Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1)

by M. Lee Prescott

  They stopped at the gate to the backyard. Several minutes later, Rafe Langdon appeared on a bike and pulled up alongside his co-conspirators. He slipped his backpack around in front of him and unzipped the top. I was not surprised to see the breakfast contraband cascade into the open backpack. As Rafe chatted with the others, I ran to my room, grabbed car keys and slipped back out the front door. I hopped into my car just as Rafe took off.

  CHAPTER 28

  I ducked as Rafe passed my car and swung onto Main Street, headed south. Keeping a safe distance, I followed as he pedaled away from campus. About a half a mile along, the town gave way to fields and farms. If memory served me, we were headed in the direction of the old Whitley horses stables, no longer in use. After going coed, the school had abandoned the riding program in favor of football, no loss to this alumna, who was afraid of large hooved creatures.

  Missy Franklin would know about the stables, of course. Her aunt, Pamela Franklin Rhodes, had been the New England equestrian champion all four years at Whitley, and had eventually gone on to the Olympic trials. Surely Aunt Pamela would have driven her niece out to see her old haunts.

  I slowed down as Rafe disappeared down a dirt road to the left. I drove past the turn-off and spied a weathered sign, “Whitley Equestrian Center,” half-hidden in the bushes. I went a quarter mile farther and pulled the car to the side of the road to wait. Ten minutes passed, I was beginning to think he’d given me the slip when he shot back out onto the road and headed toward town. I watched until he turned the corner out of sight, then made my way slowly down the rutted road. When the stables came into view, I pulled off and parked, hoping not to spook her. I had no interest in chasing an all-star lacrosse player through the woods.

  I slipped into the dark, musty stable, passing several empty stalls until I spied her, a huddled form crouched in the straw at the far end of a stall. She was crying. A half-eaten bagel dangled in one filthy hand. Her other hand clutched a blanket covered with bits of straw and dirt. With all her family’s money, why had she chosen to hide here instead of snuggled up at the Breeze Bye?

  “Missy?” I spoke softly. “Missy?”

  She jumped up and backed away, against the wall.

  “It’s all right. I’m from school. Ricky Steele, I’m filling in as housemother at Round House.”

  She stiffened, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of a mud-splattered lacrosse jersey. “The do-gooder alumna.”

  “That’s me.” I sat on a bench ten feet away from her. “How long are you planning to stay holed up in here?”

  “Well, obviously not any longer, since I’m busted.”

  “Not necessarily. My job was to find you and let your Aunt Pamela know you were safe. Are you?”

  “Like I’m gonna believe you. That you’re not going to run right back and tell them where I am.”

  “Well, I’ll probably need to tell Mr. Petty.”

  She began pacing like a caged animal. “Then he’d find out,” she muttered more to herself than me. “Have you seen my aunt?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She demanded that I find you. Today.”

  “How did she expect you to find me?”

  “I’m a private detective,” I said, realizing that the truth would come out as soon as she got back and talked to Aunt Pamela. “The school hired me.”

  “To find me?”

  “Among other things.”

  Her eyes grew wide, her earlier distress replaced by curiosity. “So this housemother thing is just a cover?”

  “Something like that. Missy, what did you mean when you said ‘he’d find out?’ Who is he?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from her.

  “Jared. Mr. Phelps, I mean.”

  “Why do you care if Jared finds out?”

  She shrugged, her expression guarded.

  “Does it have anything to do with your relationship with him?”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not from Mr. Phelps, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “What do I care? I’m not going back to Whitley.”

  “You’re a senior with three weeks to go. Are you just going to throw it all away? I hear you’re headed to Brown in the fall. You don’t want to give that up, do you?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Another shrug. “What could be that important that you’d sacrifice so much?”

  “Living, for one thing. I’m not ending up like Carolyn. And if I go back, I know I will.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone killed her, Ms. Steele. Carolyn would never have committed suicide. We were planning a big trip this summer, camping in the Adirondacks. Plus, she was going on a canoeing trip with her best friend right after school. Why would she kill herself? It doesn’t make sense. Besides, I know she didn’t. I saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “The man. Carolyn…Ms. Santos was on her way to her studio to pick something up. Then we were going to the movies. I saw him. He stepped out of nowhere and started following her. I should have followed or called security, but I had to run back to the dorm for money for the movie. God, if I hadn’t been so worried about getting to that stupid movie, Carolyn might still be alive.” She sat down, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “You don’t know that,” I said, sitting beside her, slipping my arm around her shoulders. “Who knows what happened? Maybe he wasn’t following her at all.”

  “Oh, he was following her. I’m sure of it.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  She looked at me with tear-streaked face. “No, it was too dark and pretty far away. I’m nearsighted so he was kind of fuzzy. That was another reason I had to go back to the dorm. To get my glasses. I’d taken them off for practice. Coach doesn’t let us wear ‘em.

  “The thing is, he saw me. I saw him stop for a minute and turn around. I was standing under the light so I know he saw me clearly, Ms. Steele. He knows I was watching him.”

