If I looked so terrific at fifty-eight, I must have been really ugly back then. “Grew up, I guess.” I smiled, shaking her hand. Forty years had not been kind to Sally. A raven-haired beauty in her Whitley days, Sally had been Queen of the Court, a stupid pre-graduation ceremony that had thankfully been axed the year after I left. The tiny waist I had always coveted seemed to have disappeared behind layers of added girth. Her raven hair, after one too many perms and cheap dye jobs, sat lifeless and stiff under a thick veil of hairspray, and her face was a crazy quilt of cosmetic surgery scars.
As if reading my mind, she said, “Four kids and forty years of marriage have just about done me in, I’m ‘fraid. I start Jenny Craig and jazz aerobics next week, though. Four months and I’ll be back to the old me. I promised Harve.”
“Sounds like quite a regimen.”
“You don’t know the half of it. You married?”
“‘Fraid not.” I decided this was my cue to excuse myself and find Lolly and Katie.
I found them standing near a table at the edge of the stage, chatting.
Katie looked the same as she had when we’d gotten together two years earlier for a day on the beach. At five-two, she weighed close to two hundred pounds, but carried it well. Katie had been gorgeous when we met as freshmen. Within two months of her arrival, she had boyfriends in every neighboring prep school. Blonde, athletic and bright, she was every preppy’s dream and she knew it.
Lolly had not come to Whitley until junior year, but Katie was with me from the beginning. While Lolly and I had a small circle of friends, Katie knew everyone and was into everyone’s business. Friendly with students and faculty alike, she had adopted me, the lonely girl down the hall with the crazy roommate. Katie had offered friendship when I needed it most, and for that, I would be forever in her debt. Had it not been for Katie, I would surely have had a major breakdown. Goody-goody that she was, she seemed to find vicarious thrill in witnessing, and occasionally abetting, my countless acts of rebellion. She sometimes joined me when she dared, but mostly stood back, regarding my antics with benevolent indulgence.
I suspected that when Katie looked in the mirror, she still saw the same willowy, stylish ingénue as did Bob, her equally portly and equally jovial husband. Today she was dressed in a shirtwaist dress in loud floral print, which she informed us she’d gotten “in the islands.” As we sat eating lobster salad and sipping iced tea, she kept Lolly and me in stitches reminiscing about Whitley. Katie had an excellent memory and her “short speech” took thirty-five minutes, dredging up memories of things I hadn’t thought about in four decades.
CHAPTER 14
After lunch, we strolled the campus and I gave them a mini tour of the new facilities. As we exited the gym, a group of girls headed toward us, Kathy MacGregor among them. “Come on.” I nudged, veering our course in order to cross their path.
“Hi, Kathy.”
Startled, she paused, her companions with her. As she glanced from Lolly to Katie to me, you could almost see her mind working. Who are these old bags? Alumni…supposed to be nice to them. She smiled. “Yes, hi.”
I stepped forward. “Ricky Steele. We met yesterday in the cafeteria. I was eating lunch with Rolly, Mr. Danforth.”
“Oh, yes, hi.” Her look screamed, “Let me be anywhere as long as it’s a hundred miles from here.”
“These are my classmates, Lolly Pruit and Katie Briarwood. We’re walking around reminiscing.”
“Just think, this’ll be you in forty years,” Katie said brightly, stepping into their midst to shake hands with each one. “Hi, ladies.”
Like magic, Maisie Grant, Diana Trelawn and Sarah Barnes stepped forward to introduce themselves.
In the face of Katie’s effusive greeting, Kathy finally spoke up. “Oh, yeah, now I remember. You’re the new housemother at Round House.”
“Temporary housemother,” I said, smiling, as I gazed from one to the other. They all looked from me to Katie, their eyes screaming, “Why couldn’t they have asked this one instead?”
“I’m just here until Miss Santos’s replacement arrives.”
“Ms.,” Diana said. “Carolyn hated it when anyone called her Miss.”
“You all live in Round House, do you?”
“Yes, Miss Steele.”
“Ricky, please. I don’t much care for Miss either, and since I’m only here for a week, they probably don’t care what you call me. You were all close to Ms. Santos, then?”
