Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1)

by M. Lee Prescott

  “The irony is that in the middle of it, Judith and Carolyn broke off their relationship. I’m not sure what happened there, but it wasn’t amiable. Then, two months later, this thing with Missy erupts and suddenly, Carolyn and Jared are enemies. It was a strange year. Anyway, it is my belief that the complaints about Jared’s erratic behavior and disruptive outbursts finally became too frequent to ignore and Dinny fired him, two days before graduation. The day he was fired, the school’s attorney, Sam Coleman, informed Jared that he was barred from campus unless invited.”

  “So he charmed his way into Hope Seymour’s life.”

  “Something like that. They were friends already because Jared was close to Albie, Hope’s son. Albie’s a sophomore and was one of Jared’s advisees. When Jared was fired, he had no place to go, so Hope took him in. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what their relationship is—friends, lovers, or something else. Hope is levelheaded and kind. Can’t imagine what she sees in him.”

  I did. Despite his crazy ranting and raving, Jared Phelps was handsome and alluring, almost mesmerizing under the right circumstances. When he wasn’t acting totally off-the-wall, his passion might cause many women to swoon. In fact, were I not involved in the investigation, I could easily imagine myself falling under his charms.

  We talked for a while longer. Then I said my goodbyes and headed back to Round House. As I neared the dorm, I had the sensation of being watched. I peered up at the rows of upper story windows, but saw no one. The hall was quiet as I stepped in. The apartment smelled musty, so I threw open the living room windows and flopped down on the sofa to rest. Before closing my eyes, I gazed up at the ceiling. It was covered with those cheap, Swiss-cheese-type soundproofing tiles. Very unattractive, but I assumed they served their intended purpose—muffling the upstairs cacophony in order to preserve the housemother’s sanity. I drifted off to sleep having no inkling of the maelstrom about to bear down on me this balmy spring afternoon.

  CHAPTER 22

  A pounding on the door woke me. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The pounding continued, growing louder and more insistent. “Hold on,” I called, rising to run fingers through my tangled hair.

  I opened the door, surprised to find a short redhead in a gray pinstripe suit, bright scarf in a swirling pattern of reds, yellows and oranges tied jauntily round her neck. A handsome woman, well-put-together, with a vaguely familiar face. Where had I seen her before? When she spoke, realization dawned with sickening clarity. “I assume you are the detective, Miss Steele?”

  “Yes,” I croaked, standing aside as Pamela Franklin Rhodes, the governor of our fair state, swept into the room. She was shorter than she appeared on television. Two suits stood in the hall. I asked if they were coming in.

  “They’ll stay out there. Close the door.”

  I obeyed. “Governor, please, sit. Can I get you something?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” I did, but I wasn’t about to tell her so. She perched on the arm of the sofa, motioning for me to sit. I took the armchair farthest from her.

  “Where are you with this investigation? Have you located my niece yet?”

  “Not yet. I just moved in a couple of hours ago and—”

  “Save it. I know you’ve been here since Thursday.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been involved in reunion activities, trying to find out—”

  “Just as I feared. You’ve been out partying while Melissa may be in mortal danger.”

  “With all due respect, we’re relatively certain that she’s safe. Her friends’ behavior and lack of concern lead us to believe that she’s fine and just hiding out somewhere near campus. I’m not certain why she ran away.”

  “Where are these students? I want to talk with them.”

  “They’re out. I don’t expect them back till dinnertime.”

  “This is unbelievable. I can’t stay that long. I have a plane to catch.”

  “I intend to speak to them all at our dorm meeting tonight.”

  “Are you aware that I am Melissa’s legal guardian?”

  I nodded, not about to admit that I knew next to nothing about her niece except for Missy’s affair with Jared Phelps and her close friendship with Carolyn Santos.

  “Yes, well, while my brother and his wife are in Nepal, I have custody. We haven’t been able to reach them. They’re on a trek that should be ending tomorrow or the next day. When they emerge, I would like to be able to tell them that Melissa is safe. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I’ll let you know the minute we know anything.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “The Fall River area.”

