by A W Hartoin
“No,” she said. “Donatella said not to tell her. You know how it is. She’s the assistant principal. She’d have to do something about him. Donatella didn’t want that. He’s a fabulous science teacher. The kids love him and he stopped after Rob talked to him.”
“Do people think that maybe something was going on between Donnelly and Donatella?” I asked.
She shrugged. “You know how people are. They love to talk.”
“I know all about people talking.”
“I bet you do with a face like that.” Erika smiled. “I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“It depends on the day,” I said. “What’s Donnelly’s first name? I need to exclude him.”
“Calvin.”
I asked her to point me in the direction of Calvin, the lovesick science teacher, and took off down the hall. Calvin was in his room, running an experiment. The door was open and laughter billowed out into the hall. The teacher’s back was to me. He was a large guy. His body said he’d played football at some point. It was probably at the college level, if I went by the size of his thighs. Calvin stood at a stainless steel-topped table, pouring a greenish liquid into a beaker and producing a pillar of steam, oblivious to me.
“Who can tell me why that happened?” he asked.
Half the class raised their hands and the other half looked as though they wanted to. A great science teacher. A great suspect. No doubt about it. A science teacher would be able to figure out how to poison a couple of kids. He’d have the science, the planning ability, but not the access. He’d need a partner to get the bacteria into the kids.
Several kids got called on, giving various answers that were almost right. Calvin made every one of them feel like they won the lottery. There was clapping and high fives. One of the girls noticed me in the door and Calvin turned around with a broad smile on his face. “Come in! exclaimed the ghost —come in! and know me better, man!”
A third of the kids’ hands shot up.
“LaDonna!” shouted Calvin.
“A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. The character is the Ghost of Christmas Present!” LaDonna had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen in her dark brown smiling face.
“We have a winner!” Calvin launched something at LaDonna.
She caught it and announced, “Bit O’honey!”
There was more clapping and I wasn’t sure what to do. Calvin grinned at me again. “Sorry about that. I head the Lit Club. Come on in.”
I smiled back. Calvin Donnelly’s class was infectious. Why weren’t any of my science teachers like that? I had the Ferris Bueller-type teachers, droning on and on, making you want to stab yourself with a spork just to escape.
“Actually,” I said, “could you maybe step out into the hall?”
“Certainly. Class, go over your notes on combustion. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Calvin joined me in the hall and I closed the door behind him. That peaked his curiosity. His rather grizzled eyebrows went up. Calvin Donnelly had multiple scars. One split his left eyebrow in half. I was wrong about the football. It was probably heavy-weight boxing.
“We haven’t met, have we?” he asked. “I’m sure I’d remember someone like you.”
“We haven’t. I’m a friend of Donatella Berry.”
His face fell. All the joy vanished in a blink. “Poor Donatella. How is she? How are the kids?”
“They’re recovering. Donatella is pretty much how you’d expect.” I told him why I was there, talking to him specifically.
“You don’t think I poisoned Donatella’s kids. I’d never in a million years do something like that,” said Calvin.
“I’d like to cross you off my list,” I said.
“Well, cross me off. There’s no way.”
“You were giving Donatella some trouble at the beginning of the school year.”
Calvin blushed and it looked ridiculous on his weathered cheeks. “Yeah, I admit I was an idiot. I was new to the school and, well, you’ve met Donatella. She’s beautiful. I’ve always had a weakness for the red-heads. I lost my mind. I admit it. Her husband, Rob, called me and I stopped. I’m embarrassed to say it took his voice to bring me back to reality, but it did.”
“You talked to Rob?”
“He called and told me to knock it off and I did.”
“That’s it?”
Calvin shrugged his huge shoulders. “That’s it. Seriously, how are the kids? Colton going to be alright?”
“You know Colton?”
“Yeah. He’s a great kid. Whip smart. Love that kid.”
“Kathy said he was a handful.”
Calvin made a face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but some female teachers have a hard time connecting with boys. They don’t like the activity level or the noise. Colton is a lot, but in a good way. I’ll take five Coltons over some kid who couldn’t rustle up the imagination to cause trouble.”
“How do you know him so well?” I asked.
“He was in my Christmas break robotics camp. He picked it up like that.” Calvin snapped his fingers.
I watched Calvin’s face and body language carefully. I didn’t see any signs of lying. Good eye contact. No inappropriate facial expressions or looking to the left when answering questions. Unless he was a sociopath, Calvin Donnelly was telling the truth. He came off better than the other Berrys. He asked about the kids and more than once, too. Calvin couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary the day Donatella left early, but he was pretty distracted. The science kids were going nutty in the room without supervision. They’d be throwing beakers in a second.
“I have to go back,” he said.
I thanked Calvin and gave him my card. “If you think of anything that might help Donatella, please give me a call.”
“I will,” he said, flinging open the door. “Jefferson put that down.”
Calvin ran into the science room and I made a few quick notes on my phone. Not too much to say. So far the other Berrys were the best suspects as far as motive went. But Calvin Donnelly was at least in the state when the kids were infected and spurned love was nothing to ignore. But if Calvin did it, I’d have to be medicated for depression. Great science teachers are hard to find.
