4 The Killing Bee

by Matt Witten

  "I ran away because you scared the shit out of me. What would you do if some idiot came charging after you like that!"

  "I don't believe we've been introduced. My name's Andrea. I think you've met my husband—"

  "Yes, I have, and fuck you both. Stay out of my fucking life." This woman had a mouth on her. She stomped back to her car.

  "You cheated on the Terra Nova tests," Andrea said.

  Melanie stopped and glared at her. But she didn't say anything, just opened her car door and started to get in.

  "And Meckel found out. He told you he was firing you. That’s why you killed him."

  "He wasn't gonna fire me," said Melanie. "He was gonna hold it over my head, unless I slept with him."

  Then Melanie stepped away from the car and got in Andrea's face. "But the whole thing's a lie, anyhow. I never cheated on those tests. Sylvia Robinson made that up to get back at me."

  "Yeah, right," my wife said. "I'm sure we can find other parents who'll confirm what Sylvia said."

  "Why are you people out to get me?" Melanie said, giving her hair an angry toss. And then, as I watched her blond hair tossing, I suddenly saw something else, too.

  The late-afternoon sun was angling down toward Melanie’s little car, and over her shoulder I caught a shiny metallic glint in her front seat. No, not in her front seat actually, in her glove compartment. It must have sprung open when Melanie braked her car so abruptly.

  The two women kept jawing at each other like guests on the Jerry Springer show, but I no longer heard all their words. I moved toward Melanie's car, stooped down, and looked in the glove compartment. Sure enough, that glint belonged to a flashlight.

  And not the two-dollar plastic kind that you can find in half the glove compartments in the world. This was a big, hard, metal flashlight.

  The kind that, if somebody swung it at your head, could cause a pretty nasty concussion.

  I opened Melanie's car door. "Hey," she said. I reached down and grabbed the flashlight by the handle as Melanie snapped, "Get out of there."

  I ignored her and examined the head of the flashlight. "What are you doing? Give me that!" she yelled, and came at me.

  I put the flashlight behind my back. She reached around and tried to grab it away. Then I held it up high where she couldn't reach it. But she shoved me back against the car and grabbed again.

  Throwing all sense of chivalry to the winds, I aimed a forearm at her perky nose and drove her backward. Then Andrea came up and gave her a hard shove in the stomach, pushing her back even farther.

  Melanie put her hand to her side. God, she's reaching for a gun.

  But no, she was just putting her hand on her hip, trying to give herself some attitude. It didn't work. Her eyes were too scared.

  Now that Melanie was far enough away from me that she couldn't snatch the flashlight—especially with Andrea as my bodyguard—I lowered it down to eye level so I could examine it again.

  "What happened to your flashlight?" I asked.

  Melanie didn't respond, just stood there panting.

  "Looks a little banged up."

  And indeed it did. One side of the flashlight head was dented. No doubt that happened when the flashlight was putting a dent in my own head.

  I inspected the flashlight carefully. "What’s this little red speck?" I said. "Could it be blood? My blood?"

  Melanie curled her lips, and her hands balled into fists. She reminded me of a trapped animal, a large cat of some sort. Is there such a thing as a blond jaguar?

  Now the truth is, there was no red speck on that flashlight. But hopefully Melanie didn't know that. "Guess I'll bring this to the cops," I said. "I'm sure they can match the DNA."

  "You sonufabitch," said Melanie.

  Now Andrea got into it. "You practically kill my husband, and you have the balls to-"

  "Look, I had to hit him," Melanie said.

  Aha! Now if we could just get her to keep talking. "Why'd you have to hit me?" I asked.

  "Why do you think? Because you were about to catch me. Hey, it was dark in Meckel's office that night. I didn't know who you were, I thought maybe you were gonna kill me. I was just protecting myself."

  "Why were you there in the first place?"

  "Oh, hell." Melanie looked suddenly tired, and her face drooped. "You know why I was there."

  "Yes. To cover up for your murder."

  Her face jumped back into full alert mode. "No, I didn't kill him!"

  "It’s time to give up, Melanie," said Andrea softly. "It’s all over. You know that."