  “Do you have any experience with cases like this?”

  “Most of my work is insurance and domestic investigating.”

  “Well, I expect a full report every morning until Melissa is found. I’ll have David give you my fax number and my secretary’s number. You are to call and check in twice a day. I’m paying you a small fortune and I expect results. If Melissa is not safe inside this dorm by Tuesday, I’ll have your license. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.” I smiled through gritted teeth. “I wonder, has Missy done this kind of thing before, do you know? Run away from home, camp, whatever?”

  “No.” She shook her head, then paused. “Well, there was that time at camp, now that you mention it. She missed her dog and ran off. Came straight home. She is kind of a free spirit, I have to admit. When there’s strife at home, she often appears on our doorstep. Never bothers to tell her parents she’s leaving. My brother, Michael, and his wife, Deidre, are complex individuals. Free spirits. Never should have had children, if you ask me.”

  Suddenly, she stopped, perhaps realizing she was divulging family secrets to a complete stranger. She stood and began pacing. “None of this alters the fact that she’s missing and has been gone for four days. I want her found, Ms. Steele, do you hear me? If you don’t think you can handle it, say the word and I’ll send some men down.”

  The idea was appealing. “Why don’t you give me until tomorrow? If I don’t make progress, I’ll call and you can send the National Guard, if you like.”

  Pamela Franklin Rhodes stopped pacing, the fight drained out of her. She faced me, brown eyes pleading. “My husband and I couldn’t have children. Melissa is like a daughter to us.”

  “We’ll find her,” I said, trying to convince myself. “Can I get you anything? Glass of water, tea?”

  “Oh, heavens no. I’m late as it is.” She plunked down on the arm of the sofa. “Open the door and ask David to step in, would you please?”

  Opening the door, I found the two suits in the same place I’d left them. “Whichever one of you is David, the governor wants to—”

  “David, quickly,” she barked from behind me. “Write Betsy’s numbers down for Ms. Steele. Office, beeper, fax, cell phone, home, all of them. Brantley,” she called to the other man. “Go out and pull the car around. We’ll be lucky to make the airport in time.”

  I watched as David scribbled the numbers. He looked about fifteen, but he was probably at least twenty-two, right out of college, a job as the governor’s step-and-fetch-it boy a great addition to his resume. Might even lead to bigger things at the State House. As he scribbled, his straight dark hair fell over his eyes. I resisted the urge to lean forward and brush it back. Both men wore blue blazers and gray flannel pants, the uniform of the governor’s entourage? Even their ties matched.

  David handed me the paper and the governor rose. “Well, that’s it. I’ll be waiting for Betsy’s call tomorrow. I want an update by noon. Is that understood?”

  “I’ll do my best.” I held the door as she swished out, the scent of camellias lingering in the air. Have my license, indeed. What would happen when her minions checked up on me and discovered that there is no license to be had? Jail, that’s what. Could the governor impose a jail sentence?

  CHAPTER 23

  I was still staring at the door when a voice
behind me whispered, “That was Governor Franklin, wasn’t it?”

  I turned, finding a willowy creature sitting on the stairs behind me. I nodded. “Yup. She’s Missy’s aunt.”

  “I know. I’ve seen her before.”

  “She’s come to school before?”

  “She’s the only one who ever comes to Parents’ Weekend and stuff like that. Usually those guys come and pack Missy up at the end of the year and move her in, too. Her parents are jerks.”

  My tax dollars at work, I thought, studying her. “Have you met Missy’s parents?”

  “No, but that’s what Missy always says.”

  “I’m Ricky Steele. Temporary houseparent for this week.”

  “I know. Saw you move in.”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “My room’s right on the street.”

  “So you’re above me, then?” She nodded. “And you would be?”

  “Olivia…Livie…Livie Walrab. I’m a junior. This is my second year at Whitley.”

