Hush Puppy

by Laurien Berenson

  “Don’t tell me. We’re having some kind of life lesson here, aren’t we?” Willie pulled out a chair and sat down. “You’re using that dog to make a point.”

  “You catch on pretty quick for a kid who got a C- on his last Latin quiz.”

  “Latin’s a dead language. I’m saving my energy for things that can do me some good.”

  “College is going to do you plenty of good.” I took a chair on the other side of the table. “And top grades are what’s going to get you where you want to go. I know you’ve had some trouble fitting in here, and things aren’t going to get any easier when you go to Brunswick for high school next year. A lot of kids in Greenwich get everything they want handed to them. I guess that makes you luckier than most.”

  “Luckier? How do you figure that?”

  “Because you’ve already learned how to work hard and think for yourself. Some of my students will spend the next decade trying to figure out things you already take for granted. You have tremendous gifts, Willie, but it’s up to you to use what’s being offered. Slacking off isn’t going to make you popular. In the long run, the only person you’ll hurt is yourself.”

  Willie leaned back in his chair, frowning. “You sound just like my mother.”

  “Good.”

  I figured that meant I was getting my point across. Besides, I’d met Willie’s mother on parents’ night. Emma Boyd was every bit as smart as her son, plus she had a wicked sense of humor. I didn’t mind the comparison a bit.

  “You know, as teachers go, you’re not half-bad.”

  “Thanks. Now let’s dig out your Latin book and have a look.”

  “Sure.” Willie reached for his backpack. “But first there’s something you ought to know. Brad Jameson, remember you asked me about him?”

  “I remember. What about him?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. He’s gone, left town. Cleared out over the weekend and took his business with him.”

  “What business was that?” I asked carefully.

  “You know.” Willie frowned. “We talked about it before.”

  “And you said you didn’t know anything about what Brad was up to.”

  “No,” Willie corrected me. “I said I didn’t need to know. I wasn’t interested, and I didn’t have any use for his services. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s right under my nose. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now because he’s out of here.”

  That was an interesting wrinkle. I wondered if Detective Shertz had been keeping tabs on Brad’s whereabouts.

  “Any idea why he left?” I asked.

  “Maybe I heard a few things. People say Brad thought Greenwich was getting a little hot. Like maybe he needed to find a new place to set up shop where he wasn’t so well known.”

  “Thanks for the information,” I said. “I’ll pass it along.”

  Willie nodded and opened his book.

  The tutoring session with Willie was followed by three others in quick succession. It was lunchtime before I had a chance to slip out and run over to Russell’s office; and when I got there, he wasn’t in. Now it was Harriet’s turn to look smug.

  “Perhaps if you’d made an appointment,” she said primly. “You know how busy Mr. Hanover can be.” Her hand hovered above a pink notepad. “I’ll tell him you stopped by. Is there any message?”

  “Just tell him I need to talk to him, okay?”

  I left her scribbling on the pad and went off in search of Michael. No luck there either. Rather than waste the entire period running around in vain, I consoled myself by going to lunch.

  The kitchen was serving chicken Florentine with chocolate chip brownies for dessert. I went back for seconds, then carried the extra brownie with me to eat while I took Faith outside for a run. Back inside ten minutes later, it was time to teach some more.

  This is why Kinsey Milhone doesn’t have a day job.

  At quarter to three, my intercom buzzed. Russell was in his office and would see me as soon as I was available. I gave my last student short shrift and made myself available immediately. Don’t forget, I still had Davey’s bus to meet.

  Did I mention that Kinsey doesn’t have children either?

  No matter what else is happening at Howard Academy, Russell Hanover’s office is usually an oasis of calm. The headmaster prides himself on setting an example worth following. His veneer of imperturbability is meant to inspire us all to keep a similarly stiff upper lip, and usually it works.

  Not today. Today all hell was breaking loose. Even the unflappable Harriet looked frazzled.

  “What’s up?” I whispered under my breath, as she shooed me past her desk and into the inner sanctum.

  She shook her head slightly and pulled the door shut behind me.

  “Mr. Hanover?”

  He was standing at the window, staring off down the driveway. His back was to me, and even when I said his name, he didn’t look around.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Finally, he turned and walked over to his desk. “Is there anything that’s not wrong? In the last seven days, we’ve had a murder, a fire, a funeral, and a discovery of drugs on campus. I’ve been trying to hold things together, but regrettably, it may only be a matter of time before even I lose my grip. And those barbarians at the gate aren’t helping matters any.”

  “The media?”

  “Who else?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, ruining the elegant line of his suit. “I was asked to make a statement to the press, chastising the police for not solving the murder with more dispatch. When I refused, the reporter implied that perhaps the police were being hampered in their investigation because Howard Academy was stonewalling.

  “It’s been a week, and they want a story. If one isn’t available, they’re not above inventing one to suit their purposes. Howard Academy has flourished for half a century. It saddens me to think the school may not survive my tenure as headmaster.”

  I’d never seen him so morose. “I think you need a drink,” I said. A small bar was set up on a cart in a corner of the room. I assumed it was there for the benefit of visiting parents. Certainly, I’d never seen anyone make use of it. “Scotch?”