“Not like Missy, but yeah, we were pretty close.”
Katie gasped. “Missy, that’s the missing girl, isn’t it?” They nodded. “Are you her good friends?” Another nod. “Then you must know where she is.” I could have kissed Katie. As she peppered them with questions, I studied the faces.
They shook their heads, surreptitiously eyeing each other. Finally Diana spoke. “We gotta get to practice.”
We exchanged goodbyes and they headed off. “Well, that group’s up to no good,” Katie pronounced, hands on her ample hips as she watched their retreat. “Brings back ole times, doesn’t it, gals?” She looked from one to the other of us. “What? What’re you guys smiling about?”
“You, Briarwood. Who do you think you are, Columbo?” Lolly laughed, winking at me.
“You laugh, but after fifteen years on the force, you pick up things from your fellow officers.” Katie was an emergency medical technician, a volunteer job in her small town. “Give me five minutes alone with any one of them and I’d find out where that girl’s hiding. Did you see their faces?”
I had. They knew damn well where Missy Franklin was, and they were proud of it.
“Wonder what she’s hiding from.” Lolly said, eyeing the trio’s retreat.
“Probably tryin’ to get out of finals or something,” Katie said. “You know, that was one trick I never tried. Then again, she was close to that teacher who committed suicide, wasn’t she? That’s what I’ve heard. Sounds like she was kind of a wacko, our Miz Santos.”
I shook my head. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Oh, here and there. I stopped in to see Ruthie this morning.” Ruthie, the secretary in the admissions department, was an opinionated busybody who’d been at Whitley since the Civil War. “Ruthie didn’t think much of Miz Santos, I can tell you that. Said she was always stirring up trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Oh, you know, the usual, anti-administration, teachers’ rights, students’ freedom.”
“Did Ruth say anything about Jared Phelps?”
“Who’s that?”
I thought not. It was okay to speak ill of the dead, but the school’s reputation was sacred. “A former faculty member who seems a trifle disgruntled.”
“I told Ruthie I’d see her at the dedication. I’ll see what I can find out.” Katie’s eyes gleamed. She was on the case.
CHAPTER 15
A large crowd had gathered in Rolly’s garden, a mixture of students, faculty and alumni. I spied the Krolls and waved. Was it my imagination or did he scowl at me? Aren’t faculty supposed to grovel and scrape to visiting alumni? They were in the midst of a crowd of faculty and staff including Gerry Weinstein, Brooke Richards and a few other faces I recognized. Gerry spotted us and smiled. At least someone seemed happy to see us.
“Who’s that?” Katie asked, eyeing Gerry, as she gazed from one to the other of us.
“Science teacher,” Lolly said, smiling at me.
“Didn’t make ‘em like that in our day, did they, girls? He’s a darn sight easier on the eyes than old Crowley,” she added, referring to our biology teacher, who had been about a hundred when we were sophomores and no doubt had long since departed this world.
Katie waved to several members of our class, leaving Lolly and me in the dust as she barreled forward to greet them.
Dinny gave a wonderful tribute to Rolly, laced with many anecdotes he had solicited from former students. As one of Rolly’s “favorites,” I admit to feeling a little hurt tha
t he had not asked me to contribute. Of course, that was Rolly’s gift, making every student feel like he or she was special, and he had no doubt amassed thousands of favorites over the past forty-five years. Angela Dunning, a freshman during Rolly’s first year, said a few words, remembering the passionate scholar coming to Whitley fresh from a master’s program at Yale. She could have been talking about the English teacher I knew.
I closed my eyes, smiling as I remembered him bursting into the classroom dressed as Richard the Third, crying “‘my kingdom for a horse’” to begin a class reading. He played many roles during our senior seminar on Chaucer. AS Angela droned on, the prologue to The Canterbury Tales ran through my mind like a mantra. “‘Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. The droghte of March hath perced to the roote…’”
The man of the hour sat like a king on a shiny wrought iron bench, part of the new garden that also included a small fountain, an assortment of flowering shrubbery, and circular beds of bulbs and annual plantings. It reminded me of an Impressionist painting, the artful arrangement pleasing to the eye no matter which direction one turned. Finally, Dinny rose to thank Angela, bringing the formal proceedings to a close. “We owe a great deal to Whitley School’s art department and grounds crew for this wonderful display. It was designed by Fred Draper, head of Whitley’s grounds crew, in collaboration with Carolyn Santos, head of our art department until her recent untimely death. In part, this garden should be dedicated to her memory as well.”