  “You think it was Mr. Phelps?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I couldn’t be sure. Someone tall and thin, like him.”

  That narrowed it down to about a dozen likely suspects including Dinny Petty. I stood. “Missy, come back with me. We can protect you. Between your friends and me, we should be able to see that you are never alone, so whoever it is can’t get near you.”

  “I thought you were only staying a week.”

  “Well, they have a replacement coming. I’ll make certain that he or she is completely on top of the situation before I go. Please, come back with me and call your Aunt Pamela. She’s worried sick and so are your teachers. If you come back, maybe we can work together to find Carolyn’s killer.”

  I held out my hand. She sat still and silent, gazing up at me for several minutes, hands wringing the dirty blanket for all it was worth. Finally she reached up, grabbed my hand, and I pulled her to her feet.

  When we got back, everyone was in class. I sent Missy up to shower while I called Dinny and Aunt Pamela’s secretary. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. The governor’s voice barked, “Missy?”

  I ran up to fetch her niece, then retreated to the bedroom, closing the door, not wanting to intrude upon the tearful conversation. A few minutes later, Missy knocked at the door. When I opened it, she handed me the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Her voice was gentle, a far cry from the staccato of the previous day. “Ms. Steele, I cannot possibly tell you how grateful I am.”

  “I hear you.”

  “And you will be hearing from me again, count on it. Should I come down? Should she come home for a few days? Is she safe?”

  “She’s fine and we will keep her safe. Ready to get back to familiar routines.”

  “Take care of her, please?”

  I gave my assurances, then hung up, turning to Missy. “So, what do you want to do?”


  “I’m going to class. If I hurry I can just make the start of physics.”

  “That’s the spirit. Want me to walk you up?”

  “No, it’s daytime. I’ll be fine. Thanks for offering, though.”

  I watched out the back window until she disappeared over the crest of the hill. I had a moment of panic, thinking that I should have taken her, but then calmed down. She was fine, I told myself, grabbing my bag and heading out.

  CHAPTER 29

  On my way downtown, I stopped in at Willard House. Florence directed me to an office in the back where I found Dinny’s secretary, Nancy Greenwell, hunched over a computer. Spying me, she peered up over her glasses. “He’s in a meeting, Ms. Steele. Hold on and let me buzz him.”

  Almost immediately, Dinny appeared at the door. “Ricky, hi, I’m glad you’re here. Nancy, tell them I’ll be five minutes.” She nodded as he led me into what appeared to be a storeroom and closed the door. “Where is she?”

  “Class. She wanted to go, so I said fine.”

  “I guess that’s okay. I’ll stop in to see her after my meeting. Is she okay?”

  “She’s scared. She believes Carolyn was murdered and she’s sure the killer is after her.” I recounted Missy’s description of the man following Carolyn the night she died and Missy’s belief that he had seen her.

  “I don’t believe it. Who would want Carolyn dead?”

  “She believes it was Phelps.”

  He paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, she would, under the circumstances.”

  “Nice of you to tell me about that, by the way.”

  “It didn’t seem relevant, Ricky. My job is to protect students’ privacy.”

  “That’s why you hired a private detective?”

  “I’m sorry. Who told you, anyway?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Had to be Rolly.”

  “Look, I’m heading down to the police station to meet with Barry Frost. Is it okay if I tell him about Missy’s suspicions? He really should be involved.” He stared at the wall. “Dinny, did you hear me?”

  “Of course. Tell him whatever you want. Look, I’ve got to get back, but I wanted to thank you. I knew we made the right decision hiring you.” He took both my hands. “We’re still on for five, right?” I nodded.

  Since I’d misplaced my Westfield map, Florence kindly gave me another on my way out. The police station was just off Main Street in the modern two-story Westfield Safety Complex building. The fire department occupied the left side of the building, the police station, the right. After asking for Frost, I wended my way back to his office, a cubbyhole at the far end of the building. He was on the phone when I peeked in, but motioned me to sit as he ended the conversation with, “Gotcha, be in touch.”

  He appeared to be in his early fifties, military haircut, blond hair shaved close on the sides with a little thatch on top, and a round, cherubic face, sunburned, nose peeling and raw. He wore a rumpled corduroy shirt, drab green tie and khakis. A navy blazer was flung over a file cabinet.

  “What can I do for you? Before you ask, I was out on my brother’s new boat and forgot the sunscreen. Should’ve seen me a week ago. I was a real mess.”

  I introduced myself and gave him a quick rundown of what I was doing in Westfield. When I completed my tale, he shook his head, smiling. “Typical of the old bat, hirin’ an outside person. Always tryin’ to keep everything hush-hush.”

  “You know Muriel?”

  “Not socially, but the woman’s been a fixture here for what, a hundred years?”

  “Got that right.”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Steele?”

  “I wondered if I might see the police report on Carolyn Santos’s death.”