  “In the middle of the afternoon?” Russell smiled slightly. “Is this how low we’ve sunk?”

  “I’d say so.”

  I opened a bottle of Chivas and poured him a double. Russell didn’t protest when I placed the glass on his desk. I put Ruth’s diary down beside it. He glanced at it, then flipped through the pages idly, not really looking at them.

  “This must be the diary you told me about on Friday.” I nodded.

  “Did it contain what you were looking for?”

  “A theme for the spring pageant? No. Ruth’s story didn’t turn out to be suitable.”

  Russell shrugged, his demeanor clearly conveying the thought: another setback, what else is new? Much as I’d always wished that Bitsy would use a little less starch in his shorts, I wasn’t sure I liked being confronted with the headmaster’s more vulnerable side.

  Had he been this worn down by the past week’s events? I wondered. Or was something more going on? I was beginning to think that Russell looked like a man with a guilty conscience.

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” I said.

  He picked up the drink I’d poured and took a hefty swallow. Good for him. I’d have pictured him as a sipper.

  “What’s that?”

  “Michael Durant was hired mid year. Isn’t that unusual?”

  “No.” Russell’s voice was firm, but his eyes shifted away. “Not if there’s a need.”

  “And Howard Academy developed a sudden need for a drama coach?”

  “It was hardly sudden. I’d been thinking about making such an addition for a while.”

  “And about adding a spring pageant to the school’s program? I understand this is the first year such an event has been held.”

 
“So?”

  “One of the other teachers mentioned that Michael’s credentials were not as high as Howard Academy might normally be expected to demand.”

  “They were perfectly adequate for the position he was being asked to fill.” Russell did not look pleased by my questions. “I’m not sure why you consider this to be any of your business.”

  “It’s been hard not to notice that a number of people have been behaving oddly since Krebbs was murdered.” I decided it wouldn’t further my cause to mention that Russell’s own name was on the list. “Most have been associated with the school for years. Michael only arrived six weeks ago. Detective Shertz said he didn’t believe in coincidence. I’m not sure I do either.”

  A minute passed while Russell sat and said nothing. His drink remained untouched. His fingertip traced an aimless pattern on the blotter.

  “Howard Academy is a private institution,” he said finally. “Serving the best interests of our students is our first priority. In this day and age, that seems to be a somewhat idealistic notion. Unfortunately, one sometimes finds that idealism must be set aside in the face of practicality.”

  “What does that have to do with the drama coach?”

  Once again, Russell was silent.

  “Is there something you know that you haven’t told the police?” I prompted. “Do you know who murdered Eugene Krebbs?”

  The question shocked him out of his reverie. “Certainly not. I would never conceal such a thing. There has been something preying on my mind. A business transaction—perhaps a regrettable one—but nothing more than that.”

  I didn’t believe him. There was something here. I was sure of it. “A business deal between you and Michael? Did it have anything to do with the drugs that were found in the cottage?”

  Russell’s face suffused with color. “What sort of a person do you take me for?”

  “One with secrets, apparently. I know how you feel about Howard Academy. You’d do anything to protect the school—”

  “Quite right. And that’s precisely what I have done.”

  “You made a deal with Michael Durant to protect the school? I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not. There’s no reason you should.”

  “Mr. Hanover, whatever you’re hiding—”

  “Is hardly germane to what happened to Krebbs.”

  I pulled a chair up to his desk and sat down. “Perhaps Detective Shertz should be allowed to decide that.”

  “It’s not a matter I wish to have made public. Indeed, that’s how this whole sorry business got started.” Russell looked at me and sighed. “May I depend on your discretion?”

  “Certainly, unless—” His look silenced me. I waited to hear what he had to say.

  “As it happens, the circumstances surrounding Michael Durant’s employment were a bit unusual.”

  “In what way?”

  “He came to us. To me, rather, with a proposal. Howard Academy has long been proud of our position in the Greenwich community. We set an example. We uphold our traditions. And we always take care of our own.”

  “Like Eugene Krebbs?”

  “Exactly.” Russell stood up and walked back to the window. Once again, he was staring outward. I wondered what, if anything, he saw. “And like Michael Durant.”

  Now I was confused. “How did Michael become part of Howard Academy’s family?”

  “He was born that way,” Russell said quietly. “Not in the official sense, but his proof was compelling enough. For as long as I’ve been at Howard Academy, I’d heard the stories. Rumors, really, of an illegitimate child born to one of the family members.”

  “Ruth,” I said. “The youngest daughter.”

  Russell turned to look at me. “Don’t tell me you’re another family connection.”

  “Hardly. I learned the story over the weekend from Ruth’s diary. She became pregnant and was planning to elope. Honoria paid off the boy and sent Ruth away to have the baby. She implied that it was put up for adoption.”

