by Kylie Logan
She was almost afraid to ask. “What did you tell Lindsey?”
Eileen’s shrug spoke volumes. “I told him he was barking up the wrong tree.”
“Did he believe you?”
“He…” She twitched away the memory. “He reminded me … like I needed the reminder … that at the time of her death, I was on the verge of firing Bernadette and that she’d threatened to sue. He said I had plenty of motive since Bernadette might have ended up with a big settlement and the school couldn’t afford it. A court case would have been bad for our bottom line and it would have made me look like the captain of a sinking ship. He mentioned in passing…” Eileen’s expression twisted. “He just so happened to mention that I’m the only one with a key to the fourth floor.”
“But are you?” It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to Jazz until that moment, and from the look of surprise on Eileen’s face she hadn’t thought of it, either. “There must have been other keys, right?” Jazz warmed to the thought. “Back in the day. There must have been all kinds of keys to all the rooms in the building. How do you know you have the only one to the fourth floor?”
Eileen’s shoulders rose and fell. “I guess I always thought…”
“And while we’re questioning that, let’s take a look at some of the other facts we’ve always assumed. Like, how do we know some of the other people who had a beef with Bernadette might not have been here in school that day?” Jazz dropped back into her chair and tapped her keyboard.
Eileen came around the desk so she could lean over her shoulder.
“What are you looking for?”
“Records.”
“Lindsey asked for a copy,” Eileen told her. “I sent over all of December of that year.”
“Except we know we don’t need to look through all of December. Bernadette was alive and kicking most of December. We know that for a fact because she was here every day. We saw her. The real question is, what about that last day of school before break?” Jazz found the date she was looking for and glanced over the screen. “Look!” She didn’t need to point it out since Eileen could see the screen, but Jazz did anyway. Her finger tapped on a name. “Leon Campbell signed in that day. So did his wife. They were helping clean out Taryn’s locker.”
“My goodness!” Taking in the news, Eileen stood up straight. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“And I can check their personal records, but my guess is that Cammi and Juliette were both here in school that day, too.”
Eileen’s face went pale. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think. I know the girls weren’t crazy about Bernadette, but something tells me Cammi and Juliette took it to a whole new level. And I’m not just talking about that poor cat.”
“Maybe I never should have given them all a second chance after that cat incident.” Eileen never second-guessed her decisions, but before Jazz could remind her she went right on. “Look at what happened with Taryn. I’ve been keeping an eye on Cammi and Juliette, but—”
“But it all went down at the same time,” Jazz reminded her. “You tried to intervene with Bernadette; you offered her a different job. She threatened to sue. We found out what Taryn was up to with that scholarship essay of hers. The way I remember it, it was a mess!”
“And not the best Christmas ever,” Eileen admitted. “It would have been even worse if we knew.” She cleared the emotion from her throat with a cough. “About Bernadette.”
“There was nothing we could do about it then, but we can do something about it now.”
Jazz kept reading her computer screen and the listing of key card swipes and sign-ins for that last day before Christmas break.
Like most days before breaks, that Wednesday had been a busy one. The school choir was in and out, according to the log-in. They’d gone to a nearby nursing home to visit the residents and sing Christmas carols. There was the usual coming and going of lower-class parents because both the seventh and eighth grades hosted parties for kids at a nearby Head Start preschool and volunteer parents went along to help. As a special treat for the kids, Jazz had taken Manny and the two of them passed out candy canes. A rep from a limo company came by to arrange transportation for a group of seniors in AP Lit who would be going to a Shakespeare performance in downtown Cleveland right after break.
“And there was a pizza delivery,” Jazz said, reading the words on the screen.
Eileen bent nearer. “Look who ordered it,” she said, and pointed. “Bernadette. That’s odd. Didn’t she always bring her lunch to school?”
“Except the pizza didn’t come at lunchtime; it came after school. And look who delivered it while I was still out at the Head Start party.” Stunned, Jazz stared at the screen that showed a scan of the form the pizza delivery guy had signed when he showed up. “Sam Tillner.”
* * *
With more than three hundred thousand burials, Calvary was the largest Catholic cemetery in the Cleveland area.
Jazz wasn’t intimidated by its size or by the neighborhood that was far from her Tremont home and, so, unfamiliar. She’d done her homework. She’d talked to Eddie Simpson, who lived not too far from the cemetery, and found out the easiest and quickest way to get there. She’d checked the cemetery’s online records, too, before she left school that afternoon. She knew exactly where to find Ben and Agnes Quinn.
Finding her way around the massive cemetery with its twisting roads and endless lines of tombstones, angels, and crosses was another thing altogether and she got turned around a few times before she finally came across the marker for section eighty-five, the section listed on the prayer cards they’d passed out at Bernadette’s memorial service. She parked and double-checked the map of the cemetery they’d given her at the office near the front gate. When she got out of the car, she looked toward where she thought the grave of Bernadette’s parents should be, and caught her breath.
She was in luck!