  "I didn't kill anybody. Yeah, I broke into Meckel's office that night, but that’s all I did!"

  "Why'd you break in?" Andrea asked.

  "It's like I told you. He wrote up a report about me cheating, and threatened to go to the superintendent with it. I just wanted to get it back. I knew it was in his desk somewhere."

  "But Meckel was already dead. He couldn't hurt you anymore. So why'd you want it back so bad?"

  "I didn't want the new principal seeing it. Or the police."

  "Why the police?"

  "I don't know. 'Cause cheating is, like, illegal."

  "Get real," Andrea said. "You wouldn't break into the school after midnight and risk arrest because you were nervous about some little cheating scam. It was the murder you were scared about."

  Melanie shook her head vigorously. "I just wanted to take that stupid report home and burn it. That’s all. What if the new principal gave it to the superintendent? It would go on my record. I'd never get another job."

  Andrea and I looked at each other. "Sounds like an excellent murder motive to me," she said.

  "Me, too."

  "Oh, for Christ’s sake," Melanie said.

  "Why didn't you just go into Meckel's office during the day, instead of sneaking in at midnight?" Andrea asked.

  "Because I knew I'd never get in there. That old witch, Ms. Helquist, she was always there."

  "You didn't like Ms. Helquist?" I asked.

  "What, now you want to frame me for that one, too? Look, I'm sorry I hit you on the head, but except for that I never hurt anybody."

  "If that’s the story you wanna go with, fine," I said. "Come on, Andrea, let’s hit the police station. Melanie, we're 'borrowing' your flashlight."

  "It’s not fair," Melanie said. "I didn't cheat, I swear. You can't believe anything the Robinsons say. They're, like, pathological liars."

  Melanie was following Andrea and me to our car. I got in the driver's side, still yakking, still trying to coax a confession out of her. "We'll let the cops sort it all out," I said. "Too bad you weren't smart enough to get rid of the flashlight."

  "What about that friend of yours, Elena Aguilera?" Melanie said bitterly. "She cheated. Why don't you tell the cops about her?"

  Andrea and I both stared at Melanie. "Elena?" Andrea asked. "Elena cheated on the tests?"

  Melanie realized she was onto something. She curled her lips triumphantly. "That’s right. You sic the cops on me, and I'll rat on Elena. There goes her teaching career down the toilet. Especially when the cops find out everything else she did."

  I was sitting in the car with the door still open. "Okay, I'll bite. What else did Elena do?"

  "She gave one of her kids a higher grade on his report card than he deserved. Because Meckel pushed her into it."

  "Which kid was this?"

  "Mike Lawrence."

  Holy tamale. I turned to Andrea, who was still standing outside the car by the passenger side. "His father is Scott Lawrence, the jerk on the school board."

  "Why would Meckel push Elena about this kid's grade?" Andrea asked.

  Melanie shrugged. "I guess his dad had some kind of pull."

  I figured I knew exactly what that pull was. Lawrence was blackmailing Meckel about the computer purchase.

  Melanie pointed a finger at us. "If you guys really want to catch the murderer, you should go after Elena, not me. She's the one who was there at the school t
hat morning."

  "But you were the one who clobbered me with a flashlight."

  "I just wish I'd hit you harder," said Melanie. "Hey, go to the cops if you want. They'll investigate me, and I'll get run out of town for being gay. So will Irene. If you feel good about that, go ahead."

  Then Melanie turned on her heels and went back to her car.

  Andrea got into the passenger seat. "We should tell the cops anyway," I said. "This is too darn complicated for me."

  "You know we can't do that. We'd be ruining too many lives—Elena's included."

  She was right, of course. Andrea is almost always right. It can get downright annoying.

  "So what do you suggest, O wise one?" I asked, as we watched Melanie drive off.

  "Run down the time line for me again," Andrea said.

  I obliged. "Meckel was found dead by Laura at about seven thirty-five. The cops say he was killed some time after seven, but that’s the best they can do."

  "So he went to his office, then stepped out for a while at the same time Laura came along and dropped off her trophy."

  "That sounds right, Kinsey."

  "And when did Barry hear the yelling from Meckel's office?"