“Hear, hear.” Rolly stood and clapped with tears in his eyes. He had loved her, too, like so many of the others. I glanced over my shoulder, spying someone who clearly had not loved her. Christine Parnell stood at the back of the crowd, her eyes shooting daggers. If Carolyn Santos had been in the crowd, one look from Christine would have struck her dead.
Dinny was in the midst of inviting everyone to stay for refreshments when a voice from the back of the crowd interrupted him. “May I say that it’s nice to see the school honoring its faculty for a change. No one could ask for a more dedicated group of people, even if that dedication is seldom recognized. There are some of us who—”
Rolly rose, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Jared, thank you for your contribution. I’m so grateful to see so many old and new faces here to honor an old veteran like me. Come on and meet me at the refreshment table and we can catch up on old times. Thank you one and all for this lovely tribute. I will walk in this garden every day with pride and gratitude.” His words were met with loud applause, and I took the opportunity to slip back through the crowd, intercepting Phelps before he could start up again. “Smooth, Mr. Phelps, very smooth.”
“Well, if it isn’t the little housemother. Quite the dutiful alumna, aren’t you, Miss Steele?” He looked over my shoulder, clearly furious that his soapbox had been yanked from under him.
“This the only way you can get an audience these days? Have to get your kicks disrupting school functions honoring faculty members, which you are not?”
“Careful, Miss Steele. I’m not a faculty member anymore so I don’t have to bow and scrape to alumni.”
“I’m quaking in my boots.”
“Listen, I’d love to stand around chatting, but I have other fish—”
“To insult?”
At that moment we were joined by Lolly and Katie, the latter sticking her hand in Jared’s face. “Katie Briarwood, and you are?”
“Jared Phelps, former faculty member and present parent. Who’s your friend?” Lecherous eyes studied Lolly.
“Lolly Pruit. Is that how you greet your students? Ogling like that doesn’t seem very professional.”
“You’re not a student.” He winked, turning to me. “Isn’t this cozy—Lolly, Katie and Ricky. Sounds like something out of The Bobbsey Twins. Sorry, I can’t stick around. This might have proved amusing.”
The Bobbsey Twins, indeed. As if he’d ever read The Bobbsey Twins. I had, cover to cover, the whole collection several times through.
“What a prick,” Lolly whispered as we watched Jared hustling over to where Rolly, Dinny and the other dignitaries were chatting. That’s when I spied Ellen Petty, standing next to her husband, and beside her, dear old dad.
Katie followed my gaze. “Hey, that’s Dinny’s wife, Ellen. Pretty isn’t she? Doesn’t look very happy, though, does she?”
That was an understatement. As she watched Jared’s approach, Ellen Petty looked like she was bracing for root canal surgery. Her mouth pinched shut, she stared straight ahead, clutching her husband’s arm. When addressed, her expression softened and she smiled, turning away from Phelps.
“Look, Rick—it’s your dad! You didn’t tell me he’d be here.” Katie waved, craning her neck.
“Must’ve slipped my mind,” I mumbled, watching as Dad turned on the charm. Ellen Petty blossomed, like the flowers that surrounded us. She was lovely. Thin and delicate, she possessed the kind of beauty powerful men covet. She complemented Dinny perfectly. Tall, graceful, she wore a sleeveless, beige linen dress and cream-colored flats. Her straight blond tresses were tucked under a wide-brimmed straw hat. The quintessential headmaster’s wife. Together, they oozed preppy. Too bad Jared had mucked things up. How long had it taken the diabolical Mr. Phelps to lure her into his bed?
“Slipped your mind? Your dad’s one of my favorite people in the whole world and you didn’t bother to tell me he was coming? Oh, God, he hasn’t seen me in many decades! Think he’ll recognize me? I have put on a few pounds, you know.”
