“I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to you yesterday, but I did see Jason in the paper. Must do you proud to have a celebrity in the house.”
“I’d prefer any fame in this house be derived from something more constructive,” Dan said, spearing a bit of egg with his free hand, “but I figure let him enjoy it while it lasts.” May it not linger, either, he wanted to add.
“Oh, sheesh,” Mrs. Wallis’s voice faded away briefly, and Dan heard a bone-shattering cough on the other end of the line. Surely she wasn’t enjoying a smoke so soon after breakfast, he thought. Worse yet, in lieu of breakfast.
“I wish I had your discipline, getting up so early to go to church,” she continued. “If anything, you can pray for me, considering I’m going to need all the help I can get with what I’m about to do.”
“You’re quitting smoking,” Dan guessed happily, then suddenly felt ashamed for having blurted it out the way he did, as if expressing joy over the departure of an annoying relative.
Jason looked up from his breakfast. “Mrs. Wallis is quitting smoking?”
Edna chortled phone static. “Dan, I don’t think even God could help me give that up! I am quitting, though...retiring, actually.”
“Retiring?” Dan felt his breath escape him, like somebody had flattened his stomach. Mrs. Edna Wallis was going to retire after thirty-five years. Mrs. Wallis was as much a staple at Colley High as...well, everything. To him it seemed that as long as the school had existed, so had she as its complement. As advanced English teachers they worked closely together for years; aside from Willie now, he felt closer to no other teacher than Edna.
“You’re not serious?” he said at last. Jason, his attention now wholly focused on the phone call, scooted his chair and leaned forward to hear better.
“It’s time, Dan,” Edna said. “I’m thinking about the summer coming on, and how I used to look forward to its end so the fall would bring another year of work, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I think of going to see my grandchildren, and not coming back.”
“Wow.” Dan turned his back away from Jason and sprinkled a few drops of Tabasco on his eggs. “You’re sure you want to do this? Is this official?”
“It will be Monday. I wanted you to be the first to know, of course. I imagine Jason will be second if he’s standing there with you.”
“Well, don’t worry, it won’t go further than this kitchen if you say the word,” Dan assured her, casting a sharp glance at his son, who looked back innocently and said, “What?”
“Ah, say what you will to whomever. It’ll be news in due time anyway.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Dan sighed. “Who could possibly replace you? Hopefully somebody I can get along with, somebody—”
“Like Willie, you think?” Edna hinted. “Come on, Dan, don’t tell me that thought didn’t flash in your mind.”
In truth it had not, until Edna mentioned Willie’s name and therefore put the suggestion into Dan’s brain. That Willie was capable of teaching advanced level courses was a given, for she had received above average evaluations every year, thus far, of her career at Colley High. Her years at other schools where she taught were equally fruitful. Only lack of seniority and the honors teachers’ tendencies to remain at their jobs prevented her from moving upward to such a coveted position, which ultimately came with a classroom.
What a classroom Edna Wallis had, too, right next door to Dan’s. No more pushing a cart all over creation. No more trudging clear across the building for small talk.
“Personally, I think Willie would make a great AP person,” Edna confided. “I’ve seen her teach. She’s very enthusiastic about her lessons and it shows by looking at her kids. You never see heads slumped over elbows.”
“She’s got the touch,” Dan readily agreed. “I wish it was contagious, so we could all be as effective. The trick is getting Rockwell to realize that.” Principal Marvin Rockwell was a satisfactory administrator, pleasant at faculty functions, but everyone was aware of his tendency to kiss up to the school board bigwigs in hopes of building power, even at the expense of the school. Lawrence Brantley, Dan knew, tended to kiss the man’s ass as Rockwell repeated the gesture with the school superintendent. Dan imagined an entire chain of command, all bent over with suction cup lips affixed to one another’s backsides, and grimaced.
He bade farewell to Mrs. Wallis and rang off, scraping the last of his breakfast into the garbage disposal. After picturing Brantley puckering up to Rockwell’s ample tush, who could eat?
Jason, his chair back to the kitchen wall, was sweeping over the comics page of the morning paper. “Mrs. Wallis finally calling it quits, then?” he asked.
“It appears so.”
“Think she’ll cancel our final to celebrate?”
“I doubt it.” Dan’s voice was dry. “Who was that first call that got you so spooked?”
Jason peered up from Hi and Lois, and Dan noticed his son’s face and hands grow tense. “Well, I answered I heard this deep voice say, ‘You’re next, punk!’ and then he hung up before I could say anything.”
“What? Jason!” Dan gasped. “You were threatened, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Bailey called right afterward,” Jason shrugged, calmer this time. “I couldn’t star sixty-nine the call. Anyway, as you were talking on the phone I got to thinking, and I figured it was just some nut with nothing better to do than call and bug me.” He tossed his last bite of bacon into Ringo’s waiting mouth. “I also thought maybe it was Gooch or one of the other guys calling, too.”