  “Matter of public record. It’ll take about five months before it’s processed and available, but luckily, I’m a nice guy and I’ll show you the rough draft.” He rifled through a stack of papers on his desk, finally tossing a folder across to me. “Knock yourself out. I’ve gotta check on something. Be right back.”

  I read through Frost’s scribblings, notes about the scene, no forced entry, no signs of a struggle. The coroner had ruled it a suicide, cause of death, carbon monoxide poisoning. At the back of the folder were four photographs, Carolyn Santos in her car from different angles. She sat in the driver’s seat, slumped to the right, both hands folded in her lap. Her left foot rested on the brake. Her right ankle was twisted at an odd angle, her foot just to the right of the gas pedal. There was something weird about the picture, aside from the fact that she was dead, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I slipped the photos back in the folder just as Frost returned.

  “I’ll take that.” He snatched the folder out of my hands and moved behind his desk, arms akimbo. “I may be a nice guy, but I’m not stupid. What’s your game, lady? I checked. There’s no record of a private investigator’s license for an R. Steele in Massachusetts.”

  “My legal name is Dorothy. Did you try that?”

  “Don’t get cute with me. Oh, I found plenty on you, Miz Dorothy. Heiress arrested for flag burning in Providence, political protests in Cambridge, two underage drinking citations in Fall River.”

  “That record was expunged.”

  “‘Heiress runs away from exclusive boarding school…daughter of Ralston Steele found holed up with hippies in Ashfield.’ I haven’t even Googled you yet and already have an impressive dossier. Funny, there’s no mention in any of this about a ‘heiress private eye.’ With your record, you might not even be eligible for a license.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Those are all nonsense as you well know, besides being ancient history.”

  “Says you. Now, I think it’s time for us to say bye-bye. If you leave like a good little girl and promise not to come back, I won’t arrest you.”

  “What about Carolyn Santos? Aren’t you going to follow up on Missy’s suspicions?”

  “My guess is we’re dealin’ with a rich, spoiled and hysterical schoolgirl, not unlike yourself.”

  “Let’s not cloud the issues here. Missy Franklin is scared and it’s real.”

  “Cool your panties, Dottie. I’ll check it out. I gotta go to Northfield for court today, but I’ll come up and have a chat with her tonight, if that’s okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, you’re going right back up there and tell Dinny Petty that you’re a fraud, right?”

  “I tried, believe me,” I gave him a quick rundown of how the misunderstanding, as I preferred to call it, had occurred as a result of my practical joke in the newsletter.

  “Look, I don’t care how you got yourself into this mess, but if you don’t tell him, I will. You’ll just have to try a little harder to tell the truth.”

  “I’m supposed to stay till the end of the week as housemother.”

  “Suit yourself. There’s no law against you pretending to be a housemother.”

  As I rose, a thought occurred to me. “Did you ever question Jared Phelps in connection with Carolyn Santos’s death?”

  “Sounds familiar. Who’s he, one of the teachers?”

  “Ex-teacher. They used to be good friends, Jared and Carolyn. They had a falling out last year about his inappropriate relationships with students. A few weeks later he was fired.”

  “We didn’t talk to him last week, but that name sounds real familiar. I’ll check it out.”

  “You should talk to him,” I said, exiting quickly before he could tell me to mind my own business.

  So much for my five thousand dollars, I thought morosely.

  CHAPTER 30

  I drove back to campus, parked at Round House, and ran into my apartment to grab the stick drive from its secret hiding place, the top dresser drawer. As I walked across campus, I spied Brooke Richards crossing the quad and waved.

  He veered his course and came to greet me. “Good morning. Congratulations, and good work, Ricky. We are all very relieved and grateful. Just saw Missy
and she looks none the worse for wear.”

  “I hope she’s okay. Better tell faculty to keep a close eye. I’m sorry I missed the assembly this morning.”

  “You didn’t miss much. We have an assembly every morning.”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “By the way, since you have no teaching duties, please don’t feel you need to attend the faculty-staff meeting this afternoon. I mean, you’re most welcome, and occasionally houseparents come, but it’s certainly not mandatory.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see how the day goes.”

  “How’s things at Round House?”

  “So far, so good.”

  “They should be sending someone over to pack up Carolyn’s things in the next few days. Her sister was supposed to come down and do it. Insisted she wanted to, so we left everything. In fact, Jonathan offered to start the packing and did, I believe, but now the sister calls and tells us she’s tied up for three weeks.”

  “I travel light, so they’re not in my way.” I resisted the urge to ask him when Jonathan had volunteered for the packing work. “Brooke, were you and Carolyn good friends?”

  “Not very. She and Marilyn, my wife, jogged together sometimes. They were friendlier before last year. I’m sure Dinny’s told you a little about Jared Phelps. It got pretty ugly and he and Carolyn were such good friends. At least, they were, in the beginning, when Jared first began his campaign against the administration.”

  “Does Marilyn teach at Whitley?”

  “No, she’s the children’s librarian at Westfield Public. Works three days a week. Our kids are still young.”