There was a man standing over one of the graves in that direction and yeah, he could have been visiting anybody. But this man was short and squat and his dark hair, blown up and around his head by a late-spring breeze, was just as shaggy as it had been the day Bernadette’s body was found and Jazz saw him pacing the sidewalk that circled the park across the street from St. Catherine’s. In spite of the fact that it was a warm evening, he was wearing the same navy-blue windbreaker.
She was grateful that she’d caught a break. But not nearly as grateful as she was curious.
She took her time walking over to where he stood with his head down and his shoulders rolled forward. She didn’t want to spook him. She didn’t want him to turn and run toward a blue Chevy pickup, the only other vehicle parked nearby. Instead, she glanced at the headstones that dotted the ground all around her like autumn leaves, quietly reading over name after name while she prepared herself for what she was about to do, all she was about to say.
She started with “Hello” when she was still a couple rows away from where Bernadette’s cremains had been interred next to the graves of her parents, and when the man looked up, startled because he thought he was alone, there were tears on his cheeks.
“You’re here to visit Bernadette.”
He scrubbed his knuckles over his face, sniffled. “You…” Collecting himself, he looked away and cleared his throat. “You knew her?”
“We worked together.” Jazz closed in on the grave. The gray granite tombstone that marked Ben and Agnes’s final resting place was undisturbed, but the ground next to it had been recently turned over. She offered the man a smile. “Were you a friend?”
He didn’t seem to know the answer. He poked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “They say she’s been dead three years. Three years! Why didn’t anyone know?”
“You were at the memorial service.”
He nodded. “They wouldn’t let the public in. Except for the people on a special list. They knew there would be gawkers. There are always gawkers, aren’t there?”
/> “But you got in.”
Another nod. “I talked to some guy named Eddie. I told him…” He looked down at the mound of freshly turned earth. “I told him I knew Bernadette and I wasn’t on the list, but I wanted to pay my respects. I slipped him a few bucks, and I pointed out that one more person … well, I told him how it would hardly make a difference.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean Eddie hadn’t broken the rules and risked school security. Jazz wondered if she’d mention it to Eileen, and while she wondered it she played the only card in her hand.
“It wasn’t the first time you were in the school, up in the chapel.”
He’d been absorbed in his grief, but now his head came up, his eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. Because you were seen up there. With Bernadette.”
“We were … I was…” He pulled his hands from his pockets so he could run them through his hair. It left him looking more disheveled than ever. “I’m Mark Mercer,” he said. “Forestall, Clemons, and Stout. I was helping Bernadette with some legal issues.”
“You’re an attorney.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m a paralegal. We met the first time she came to the office to talk to Odessa Harper about taking her case. Bernadette…” As if waiting for permission, he looked down at the mound of lumpy earth. “I suppose keeping her confidence doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I know what was going on. There was talk about Bernadette’s contract being terminated.” It was as much as Jazz was willing to reveal. Let him think the information came directly from Bernadette and not because she took notes at the meetings Eileen had with the board and the school’s attorney.
“It was totally wrong. They weren’t the least bit justified. At least…” He kicked one foot through the grass.
“At least…?” Jazz waited for more.
“Well, if Bernadette told you about the dismissal, then I’m sure she told you what the so-called problem was. That principal, she wanted Bernadette to get counseling.”
“Did she tell you why?” Jazz asked him.
He stuffed his hands back in his pockets. Brought them out again. “They didn’t appreciate everything Bernadette did for those girls,” Mercer insisted. “She was kind and caring. She wanted what was best for them.”
“Did she tell you why they wanted to terminate her contract?”
He blew out a breath. “If you’re talking about the angels … well, that was supposed to be confidential. Nobody was supposed to know about that.”
“Except Bernadette told me.” That was true at least, so Jazz didn’t feel guilty saying it.
“That doesn’t mean she was crazy.”
“Nobody said she was.”
“I know … I know it sounds a little weird.” He walked a circular path around the grave and ended up back where he’d started. “The first time Bernadette told me about it, I’ll admit I thought it was a little crazy, too.”
“Did Odessa Harper think it was crazy?”
Mercer studied Jazz closely. “You know I can’t tell you that. That would violate attorney-client privilege.”
“Except your client is dead. And you’re not her attorney.”
“And it’s not my place…” Like he was cold, he shivered. “It’s not my place to talk about what Ms. Harper might or might not have thought. I can only speak for myself.”
“And you thought it was crazy. That’s what you said.”
“I said at first I thought it was crazy. But who are any of us to judge? You were a friend of Bernadette’s; you know how she could be. She was so zealous, so filled with certainty. If anyone could talk to angels, it would be Bernadette. She was devoted to her beliefs. Maybe too much so.”
“The two of you argued.”
He pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly. “I wondered if anyone saw us, and how long it would be until someone remembered. It doesn’t mean anything. We had a difference of opinion, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I killed her.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Because he was looking at the ground again, Jazz tipped her head to try to catch his eye. “What was your difference of opinion about?”