“That being the case, Gooch would do better to stick to baseball and leave the comedy to the professionals, not to mention those who are more sensitive.”
Once more, the phone receiver chirped on the breakfast table. Jason, wide-eyed and half-expecting the device to attack, scooted his chair back a foot. Twice, three times, then four, the phone’s alarm rose into an incessant shriek, demanding to be answered.
Jason rose and backed out of the kitchen. “I’m not here, unless it’s Mitch calling to see if I need a ride to work,” he said. “I gotta get ready to go anyway.” With that, he disappeared up the stairs, Ringo in tow.
Dan pressed the talk button. “If you’re the press, no comment. If you’re a prank caller, get a life.”
“Dan?” called out a bewildered Willie. “A simple ‘hello’ would have sufficed.”
He smiled. “If you’re my lady, please hold for a quick apology and an invitation to lunch where I’ll be happy to explain everything.”
* * * *
He took her to Doumar’s on Granby Street, a local institution established by the alleged inventor of the ice cream cone. Today customers could still park their cars underneath bright orange covers to be waited upon by carhops and enjoy delicious barbecue sandwiches and fresh squeezed limeade. Dan, however, saw little comfort in trying to eat with his knees pressed up against the steering column, and instead escorted Willie inside where they perched on swiveling round barstools, with Dan’s knees pressed up against the counter.
Willie plunged two straws into a drugstore-style vanilla shake and helped herself to a long pull before Dan could get any. “Maybe I should order my own, seeing as how we’re below sea level here,” Dan teased, pointing to the now half-empty glass.
“Hey now,” Willie began defensively. “I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
“That’s hardly what I would call a healthy start for the day.”
Willie curled a protective arm around the glass. “I’ll remember that as you’re eating your hamburger and fries.”
As they ate lunch, Dan summarized for Willie the morning’s events, starting with Mrs. Wallis’s retirement and ending with Jason’s adventures in fielding phone calls. He was surprised to see Willie did not show any interest about the pending vacancy at Colley High.
“Oh, I’ll apply,” she said, resigned. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve seen Rockwell and Brantley strolling the ha
lls together, all buddy-buddy. He’d just love to get his hands on that job.” Willie stabbed the ice in her water glass with her straw.
“Don’t sell yourself short, now. Lawrence might not want the added responsibility.”
“He might with all that extra AP money to be had. I wouldn’t put it past him to funnel all the money into Drama, either, and make the English kids use old textbooks and recycled tests. The way he carries on sometimes, you’d think he was trying to get Tony Awards for everybody.”
Dan had to admit that Lawrence Brantley could be zealous at time when giving his lessons, particularly raising the ire of other teachers by placing an arts elective above the core courses in terms of importance. Still, Lawrence ran an effective program, one of the best in the Hampton Roads area. Many of his students over the past five years had gone on to attend the country’s finer arts schools, and some could occasionally be seen in locally-produced television commercials.
“If it’s any consolation, Edna said she’d rather see you get the job.” Willie glibly stole a French fry from Dan’s plate. “I’d rather see me in the job, too, and in a classroom, instead of having to push around that damn cart. But even if I didn’t get the job, I’ll take the free classroom. I have to be next on the list for that, at least.” She ate the fry and fished for another one. “So, anyway, what about Jason? Don’t you think you should have called the police about that phone call?”
“I thought about it, but Jason didn’t seem too concerned when he told me what happened, just momentarily stunned.” Dan refreshed the puddle of ketchup on his plate, seeing as how Willie was depleting it. “We couldn’t even star sixty-nine the call to get the number, because B-, er, Edna called right afterward. We don’t who it was.”
“I might just call them anyway, if it persists,” he added as the counter waitress cleared their plates. “But the more I think about it, maybe the call was bogus after all. Lord knows I’ve had my share from students over the years.”
“Thank you,” Willie agreed heartily. “I think the school board should have to spring for Caller ID for all of us.”
“I’d just as soon pitch the phone in the garbage,” Dan muttered, “like Father Ben and his television. I’m sure it’s just one more thing the devil invented to get on our nerves.”
“We don’t have to be home tonight,” Willie said. “Let the answering machine do its job.”
“Wanna go to Book Bonanza and spy on my son?”
Willie gently pushed Dan. “I thought you weren’t worried about Jason.”
“I’m always worried about Jason. See this.” Dan pointed to a strand of hair sprouting from the front of his head. “This used to be dark brown, like the rest of them. Jason did that!”
“By doing what?”
“By turning eighteen.”
“Hmm.” Willie inspected the lightened patch of hair. “At least you’re not blaming me for it.”
“Actually, yours are around the sideburns—”
“Hey.” Willie cut him off abruptly. “Talk to the hand.”
