by Lea Wait
“Juices are full of carbohydrates and sugars. They’d make me fat,” said Maggie, reaching into her bottom drawer, where she stored a backup supply of Diet Pepsi.
“Then drink water. Maggie, this is your health we’re talking about. After all, you’re not getting any younger!”
And my birthday isn’t for another ten days, thought Maggie. Do I need a reminder? “And I suppose I should be eating more chocolate?” It was hard to think of Claudia without thinking about chocolate. There was always a dish of chocolate kisses on her desk, and she left them like a trail of bread crumbs when she visited people’s offices.
“Actually, yes,” said Claudia, her curls bouncing and her glasses a bit askew. “Eating dark chocolate can lower your blood pressure. And it makes you happier, not more jittery, the way cola does. And it has the caffeine you want. And antioxidants! Red wine is good for you, too.”
“That’s what I need to do. It will really secure my job to keep a bottle of red wine in my bottom drawer.”
Claudia shook her head.
“I’ll think about the cola connection,” said Maggie. “But in the meantime I’ll definitely eat more chocolate. Maybe the good ingredients in chocolate will counteract all the evils I’m drinking. Speaking of chocolate, did you happen to bring any in today?”
Claudia smiled. “It’s on my desk. I’ll get you some. But you should really think more about the cola. I almost didn’t tell you. After all, you’re the professor and I’m just the administrative assistant.”
Maggie wondered when Claudia had stopped being a secretary.
“But it wouldn’t be right to hold back information. Eating or drinking the wrong things could ruin your life. Or end it prematurely.”
“Claudia, I promise to drink more water and red wine. Within limits. Will that make you feel better?”
“A little.” Claudia looked doubtful; red wine was clearly not the substitute she’d prefer for Maggie’s Diet Pepsis. But she had suggested it.
“And I’ll eat more chocolate. I’ll force myself. Now, why don’t you bring me some chocolate kisses so I can get through the rest of this paperwork, and I’ll finish this one last Diet Pepsi that was in my drawer. I wouldn’t want to waste it.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Claudia said quietly. “I’ll get the chocolate.”
“Maybe the other professors could use some chocolate, too. The last day of school is always stressful.”
Claudia looked back at Maggie as she left the office. “Sometimes I don’t know when you’re serious and when you’re not.”
“Don’t worry. I’m always serious about chocolate.” And Diet Pepsi, Maggie added to herself. She took another swig and glanced at her watch. It was almost time for her meeting with the students and faculty who’d volunteered to help with the antiques show.
Chapter 20
Everlasting Flowers. Painted for Vicks Monthly (an American botanical magazine) and lithographed by Rahn & Karle, Rochester, New York. Bouquet of various wildflowers; colors mainly greens and pinks. 1879. 6 x 9 inches. Price: $45.
There weren’t as many people at the gym for the volunteers’ meeting as Maggie had hoped, but the show was being held between semesters. How many students or faculty wanted to return to campus when they didn’t have to?
“Hi, Sarah,” Maggie said as Sarah Anderson joined them and sat next to Kendall Park and Kayla Martin. Sarah, Kendall, and Kayla had been housemates last semester in Whitcomb House, the dormitory for single parents. Since the death of one of their housemates, some of the parents had gone their separate ways. Maria Ramirez had transferred her credits to the four-year College of New Jersey. Sarah was living with her mother. And Claudia’s gossip sources were, as usual, correct: Kendall and Kayla were holding hands. “How’re all the kids?”
“Doing fine,” answered Kendall. “Josette is running all over the place now, and Katie and Aura are still best friends at day care.”
“That’s great,” said Maggie. “Thank you all for taking the time to help out at the show!”
As she spoke, Claudia joined them, notebook in hand. She was followed by Hal Hanson, the quiet young man living with Carole Drummond’s family.
“We figured, you helped us out a few times,” answered Kayla. “We owe you more than a couple of hours of work.”