I winked at Lolly, deciding it was useless to forestall the inevitable. On our way toward Dad, Katie steamrolled ahead. I caught Dinny staring at me and smiled. He returned my smile just as Jared swooped in.
“Mr. Steele, hi! It’s me, Katie!”
Dad turned, staring in bewilderment at the force bearing down upon him. Then his expression softened as he recognized Katie. He had always loved her, the daughter he had always dreamed of having—preppy, athletic and confident, ready to assume her rightful place in society.
“Why, Katie Briarwood, how nice to see you.” He flashed one of his brilliant smiles, allowing himself to be manhandled and kissed. Handsome and impeccably dressed as always, he looked tan and rested after a recent trip to Nevis, where he and my stepmother have a home. I knew about the trip because they had asked Annie to go. They gave up inviting me years ago. People say I look like my father, but I don’t see it. His sharp, chiseled features are too severe. I prefer to think of myself as having my mother’s softer, kinder features, but everyone says Annie favors her.
Dad wore his summer uniform, a blue Brooks Brothers seersucker suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was a trifle longer than usual and he looked a decade or two younger than his eighty-three years. “Lolly, isn’t it? My dear, you look the same as you did the day you graduated. How are your parents?”
Lolly shook his hand, basking in the glow of his attention. “Dad died ten years ago, mom last year.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. They were such fine people.”
Lolly’s eyes filled up. “Thank you.”
He patted her shoulder, catching my eye. “Wherever you two go, my daughter cannot be far behind.”
I stepped forward and gave him a hug and kiss. “Hello, Dad. How are you?”
“You’re looking well, my dear. I’m not sure if you’ve met Ellen, Dinny’s wife? Ellen, this is my oldest daughter, Dorothy.”
As we exchanged handshakes, Ellen winked at me. “Yes, Ricky, hello. I’ve been hearing great things about you.”
I returned her smile, hoping my blushing would be interpreted as embarrassment over her compliments. “And, I, you,” I managed to croak out. Lolly’s eagle eyes missed none of my obvious discomfort.
“I’ve been wanting to talk with you, Ellen,” Katie piped up, saving the day. “Why a few of the alumni…” Katie led her away and Lolly followed, leaving Dad and me alone.
“How was Nevis?”
“Hot and rainy. Not the best time to be there.
”
“Looks like you got some sun?”
“We chartered a boat, to go snorkeling. Lots of sun that day.”
“Did Cassie and Matthew go with you?”
“No, just Rita and me.”
“Where is she?”
“Exhausted from the flight. Decided to skip this one.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“I’m a little surprised to see you here. Didn’t you vow never to set foot in this— what was it you called Whitley? Prison, or was it hell on earth?”
Old wounds opened up, but I shrugged them away. “I wanted to see Lolly and Katie, that’s all.”
“She’s put on a few pounds, hasn’t she?” he whispered, eyeing Katie from afar.
Another shrug as I turned away to scan the crowd. Jared was haranguing Dinny, but the group around them had thinned and Rolly seemed to be doing his best to deflect onlookers.
“Ricky, I’m heading back tonight, but if you haven’t got dinner plans?”
“Sorry, I’m going out with the girls. You’re free to join us. We have reservations at the Tavern, seven thirty.”
He laughed. “Thank you, no. That’s the last thing you girls need, me around cramping your style. And I certainly don’t wish to be regaled with tales of past hell-raising. Had enough of that when you were here with my weekly phone calls from Mrs. Petty.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Yes, we had lunch together. Looks pretty good for ninety-six.”
“I’ll say. How’d you get her to divulge her age?”
“Dinny told me on the sly. Listen, my dear, I really would like to see you, to catch up.”
I smiled through gritted teeth. Sometimes the father I remember comes back. The one who took me fishing, and coached my softball games. The father I had loved so much before my mother put his .38 in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
“Come over to the house for dinner when you get back, will you? Rita would love to see you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Give her a chance, will you, Ricky? She’s relaxed a bit now that Cassie and Matthew are grown.”
Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1) Page 8