* * * *
Had Dan been serious about his suggestion to spy on Jason at Book Bonanza, he may have been surprised to see that his son spent his entire work shift without a thought of the late Bart Scarsdale. Truth was, the store was mobbed from the time the doors opened, and Jason was too busy restocking shelves and replenishing the John Grisham display to think of anything else besides books. Crank phone calls and murder mysteries simmered in the back burner of his mind, heating up only during his one fifteen-minute break.
He was skimming a phone book in the employee’s lounge when a familiar voice crackled over the PA system, blotting out the Musak. “Jason to the front, please,” Mitch buzzed in his professional tone, “Jason to the front.”
Jason sighed and slapped the tome shut, but not before jotting down a phone number on a stray magazine subscription postcard. He finished his soda and stormed back onto the sales floor, ready to blast his friend for calling him back to the floor early.
“Hey, you were paged personally, don’t kill the messenger,” Mitch said in his defense. “Behind you.”
Caitlin, her back to both of them, leaned tentatively over the Grisham display and studied the slick cover of a book propped up on an acrylic stand. Jason deftly pulled the standing life-size cutout of the author closer and ducked behind it. “Evening, ma’am,” he addressed gruffly from behind John Grisham’s cardboard smile. “Wanna buy a book?”
Caitlin looked up and yelped, knocking over the book and nearly causing a domino effect with the stack of hardcovers next to it. “You creep!” She pushed the cutout and Jason rocked backward on his heels. The force created a dent just below John Grisham’s cardboard collarbone.
“Easy now.” Jason set the cutout at the head of the table. “Watch the merchandise. Greta says she wants this thing when we’re done with it.”
“What for?” Caitlin wrinkled her brows.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll tack it over her bed or something.” He rubbed his hands together as Caitlin giggled. “So, can I interest you in the latest legal thriller? Thirty percent off the cover price.”
Caitlin regarded the display. “You know, if you were to use your employee discount, I could get it for half off.”
“Sixty percent,” Mitch corrected her from the register. “But only if you ask nicely.”
“Pretty please?” Caitlin fluttered eyelashes crusted thick with brown mascara and pouted like a child.
Jason took a hardcover and loped behind the register, placing the book on a shelf reserved for pending employee purchases. “Pay me later,” he said. “So what’s up? If you wanted the book this badly, Mitch could’ve done it for you. You didn’t have to page me.”
“I know.” Caitlin flushed slightly and shuffled her feet; Jason detected the sudden change in her demeanor. Usually a poised, confident girl in class, Caitlin now appeared to be struggling for something to say. Why she would be acting this way toward him was a mystery to Jason; the two had been friends for years, quite comfortable palling around with each other. Puberty did little to change his platonic feelings towards her, and he had always assumed that said feelings were mutual.
Of course, Jason knew the old saying about people who assume, but he figured if Caitlin’s new shyness was attributed to a secret crush it did not make sense for her to act that way. Caitlin was normally straightforward.
“I just wanted to see if you were feeling better, you know, after that friend of yours got killed.”
“Well, he wasn’t exactly a friend, but thanks,” Jason began, then his voice faded into silence. The phone call from earlier was now clearer in his memory. You’re next, punk! The voice was shrill and evil, cackling so sharply through the receiver Jason thought he had been bitten. Who was it? It sounded like nobody he knew; hearing Caitlin and Mitch chatter behind him confirmed that.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” Caitlin said easily, touching a hand to her shoulder to push her bra strap back underneath her shirt collar. “You’re hanging with a guy and next thing you know he’s dead. That’d freak me out, too.”
Jason fingered the folded postcard in his back pocket and opened his mouth to speak when Caitlin casually wondered aloud was there something that could be done for the family.
“Actually, he was single,” Jason said. “That’s what I gathered from his obit in the paper today. I had this thought, though.” He brought forth the postcard but stopped when he caught sight of Greta approaching from the corner of his eye. Though business was quiet at the moment, he knew Greta was not the type of manager to permit employees to socialize on the clock. You got time to lean, you got time to clean was the slogan printed on the plaque in her office and Greta stood by the motto, even if it was grammatically incorrect.
“Yo, Jase,” Mitch tossed a rag in the air and Jason immediately set about wiping away book dust in the humor shelves. Greta’s attention was thankfully diverted by a customer, and Caitlin dashed through the coffee table
art books section and met Jason on the other side.
“Do me a favor?” Jason asked.
“Sure.”
“You got a pen and paper?”
“In my purse.”
Jason handed her the postcard. “We’re not off for another hour yet, but I need to call this number for some info. Will you do it for me and come back when I’m off?”
Caitlin readily agreed and listened closely to Jason’s instructions. His ideas became all the more clearer to her. “You’re sure you want to do this?” she asked. “It sounds kinda weird.”
Jason nodded. “You mentioned if we could do something. It’s the best I could do, anyway.”
“You want company?”
Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial) Page 50