Maggie shook her head. “You don’t owe me a thing. Now, who else is here?”
Abdullah Jaleel was, as he had promised, and a short blonde girl who introduced herself as “Violet, who loves children.” And Paul Turk, a fellow American Studies professor, appeared in the doorway.
“Paul! I didn’t know you were joining us.”
“Thought you might need some extra muscle,” he said, sitting at the far end of the table.
“Then everyone is here,” said Maggie, glancing around the room. “Except Eric Sloane. Hal, it’s nice to see you.”
“Mrs. Drummond said I might be able to help, so I’m here.” He slumped down in the chair at the far end of the table, leaned the chair back on two legs, and put his hands in his pockets.
Clearly, Carole had volunteered him. She’d made sure Hal went to every adoptive-parent social event this spring and was hoping to get him to register at the college in the fall. He certainly didn’t look thrilled to be at this meeting. He was going through a rough time. Losing both of his parents at the same time, and so suddenly. “We’re glad you’re here,” said Maggie, trying to sound cheerful and welcoming.
Abdullah raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Professor, maybe you didn’t hear. The police found the body of Eric’s brother yesterday afternoon. I don’t think Eric will be coming this morning.”
“They found . . . Jackson’s body?” Maggie thought of the news flash on the television last night. “They’re sure it’s him?”
“It was on the radio this morning.” Abdullah looked somber. “They said he was murdered.”
There was a rustle around the room as everyone digested the information. It was a small campus. Most of them knew who Jackson was, even if they weren’t close friends.
Murdered! Maggie tried to focus. Jackson had been murdered. He hadn’t run away from home. Holly and Rob and Eric must be devastated. And all the other children. And Carole. How would this affect the agency? Or publicity for the antiques show?
She felt embarrassed for even thinking about the show.
Maggie tried to shake off a growing sense of dread. She looked at the contingent of volunteers and quickly handed out assignments: Kayla and Kendall preferred to work while the day-care center was open, so they were going to help set up tables and mark booth boundaries Friday morning. Sarah said she’d help out at the café on Saturday and Sunday. Violet wanted to be a porter. And Paul, to Maggie’s surprise, volunteered to be a porter both Friday night and Sunday late afternoon. Abdullah also said he’d come Friday morning to help out, porter, and would then be happy to help with any clean-up chores. Even Hal got into the spirit of things and said he’d partner with Abdullah and be available throughout the show. Maggie noticed Abdullah smiling and nodding at Hal. They must know each other from somewhere.
Good. Hal looked as though he could use a friend, and Maggie couldn’t remember seeing Abdullah with anyone on campus.
“I’m going to be here the whole time,” Claudia assured her. “From Thursday morning until you lock the doors Monday morning. You never know when you might need me!”
Maggie said a mental “Thank you” as well as one out loud. Claudia could be counted on. If someone didn’t show up for an assignment, or there was more work in some area than anticipated, Maggie could use another person who was dependable. Knowing Claudia’s obsession with organization, and her own lack of concentration just now, Claudia would keep her focused. Even if that focus meant Maggie would have to hear about the evils of artificially sweetened soft drinks throughout the weekend.
And Will would be here. And Gussie and Ben.
Maggie closed her book, her mind already in
another place.
Jackson was dead.
Who had murdered Jackson? And why?
And were any of the nightmares the Sloane family was living through connected to those threatening letters? Or to the message on her answering machine?
The antiques show would be filled with people Maggie knew and loved, from antiques dealers to students. She was responsible for them.
Whatever was happening had to be stopped. Now.
Chapter 21
Woman Peeling Apples. A silhouette, one of only seven heliotypes done by Winslow Homer. They illustrate James Russell Lowell’s limited edition of The Courtin’. Lowell had trouble selling his long poem to a publisher, so his friend Winslow Homer agreed to illustrate it and drew the silhouettes. They were then heliotyped: reproduced by printing the drawings directly from a gelatin film exposed under a negative and hardened with chrome alum. 1873. Very special examples of Winslow Homer’s versatility as an artist. 7.25 x 9.5 inches. Price: $225.
