoke about Eugene Krebbs’s tenure at Howard Academy and the contribution the caretaker had made to the school. His eulogy was short on substance and heavy on hyperbole. After the first minute or two, I let my gaze drift around the room.

  Michael Durant was there, looking bored. Obviously only his sense of obligation had brought him back to school on a Saturday morning. Ed Weinstein and Rita Kinney were seated in one of the pews with several other middle-school teachers.

  Sally was standing off by herself. Her eyes were dry, and her expression, stony. I wondered if she’d heard about Krebbs’s will yet, and resolved to ask her about it when the service was over.

  Detective Shertz arrived late and stood in the back of the room. He, too, let his gaze wander around the assembly of mourners. When our eyes met, I deliberately shifted mine away.

  When Russell was finished, several of the older teachers stood up and talked about Krebbs as well. Though Sally had been at Howard Academy as long as any of them, she didn’t make a contribution. As soon as the last speaker finished, she bolted for the door.

  Quickly, I jumped up and followed. Toward the back of the room, I glimpsed a flash of unexpected color: Jane, dressed in her customary blue jeans and sweatshirt. She glared at me d
efiantly, as if daring me to contest her right to be there. First things, first.

  “Sally, wait!”

  Her steps slowed, then stopped. Refreshments were going to be served in the dining room, but Sally was headed in the other direction. Her eyes flickered down to the bandage on my wrist, then quickly away.

  “I heard you had some excitement yesterday,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not great,” I admitted. “Faith and I were lucky to get out in time.”

  “So I heard. Everyone’s talking about it. Is it true somebody set the fire on purpose?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Sally shook her head. “Is that crazy, or what? Two weeks ago, I’d have told you this school was just about the safest place on earth. The older I get, the more I realize the world is a strange and scary place.”

  Just another cheery thought with which to face the day.

  “I wanted to ask you about something,” I said. “Two things, actually.”

  Sally looked at her watch. I wondered where she was in such a hurry to get to.

  “Last time we spoke, you seemed pretty sure Krebbs wouldn’t have anything to do with bringing drugs on campus.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Nothing stays quiet around here for long. I assume you’ve heard that the police found half a pound of marijuana in the cottage.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “No, but it sure doesn’t lay any suspicions to rest, either. And there’s something else.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Why wouldn’t there be? Ever since this whole mess got started, it’s been one damn thing after another. Now what?”

  “Have you heard about Krebbs’s will?”

  “No.” Sally’s tone was cautious. “What about it?”

  “He left behind a pretty sizable estate. Half is supposed to come to the school. The other half goes to a distant cousin by the name of Sarah Fingerhut, on the condition that she come forward to claim the money and acknowledge their relationship.”

  Sally was frowning. She didn’t say a word.