I finished my notes and went back to the office. Kathy was there and said she’d walk me out, amid the echoing sobs of Chelsea. I glimpsed her curled up in a chair in the waiting room outside Kathy’s office. She was shaking and bright red.
“She’s very sensitive.” Kathy’s eyes were redder and she looked on the verge of breaking down herself. “This has hit us all very hard. The whole family. I don’t even know what to say. We’ve sent flowers. Will you give Donatella our love when you see her?”
I said I would and I left with a new suspect, but not a good one.
Chapter Eleven
MY FIRST BEIGNET was bliss. My second was filling and my third was completely uncalled for. Those little rectangles of fried dough were exactly what I needed, not to mention the mountain of powdered sugar. The coffee wasn’t bad, either, nice and milky. The Café Du Monde was about half full and I didn’t have to stalk anyone to get a table, which was a new experience for me. I ordered another coffee and decided I’d had enough sugar to brace myself for a call to Uncle Morty. I promised to check in and, to be honest, I was a little lonely. I kept expecting Aaron to plop down in a chair next to me, but the chair remained empty. I couldn’t help but wonder when that little weirdo would show up. I hoped he would. Aaron wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but my own thoughts weren’t as scintillating as you’d think. My head was downright boring on the inside.
I dialed and held the phone a good inch from my ear as protection from the inevitable bellow.
“What?” Uncle Morty burst out.
“It’s me, checking in,” I said.
“I know. I got caller ID. Hurry it up. I gotta go.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I got a life.”
That w
as up for debate. Uncle Morty barely left his apartment. He was a world-famous epic fantasy author and worked as a hacker, just for fun. He barely left his apartment.
“I went to Donatella’s work. I’ve got a crappy suspect for you.”
“Define crappy.”
I told him Calvin’s history with Donatella and not surprisingly, he liked him for it. Morty liked him for the shooting, too. Get rid of the kids and the husband and Calvin might figure he could pick up the pieces. Hideous crimes have been committed for less.
“He says they were all good,” I said.
“Yeah, right.”
“Colton was in his Christmas break camp. They wouldn’t put their kid in Calvin’s camp if it wasn’t over.”
“Maybe he’s lying,” said Uncle Morty. “Did you confirm this camp with the principal?”
“Well…”
“Idiot. I gotta do everything.”
“Everything? I’m in New Orleans.”
“And I’m at the airport. Gotta go. Security.”
“Oh my god. Where are you going? Not here. I don’t—”
He hung up on me. Groan. Double groan. If Uncle Morty was coming, he wouldn’t be alone. He’d bring Aaron, Rodney, and possibly a slew of his Dungeons and Dragons cronies. They’d expect to stay with me and Nana’s weird cat. That house wasn’t big enough for me and that many nerds. Aaron I’d accept, but the rest of them? No way.
I tried calling him back. No answer. Nobody answered. I thought about calling Mom but she’d just ask what I was wearing. I’d end up getting lectured twice in one day. Dad would be okay. He didn’t care what I wore, but his phone went to voice mail. Who else could I call? I had to know how many nerds I was dealing with, so I could book the hotel rooms and somehow get them to stay there instead. Pete. I hated to admit it, but my doctor boyfriend was a full-out nerd, gaming, lightsabers, the whole deal. He’d know when to expect my nerd crew. If I could get a hold of him, that is.
Pete answered on the first ring. Weird. “Mercy, how’s the investigation going?”
“Hi. I can’t believe I caught you in between patients.”
“Patients? There’s no patients today. Am I right, guys?” Pete said away from the phone. That was when I picked up the hubbub around him and it wasn’t hospital hubbub either.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“The airport, of course.”
Yes! I could cry. I really could.
“You’re at the airport. Really. That’s great.” I could take the guys if Pete was with them. I’d fit them all in somewhere. They could game in the living room all night and smell like very old tacos. I didn’t care.
“I’m surprised,” said Pete. “I thought you might, ya know, think it was lame.”
“Lame? Why would I ever think it was lame?”
“You know, all the costumes.”
Costumes?
“Costumes? It’s not Mardi Gras.”
“It is in Portland.” There was a bunch of whooping around Pete and my heart sank. I could hear Uncle Morty and Rodney in the background. Aaron would be there. They didn’t go anywhere without Aaron.
“Portland?” I asked.
Pete’s voice got softer. “You got my note, right?”
“Note?”
“I left it for you with the chocolate. I didn’t get an answer, so I thought you might be mad. It’s the Portland Comic-Con. We’re all going for three days. I asked you to go in the note before this whole Berry thing came up.”
That damn Skanky.
“I think Skanky ate the note.”
“Not possible. I hid it in the cookie jar.”
“He broke it,” I said.
“Oh damn. I thought it was safe in there. Did he eat the chocolate?”
“I got to see it recycled all over him.”
“I’m so sorry. How can that cat be so smart and so stupid at the same time? I’ll buy you a new cookie jar. How about a Game of Thrones cookie jar?”
“What would that be? Like a severed head?”
“That would be sweet.”