“Why does it matter? It was three years ago, and that night we argued, that was the last time…” He choked over the words. “That was the last time I saw Bernadette. It must have been just a couple days after that she…” His words trailed off.
“It sounds like you knew her pretty well. Did she ever talk about anyone who she thought might want to hurt her?” Jazz wondered.
“Did she ever mention that to you?” he countered.
It was another opportunity to be honest and Jazz took it. “No.”
“Not even that Sister Eileen? The one in charge of that school?”
“Bernadette was…” She chose her words carefully. Now that she thought about it, she did remember a time when Bernadette swore Eileen was out to get her. But that wasn’t the same as hurting her, was it? It wasn’t the same as murder.
“Bernadette was understandably upset by all that was happening. She loved teaching.”
Mercer nodded. “She did. It’s all she ever wanted in her life. But that Sister Eileen, she wasn’t going to let that happen. She wanted Bernadette out of there. She would have done anything to make that happen.”
“Anything legal,” Jazz reminded him. “That’s why we—” She swallowed down the word. “The way I understand it, that’s why the school was looking into legal action. You can’t believe that a nun would actually—”
“Why not? From what I heard, Eileen Flannery was jealous of Bernadette.” When he saw astonishment flash across Jazz’s face, he smiled. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Jealousy, that would explain why Sister Eileen didn’t like it that Bernadette heard the angels.”
“Because Eileen wanted to talk to angels?” The theory was so preposterous, Jazz couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t know Sister Eileen. And the whole problem the school had with Bernadette, it wasn’t just about the angels. She wasn’t comfortable meeting with parents. She didn’t like it when the girls didn’t toe the line as far as her way of thinking and her beliefs. And when she consulted the law firm, did she happen to mention Maddie Parker?”
Mercer’s jaw tightened. He stepped back. “Parker? No, no.” Another couple rolling, lopsided steps back and he trampled the bouquet of carnations on a grave in the next row. He didn’t stop to fix the flowers; he just kept walking backwards.
“Whatever you’re talking about,” he told Jazz, “Bernadette never mentioned that person to me. If she had … If she had…” He spun around and hurried toward his truck and his words floated back at her. “I absolutely would have remembered it.”
Jazz stood there long enough to watch him hoist himself into the pickup and drive away before she looked at the mashed flowers. They were on the grave of a woman named Martha Watkins. Jazz bent down to pick them up and did her best to stick them back into the vase where they’d been before Mercer took his unceremonious leave.
It was no use. The stems were snapped.
“Sorry, Martha.” Jazz broke off the stems and tucked them in her pocket, then put what was left of the flowers back into the vase, and it wasn’t until she was standing again, staring at the place where Mercer’s truck had been, that she realized she was still talking. Maybe to Martha. Maybe to herself.
“Seems a little strange, don’t you think? One mention of Maddie and he took off like his shoes were on fire.”
CHAPTER 12
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
The bell rang.
The school year was officially over.
Jazz collapsed in her chair and the air rushed out of her on the end of a long sigh.
“Hey, it can’t be all that bad. Smile!” Eddie Simpson, broom in hand, ducked into the office from the hallway. It was that or get trampled by the stampede of girls headed for the school doors. “You all right, Jazz?”
She sat up. “I’m fine, Eddi
e. Just tired. The last week has been—”
“Yeah.” He bent forward to peek into Eileen’s office. She wasn’t there, but he lowered his voice anyway. “That cop was back today.”
Jazz knew. She’d signed Detective Lindsey in when he arrived. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she told Eddie, and she hoped she was right. “He’s just nosing around. That’s what they do.”
“Like you, huh?”
Eddie had an infectious smile, all teeth and good humor, but Jazz couldn’t make herself smile back. “I talked to Mark Mercer,” she told him, then realized he might not know the paralegal’s name. “You know, the man you let into Bernadette’s memorial service even when you weren’t supposed to.”
Eddie had the decency to turn as red as a beet. “He seemed like such a nice guy!”
“Maybe he is, but he wasn’t on the guest list.”
“He was so … you know … sincere.”
“And he paid you to let him in.”
Eddie shuffled his feet. “You gonna tell…” He looked at Eileen’s office again. “Her?”
“What do you think I should do?”
Eddie leaned against his broom. “You should tell. Only…” He had the nerve to slide her a smile. “You’re not going to, are you?”
Until that moment, she wasn’t really sure.
“No, Eddie. I’m not going to tell. But if I ever find out you’ve let someone else into the school—”
“Not going to happen, Jazz. Cross my heart.” Eddie did.
Jazz was glad when Gwen Moran, a sophomore—well, now officially a junior—showed up because she’d lost her bus fare and didn’t know how she was going to get home. Talking to Gwen meant Jazz didn’t have to wonder if she’d just made a mistake with Eddie.
While she took care of Gwen, Eddie pushed the broom around her office, checked to see if the coast was clear, then headed back into the hallway.