  She reminded me of the little match girl from Hans Christian Andersen’s story. Pencil-thin arms were lost in the sleeves of her black tee shirt and spindly legs peeked out from under her nearly floor-length green India-print skirt. It wasn’t a skirt so much as a sarong, hastily wrapped around her waist. Probably doubled as her bedspread, I thought, assuming it had been the handiest thing she could throw on in time to catch a glimpse of the governor. Her short, dark hair, cut in a pixie style, framed a thin, oval face, the light olive-brown eyes wary and watchful.

  “Missy a good friend of yours?”

  “Pretty good. I mean, we’re not close like she is with Maisie, Kathy and Diana or even Rafe. Have you met him? He’s cute.”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Could you point him out for me at dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. I’ll introduce you, if you like.”

  “Want to come in?”

  “For a few minutes. I’ve got a lot of studying to do. Besides, you haven’t even unpacked.” She saw my look of surprise. “I mean, I guessed you probably haven’t because of your bag. I can see it on the bed.”

  “You’d make a good detective, Livie. Want something to drink?”

  “Whatever.” She followed me back to the kitchen and we discovered two cans of root beer in the back of the fridge. I located two clean glasses, pried a few ice cubes from a mangled tray, poured our drinks, and we settled on the couch.

  She leaned her head back, a smile of satisfaction lighting up her face. “I like it here.”

  “You spend a lot of time down here?”

  “Not this past week. Not with the b… Well, what I mean is I used to come down a lot when Ms. Santos was here. She was awesome. My roommate loves heavy metal so if it was noisy upstairs, Ms. Santos let me study here. My roommate’s gone now, so it’s not so bad.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mono. She had to go home last week. A bummer ‘cause she’s prob’ly gonna miss all her exams and have to go to summer school.”

  “That’s too bad, but at least you have your quiet room.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Livie, do you know where Missy is?”

  “No, but she’s okay. I’m sure about that. Maisie and them’d be freaking out if they didn’t know she was all right. She’s kind of their leader.”

  “Why don’t they tell you, then?”

  She shrugged.

  “So, you were close to Ms. Santos?”

  She nodded, eyes lowered. “She was the best. She always made sure things were okay. Now it’s ruined.” A tear snaked down the pallid cheek. I suppressed the urge to reach over and hug her. Somehow, I sensed such a gesture would be unwelcome. She was a tough little bird, despite that tear. As I turned away, gazing out the window to give her a chance to compose herself, the Houseparents Handbook caught my eye.

  I grabbed it, waving toward her. “Since I haven’t had time to read my handbook, what do I need to know about rules around here? Can houseparents have visitors? Did Ms. Santos entertain much?”

  “Not too much. I mean, people came sometimes, for a little while at night. But you have to be in the dining room for meals unless you’re off-duty. Most weekends, Ms. Santos went out if she was off-duty. A couple of times she had dinners.”

  “Did you happen to notice who came to her dinners?”

  “Oh, different people. Mr. Danforth, sometimes the Krolls or the Naylors. She was pretty friendly with Mrs. Kroll and Mrs. Naylor. Coach Freeman sometimes. I wasn’t in Round House last year, but they say Mr. Phelps was here all the time, before he got fired and stuff. Have you met him?”

  I nodded. “Were you close to him, too?”

  “Sort of. I had him for world history last year. He used to have the class over for pizza all the time. He’s cool. I haven’t seen him much this year, ‘cause I don’t play sports and the only time he’s allowed on campus is when Karen or Albie has a game. I’m not athletic, but sometimes I walk down to the games, just to say hi. It sucks, him getting fired. A lot of us miss him.”

  “What about Mr. Petty? Did he come by much?” What was I going to do about Mr. Petty? Have nothing more to do with him, that’s what.

  “Sure, he came by, but only ‘cause it was his job. I mean, it’s not like they’re friends or anything.”

  “No?”

  “Well, who could be friends with him? He fired Mr. Phelps.”

  “Nice-looking, though, isn’t he?”

  “If you like old geezers.” What did that make me, a geezette?

  We talked a while longer. Then Livie left, saying she had work to do.