I gulped down my burning hot coffee and said, “Got to go. Have a good time.”
“Mercy?” said Pete. “Did you think we were coming to New Orleans?”
“Kinda.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear. In the meantime, have fun investigating by yourself. You always hate it when Aaron tags along.”
“Yeah, I do hate it.”
We hung up and I looked around the café. I think my bottom lip poked out a little. What a loser. I could investigate on my own. I could be by myself. No problem. What was wrong with me? So the skinny doctor and the little weirdo were going to Portland. I was in the Big Easy. If I couldn’t find a party, I may as well give up on life itself.
I paid my bill and took off to Jackson Square, enduring the whistles and catcalls that came with that part of the Quarter. For some reason, men think rude hand gestures are a compliment. I’m here to say, they are not. Two obnoxious businessmen, carrying bloody marys, followed me down the street. They loudly debated whether or not I was female and how I liked it. I considered showing them my Mauser or, at the very least, giving them a squirt of pepper spray. But I hailed a cab instead and left them in a sudden tropical shower that they so richly deserved.
The cab took me to the far side of the CBD and dropped me at Rob’s office in a grey concrete building that looked like it shouldn’t have been in the same state as the French Quarter, much less the same city. The Central Business District was a towering concrete maze. I avoided it at all costs, since I usually got lost.
I went into a sumptuous lobby and headed up to the fifteenth floor. The doors opened and the temperature dropped twenty degrees. I should’ve brought a sweater. Mom told me to. I wouldn’t be mentioning the cold unless I wanted another lecture.
Schwartz Realty took up half the floor and their lobby was filled with antiques that were probably new, but made to look old. I longed to look under the end tables. Posers.
“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist, a young woman wearing so much blue eyeshadow I was surprised she could open her eyes. It was thick, like it was done with crayon.
I gave her dad’s card and told her I wanted to see Rob’s boss.
“Mr. Schwarz is with a client right now. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. It’s about Rob Berry’s murder.”
The receptionist gulped and the other clients in the waiting room perked up. Murder in New Orleans wasn’t exactly rare, but in that office it was.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
I perched on a hard leather sofa for exactly seven seconds when the receptionist rushed back in. “Mrs. Schwartz will see you now. Right this way.”
She led me through a warren of wood-paneled halls covered in tasteful paintings of the city. One wall had a row of portraits of the company’s top realtors with their names engraved on brass placards underneath. The largest was of the founder, Mr. Jared Schwartz, a lantern-jawed man with close-set eyes and a forced smile. The row of portraits was long and Rob Berry was near the end, smiling out at me.
“Wait a second,” I said, backtracking to his picture. Since I’d avoided the media coverage of the Tulio murders, I’d never seen Rob Berry’s picture. He came as a surprise. Given Donatella’s looks, I expected a stunner along the lines of Chuck, but Rob was average at best with a soft doughy face and thinning hair. He did have kind eyes. The eyes got me. Donatella must’ve loved his eyes.
There was a sniff next to me and I turned to the receptionist. Her lower lip was scrunched up tight, like she was fighting back a sob.
“Nice picture,” I said.
“Yes,” she squeaked out.
“Did you know him well?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I patted her shoulder and she buried her face in her hands. Wrong thing to say, I guess. Her sobs went up in pitch and I looked around the hall for clue where to take her, but all the doors were clo
sed. I wasn’t confident I could retrace my steps back to reception. Heck, I got lost in St. Louis and I lived there.
A door opened at the end of the hall. A blond woman stepped out and what a woman. She was six feet tall and built like Kim Kardashian with curves that put mine to shame and I’m no beanpole.
“Sheila, I’m waiting,” she said in a husky voice that reminded me of my dad when he’d gone on a drinking binge after a tough case.
Sheila wiped her eyes and straightened up. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Schwartz.”
“I haven’t got all day. Move it along. You can cry on your own time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sheila touched my elbow. “This way.”
She took me into Mrs. Schwartz’s office and sat me in a Scandinavian-style chair. The whole office was done in blond wood and clean lines, jarring after the dark-paneled hall. Mrs. Schwartz sat down behind her glass-topped desk and steepled her fingers. “That will be all, Sheila.”
Sheila started to say something, but thought better of it. She left, closing the door behind her.
“So you work for Donatella Berry,” said Mrs. Schwartz.
“I’m looking into the poisoning of her children. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
She leaned forward and placed her chin on her perfectly manicured hands. Actually, everything was perfect about Mrs. Schwartz in a weird way. She wasn’t beautiful, but she did a damn good impression of it. Her makeup was flawless. She almost looked sculpted with the way the blush worked with the bronzer to hollow out her cheeks. Her hair was in an updo and there was no way she did that herself. It flowed back in carefully designed waves that were fascinating. It reminded me of a Lego figure’s hair.
“What would you like to know?”
I went on to ask her all the standard questions. Problems, enemies, blah, blah, blah. Her answers were just as standard. Everything was “no” until I got to Donatella. When I asked about their relationship, a flicker of dislike passed over Mrs. Schwartz’s finely-tuned features.
“You don’t like her,” I said.
Her head jerked back. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. What’s the deal?”