Maggie’s van was steamy from the noon sun as she left the Somerset College campus. She first headed for home, but then changed direction and drove toward the offices of Our World Our Children. Gussie and Ben weren’t due to arrive until at least two. She had to know more about Jackson’s murder. And Carole Drummond would know more than any other person outside the Sloane family. Or the police department.
Only a few people were at their desks at the agency. “Good afternoon, Maggie,” said Priscilla, Carole’s secretary. “She should be off the telephone in a minute. Why don’t you sit down. I’m afraid we’re a bit understaffed just now. Three of the social workers are out making home visits, and everyone else is on their lunch hour.”
Lunch. Of course. She’d been so focused on Abdullah’s news that she hadn’t bothered to think of the time. “I wanted to talk with Carole about the Sloanes.” She hesitated. “And the antiques show.”
“Such a horrible situation,” said Priscilla. “She should be free in just a few moments.”
Maggie couldn’t relax enough to sit down. She paced the reception area, pausing occasionally to look at the photographs on the wall. Some were of adoptive families; couples and single parents proudly posing with their children. One picture was of the Sloanes, posed in front of their house, perhaps two years ago. Maggie identified a younger-looking Eric. The boy next to him had to be Jackson. He looked like a normal teenage boy, with short hair and glasses. Somehow she hadn’t pictured him wearing glasses. As she looked, she suddenly remembered him in another context. He had taken her United States History to the Civil War class during the fall, but hadn’t registered for the second semester.
There was also a picture she guessed was Hal Hanson and his parents. She’d met them once, she remembered, at a prospective-parents meeting last December. In the picture Hal was slouching, but smiling, between his mother and father. He looked about ten, and, like most ten-year-old boys, not thrilled at having his picture taken. Now his parents were gone, and he was alone again.
Near Priscilla’s desk was a large bulletin board labeled “Waiting Children.” Maggie looked carefully at each face. They ranged from infants to young teenagers of various races and backgrounds. Some were in the United States, some in Asia, some in Latin America, and some in Europe. Children who needed families. She looked carefully at the pictures again. Was one of those children her son or daughter? A week ago she would have said “Yes!” eagerly. Today she wasn’t as sure.
“Maggie.” Carole was standing in the door of her office. “Come on in.”
“I just heard,” said Maggie. “About Jackson. I’m so sorry. I’m new to the OWOC family, and I was only beginning to know the Sloanes, but I had to tell someone how sorry I was.”
“We all are.” The left side of Carole’s usually sleek hair was standing up at an angle, and makeup wasn’t hiding the dark circles under her eyes. “At least Holly was able to go home this morning. But it wasn’t exactly a joyous family reunion.”
“I heard on the news last night that the police had found a body. I didn’t know until this morning that it was Jackson.”
“Some children chasing their dog found him in the back of a wooded lot just outside of Somerville.”
Maggie shuddered. “And the police are sure he was murdered?”
“Rob called me as soon as he’d identified Jackson. He asked me to call other people at OWOC to let them know. That was late last night. I left you a message this morning.”
“I was at the college. I didn’t know until one of the students told me during the volunteers meeting. He’d heard it on the radio.”
“According to Rob, there’ll be an autopsy. But the police said it looked like Jackson had been shot.”
The walls of Carole’s usually bright office seemed to darken. “They’re sure it wasn’t suicide?” Anything, Maggie thought. Anything other than murder.
“They didn’t find a gun.”
They both sat quietly for a moment. Maggie spoke first. “What a horrible reason for Jackson not to come home. And to have people blaming him for Holly’s shooting, when he was shot, too!”
“I guess it’s still an open question as to whether he shot Holly. But it’s obvious that at least one other person was involved. I don’t know what the police are considering now. All I know is that two people connected to OWOC were shot. And someone out there still has a gun, unless they’ve somehow gotten rid of it.” Carole leaned against the wall slightly. “I think we need to talk.”