  I stuffed my few meager belongings into an empty bureau drawer, made a quick inventory of the refrigerator and cupboards and headed out to find a market. Not only did I need my own supplies, but I hoped I might ply my housemates with food and sodas. They might not tell me where to find Missy Franklin, but maybe I could ward off some of the “get-the-new-housemother” pranks? Fat chance.

  When I returned it was quarter to six. I could hear radios and talking above me. My charges had returned. Oh goody.

  I stowed my purchases and headed up to the dining hall, clipboard in hand.

  CHAPTER 24

  As I made my way up the hill to the dining room in Friends Hall, I thought about the past few days. What had I gotten myself into? Breaking and entering, visits from the governor, and possibly even murder. What had ever possessed me to accept Muriel’s offer? Five thousand dollars, that’s what.

  No one had given me the slightest reason why Carolyn Santos might want to kill herself. Despite Muriel’s objections, Dinny had given me the name of the police officer, Barry Frost—“nice guy, no nonsense”—who had investigated Carolyn’s death. I decided to pay him a visit in the morning. The chances of him giving the time of day to a busybody alumna posing as a private detective were slim to none, but it was worth a try. I also intended to sift through Carolyn’s belongings before the sister came and took them away.

  “Hey, Ms. Steele! Wait up.”

  I turned, spying Livie jogging up the hill toward me. I waved the clipboard at her. “Perfect timing. What exactly am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Everyone checks in with you as they come into the dining hall. If they’re already there, they’ll find you.”

  “How will they find someone they don’t know?”

  She laughed. “They know you.”

  As I followed her into the dining room, visions of short-sheeted beds and pillows full of shaving cream ran through my head. Just inside the door, I was greeted by a tall, thin woman in a brown cotton pantsuit, her short, cropped hair looking as if it had been trimmed with a chain saw.

  “Miss Steele, I presume? Mabel Cook. I’m dorm mistress of Friends Hall and head of the dining room. Welcome. Please join me at my table tonight. We like our houseparents to sit with their students, but since tonight’s your first night, we’d be pleased to have you join us at the head table.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled
. “And please call me Ricky.”

  “Yes, of course. Follow me. Hello, Olivia.”

  Livie caught my arm. “I’ll come rescue you after dessert.”

  I winked, following Mabel to a table at the center of the room. There we were joined by several faculty members and two students, Maisie Grant and a senior boy, Mike something; I missed his last name. I introduced myself to Juan and Rosa Diaz, teachers of Spanish and French, respectively.

  Rosa was short, plump and vivacious, her thick wavy hair braided in dark coils at the nape of her neck. Both Rosa and her husband were dressed casually, in slacks and tee shirts. Rosa explained that they were no longer dorm parents since they now lived in faculty housing, but were filling in for Bob and Carrie Blackburn, the dorm parents in charge of Cresta. “It’s the boys’ dorm next to Friends Hall,” Rosa explained. They both welcomed me to Whitley, but only Rosa sounded like she meant it.

  Judith Freeman took the chair beside me. “Well, aren’t we fortunate, Miss Steele—have you come to regale us with stories about the good old days?”

  “Hardly, and everyone, please, the name is Ricky.”

  Mabel Cook stood to ring a bell. Immediately, the room quieted. “Good evening everyone. Are there any announcements?” Judith Freeman raised her hand. “Ms. Freeman?”

  “Practice tomorrow has been moved to Lower Field.”

  “Thank you, Coach Freeman. Anyone else? Well, then, I would like to welcome the newest member of the Whitley School community. Miss Dorothy Steele is here to fill in as dorm parent at Round House next week. Can we please give her a warm Whitley welcome?” Mrs. Cook clapped her hands and the room followed suit. I nodded, scanning the room for familiar faces. I spotted Kathy and Diana huddled together at a table at the far end of the room, not applauding. “Now, if that’s all, enjoy your dinner.”

  As soon as we sat down, an onslaught of students came by to check in. By the time Maisie and Mike served our dinner, I had accounted for eighteen students, everyone on the list except for Missy Franklin and Betty Eberle, Olivia’s sick roommate.