  “Maybe that was the plan, but it isn’t what happened. The boy’s family took the child and raised him. He grew up to be Michael Durant’s father.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Russell said irritably. “Michael has possession of letters and photographs that back his claim. While the Howards were determined to keep the whole incident quiet, the Silverman family was rather proud of their association with one of Greenwich’s leading names. From the time Michael was a child, he’d been told stories about his grandfather’s dalliance with Ruth Howard.”

  “So when he came to you and asked for a job, you didn’t feel you could turn him away?”

  “I’m afraid it was a bit more complicated than that. Michael came to me with his grandfather’s mementos and a story that he planned to sell to the highest bidder. It may have happened a long time ago, but the tale still possessed everything the tabloids dream of—money, sex, the suicide of an innocent young girl. Michael Durant was in need of money, and he seemed to think that the Howard family owed him for the wrong that had been done.”

  “The family and the school aren’t one and the same,” I pointed out.

  “It would hardly have mattered, would it? We’d all have been tarred by the same brush. Michael had been struggling to make his living as an actor in New York. That’s where ‘Durant’ comes from. It’s his stage name. I gather he found the profession rough going. Last December his agent dropped him, and he decided he was ready to make a career change.”

  “He threatened you with blackmail and you hired him?” I asked incredulously. “Please tell me there was more to your decision than that.”

  “There are always outside considerations that enter into any such decision.” Russell’s brows lowered ominously. Clearly he didn’t like my tone. “I wouldn’t have hired Michael if I hadn’t felt he was equipped to do the job.”

  “If he was equipped to do his job, he’d be doing it,” I said, getting to my feet. “And Howard Academy would have a spring pageant that was already in rehearsal instead of—”

  “Melanie?” Russell’s voice was calm. “Sit.”

  I sat.

  “In a perfect world, one’s decisions would always remain unbiased. In the reality in which we operate, however, it is often necessary that compromises be made. My first consideration must be the good of the school—”

  “And you think it’s a good thing to expose the students to a man who’d stoop to blackmail to accomplish his goals?”

  “I think it was an abhorrent necessity, but a necessity nonetheless. And as you are determined to argue about this, you force me to point out that your own hiring might not bear up under the closest scrutiny either.”

  For a moment, time seemed to stop. The room went perfectly still. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I couldn’t have.

  “Excuse me?”

  Russell sighed. “Melanie, how many applicants do you think we had for the tutoring position you assumed last fall?”

  “I have no idea.” There was a loud buzzing noise in my ears. It was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.

  My confusion must have shown on my face because Russell’s voice gentled. “Nearly a hundred. Probably a dozen had qualifications as good as, or better than, yours.”

  So help me, I didn’t want to know the answer. But I knew I had to ask. “Then why did you hire me?”

  “It was strictly a financial decision, made for the good of the academy. Yours was the application that came contingent with a sizable donation from one of our alumnae.”

  “Aunt Peg,” I whispered.

  Russell nodded. “You didn’t know?”

  “I had no idea.” My head was spinning. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. “I’m sorry. I’ll tender my resignation at the end of the semester.”

  “It won’t be accepted. And you have nothing to be sorry about. You’ve been an excellent addition to our staff, just as I knew you would be. The donation w
as only one small factor in the decision-making process. I only brought it up to try and make you understand how things work.”

  Oh I understood, all right. Suddenly, I understood everything. That the job I’d coveted, worked for, and thought I deserved, I’d never truly earned. Even if I had been good enough to make it on my own, I’d never had the chance, because dear, conniving Aunt Peg had taken the matter out of my hands.

  I slumped in my chair, feeling defeated. What a hypocrite Russell must have thought I was, denouncing Michael Durant’s hiring when mine had been every bit as suspect. No wonder he’d been self-righteous in his own defense.

  Was this truly the way the world operated? Was I the only one who didn’t know?

  The intercom on Russell’s desk buzzed. Still watching me, he pushed the button, and said, “Not now, Harriet.”

  “I think you better take this,” the secretary’s voice was audible through the speaker. “Detective Shertz is on the phone, and he says it’s important. That young girl, Jane? He says she’s missing.”

  Twenty-five

  Missing?

  Russell picked up the phone and spoke into it briefly. His end of the conversation consisted mostly of one syllable words, and when he hung up, he didn’t look happy. “Detective Shertz is on his way over. He’ll be here in five minutes.”

  There was no way I was going to leave now. As soon as Russell put down the phone, I picked it up, connected to an outside line, and called Alice Brickman. Once again, she agreed to cover for me. If this kept up, I was going to be indebted to her until the boys were in high school.

  That done, we still had a few minutes to kill. “There are a few more things you need to know,” I said to Russell.

  “Oh?” He looked like a man who was braced for bad news, which was good, because I couldn’t imagine he’d be happy to hear what I was about to say.

  “Ed Weinstein.”

  “What about him?”

  “You know he smokes?”

  “Of course. I don’t like it, but I can hardly dictate my employees’ personal habits. He takes his cigarette breaks outside.”

  “Or in the boys’ bathroom. Or on the back stairs.” I watched Russell’s lips tighten and felt like a tattletale. “Unfortunately, that’s not all. Two days ago, I ran into him outside. He smelled of marijuana.”