  "He says he hit the john sometime between seven-fifteen and seven twenty-five."

  Andrea frowned, then asked, "Meanwhile Elena was out of anybody's sight for how long?"

  "I'm not totally clear on that. Neither is Susie."

  "And Susie got to school before any of the other parents."

  I nodded. "So she could have had time to drop off her kids in the library, then drop the trophy on Meckel's head."

  "And how long was Barry supposedly in the bathroom?"

  "According to Susie, maybe a minute. Now you also have to remember, Melanie could have come in early to grade papers or whatever. So it really could have been her."

  "Or one of the Robinsons. Or the gas man." Andrea sighed.

  I started up the car. "We don't have time to sink into the slough of despair. Let’s go and interrogate Elena."

  "Stop at Ben and Jerry's first."

  "Why?"

  "We'll bring her a pint of Cherry Garcia. That’s her favorite flavor."

  It seemed a trifle unorthodox to me, bringing a pint of gourmet ice cream to somebody you're trying to nail for murder.

  But I didn't object. After all, Andrea is usually right.

  16

  On the way from Ben and Jerry's to Elena's, we had to wait as a large flock of cars went cruising by with their headlights on. Sam Meckel's funeral procession.

  The lead car was occupied by Meckel's immediate family. Through the side window I saw a shock of purple hair. Paul was looking out the window as he passed me, and we locked eyes for a moment.

  Andrea and I thought about heading for the cemetery ourselves, but decided the best way to pay our respects to the dead man was by finding his killer. So a few minutes later we pulled up in front of Elena's apartment building.

  The tinkling of "Three Blind Mice" being played on the piano greeted Andrea and me as we headed up the stairs to Elena's apartment. I rang the doorbell.

  Elena opened the door and glared at me. Then she eyed Andrea—or more precisely, the carton of ice cream Andrea was holding out. Her face turned perplexed. "What’s up?" she asked.

  "Peace offering," Andrea replied, handing over the goods.

  Elena stood there turning over the carton in her hand, then said, "Well, come on in the kitchen. I don't usually do Cherry Garcia in the middle of the day, but today I'll make an exception. Luce, say hi to Jacob and Andrea."

  Luce looked up from her piano. "Hi," she said, then went back to her playing. Only now she switched out of "Three Blind Mice" to some complex classical piece, Mozart maybe. She played it flawlessly. I stopped and listened for a few moments before following the women into the kitchen. Besides being smart as a whip, Luce was a veritable musical prodigy.

  Elena was working on scooping the stiff, frozen ice cream into bowls while Andrea got out spoons. "That’s quite a Vladimir Horowitz you got out there," I said.

  Elena nodded. "So I'm assuming this ice cream means I'm no longer a suspect?"

  Andrea and I shifted our feet. But Elena went on, oblivious. "Have you figured out who did it?"

  I waited for Andrea to say something. Meanwhile she waited for me to say something. I guess our detecting duo routine still needed a little work.

  Elena waved her ice cream scooper for emphasis. "Come on, your secret is safe with me."

  "The truth is," I finally said, "you are still a suspect."

  She did a double take. "Then why’d you bring me the Cherry Garcia?"

  "Don't blame me, that was Andrea's idea."

  "Did you lace it with truth serum?"

  "I want us to still be friends," Andrea said plaintively.

  "Right. Will you come visit me in jail after you frame me for murder?"

  From the other room came the ethereal Mozart. "Look, Elena," I said, "we understand you cheated on the Terra Nova tests."

  She slammed the scooper down on the counter. "I did what?"

  "Cheated," Andrea said, finally getting into the act. "On the Terra Nova tests."

  "You got some cojones, coming in here and giving me this shit."

  "Elena," Andrea said.

  But Elena cut her off. "I did not cheat. My kids got good scores, yeah. But they got 'em fair and square. Who told you this lie?"

  I didn't want to start a war between Elena and Melanie. "Let’s just say I got it on good authority."