Maggie nodded. “That’s why I’m here. We’ll be starting the setup for the antiques show tomorrow morning.” Will and Gussie and Ben would be arriving in a few hours. Everything was happening so fast.
Carole looked defeated. “I’ll admit I’m tired. And scared. I don’t want anyone else hurt.” She hesitated only a moment. “Maggie, I’m seriously thinking we should call off the show.”
Maggie sat back in her chair. “I know you want to do the right thing. The safe thing. But stopping the show now would be incredibly complicated. Dealers are already on the road, heading for New Jersey. The contractors would still have to be paid. The agency would end up losing money instead of making it. Besides, if we cancel the show, we’re letting some bully win. We’re giving in to demands from someone we don’t even know.”
“I don’t want anyone else to be hurt,” Carole repeated.
“Have there been any more threatening letters?”
Carole’s fingers gripped the yellow pencil she was holding tightly. “Not yet.”
Maggie hesitated. “This may not be the right time to tell you, but I got a threatening telephone call Monday. I told the police yesterday.”
Carole shook her head and walked across to the window before turning to Maggie. “This can’t continue. I can’t put anyone else in a dangerous situation. Holly and Jackson have already suffered enough for everyone.”
“But if we give in,” Maggie pointed out, “we’ll be leaving the agency open to more intimidation.”
“Then I’m chicken. If it were just you and I in danger, and we decided to risk it, then all right. But we have literally hundreds of people involved in this show now! Even ignoring the major issue of personal safety, what kind of public relations would there be for the agency if we let the show go forward, knowing we’ve been warned, if there’s any kind of trouble! Not to speak of the possibility of a disaster! How would the public feel about Our World Our Children then? And what about the parents and prospective parents and children we work with every day? We were founded to help children. To help families find each other, and stay together. To continue the show now could be encouraging violence. That’s the very opposite of what we stand for.”
Maggie was silent. “If we only knew why this person or people are upset about OWOC. Maybe there’s a middle road. A way the show can go forward, and we can meet the needs of whoever is causing the problem.”
“We’re beyond that now, Maggie. I have to believe the two shootings are part of all of this. Jackson Sloane is dead. T
hat shows what these—terrorists—are willing to do. And I don’t want to play their games.” Carole sat down at her desk and put her head in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up. “You told the police about the call you got?”
Maggie nodded. “They agreed to keep patrols close to the gym, starting when we begin setting up, tomorrow morning. Al Stivali, who used to be a detective and is now head of security at Somerset College, is on board. He’s going to do a walk-through tomorrow morning before anyone gets there, and then stay available. He’s even going to sleep in the gym Friday and Saturday nights.”
“That all sounds good. I’m not questioning that you’ve done your job, Maggie. I’m questioning whether anyone can stop whatever this group or person has planned. And I’m afraid. No matter what we decide to do, it could be wrong. Very wrong.” Carole looked at her with desperation in her eyes.
Maggie nodded. “I know. I’m scared, too.”
“We need to share the decision making. I’m going to call an emergency meeting of the board of Our World Our Children tonight. I’ll ask someone from the local police force to come. Can you be here? Maybe bring the security guy from Somerset College, too.”
“I’ll come. And I’ll see if Al is free. But we have to find out who is threatening OWOC and stop him or them. Canceling the show won’t do that. It will just encourage more demands.”
“I’ll need time to contact everyone, and some people on the board work in New York, or live in Pennsylvania. So—eight thirty tonight. Here.” Carole gestured at the meeting room next to her office.
“At least then everyone involved will be making the decision,” agreed Maggie. “And if the decision is to cancel the show, then we’ll all have to start making calls.”
“Let’s just hope nothing worse happens in the meantime,” said Carole. “I want to do what’s right. For everyone. I just don’t know what ‘right’ is.”
Chapter 22