  "Tell your good authority to go piss in a hat. I drilled those kids for the Terra Nova for five weeks straight." She picked up the scoop and began serving the ice cream again. It looked like she was trying to calm herself. "Look, I'm not proud of drilling them like that. I hate wasting the class time. But it’s not cheating. All the teachers do it. Everything depends on those stupid test scores: tenure, bonuses, staying on the administration's good side. . . ." She had one bowl filled and started another. "Maybe I cheated my kids by holding them hostage to a test. But that’s the only cheating I did."

  I continued our attack. "Why'd you give high grades on Mike Lawrence's report card?"

  That threw her. She was in the middle of dropping a scoop into the third bowl, and she missed. The scoop hit the edge of the counter, then fell to the floor.

  Elena ignored the mess. Her thick lips tightened. "I gave Mike straight threes." At High Rock that meant B's. The highest grade you could get was a four. "Which is exactly what he deserved."

  "Elena, we know all about Meckel pressuring you," Andrea said.

  "And do you know all about me refusing him?"

  "No, but we'd like to hear."

  Elena finally put down the ice cream scoop for good, and sat down on a kitchen chair. Andrea, evidently feeling uncomfortable standing over her friend, sat down too. Myself, I stayed standing. I'd grab any psychological edge I could, friendship or no friendship.

  "That bastard Meckel comes to me, asks for a 'favor,'" Elena said. "He tells me Scott Lawrence is a very influential member of the school board. Anything we can do to keep him happy would be beneficial. Maybe he'd vote a few more million dollars into our budget.

  "I said, Sam, what exactly do you have in mind? He says, what grade were you planning on giving Lawrence's kid? I tell him, threes. The kid's a very average student. Meckel says, would it kill you to give him fours? He says, I'll remember it in June."

  She gave us a look. "June, that's when tenure decisions get made." Andrea and I both nodded.

  Elena shoved a spoon into her bowl, but didn't eat. "So what the heck, I said, sure, Sam, I can give the little twerp a bunch of fours, no sweat off my back.

  "But then I went home. And the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. I couldn't sleep. I don't like people trying to tell me what to do. Nobody gets away with that, not my ex-husband, my father, nobody.

  "So two weeks later—this would be last week—I go into Meckel's
office. Tell him I've reconsidered, I'm giving Mike Lawrence threes after all."

  Here Elena stopped. She stared down at her bowl, perhaps hoping the pattern of cherries in her ice cream would give her inspiration.

  "So what did Meckel say?" Andrea asked.

  "He made some not-so-veiled threats and told me to re-reconsider. So I came in the next day, told him I'd re and re-reconsidered, and the kid was still gonna get threes. Meckel starts screaming, and threatening me all over again. I tell him if I'm going to lose my job over this, then he can take the job and shove it. I'd rather be a teacher's aide in Poughkeepsie than bow down to Meckel's bullying."

  "And is that what you told him on Tuesday morning?" I asked.

  Elena threw me a puzzled look. "I'm not positive which days I met with him, but I think it was a Wednesday and a Thursday."

  "I'm talking about this week. The Tuesday morning when you killed Meckel," I said.

  "For God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you—"

  Suddenly Elena stopped. The piano music from the other room had stopped without our noticing, and now Luce came into the room. We all looked at her. I felt guilty as hell. Here I was, trying to put her mommy away in jail.

  "Mom, what’s wrong?" Luce asked.

  Elena forced a smile. "Nothing, honey. We're just arguing about silly stuff. Why don't you go back to the piano?"

  "What are you arguing about?" Luce had inherited her mother's deep dark eyes, and right now they were wide open and heartbreaking.

  "Grown-up things. Go do that sonata again. It was beautiful."

  "But Mom—"

  "I said go."

  Luce went.

  Then Elena turned back to us. "Alright, you want the truth?" she whispered angrily. "I'll give you the truth. Come on."

  She stormed out of the kitchen. Andrea and I looked at each other, then followed her.

  We ended up in her bedroom. Elena shut the door behind us. What was she up to? Was she about to confess to murder, and she didn't want her daughter to hear?

  Elena reached into the top drawer of her bureau. She pulled out a tiny microcassette recorder and an even tinier microcassette. Then she inserted the tape into the machine and said, "Last week, when I went to see Meckel the first time, I recorded it. The second time, I played the tape for him."