“I’d love to meet her.”
“We’ll get you over to the house for dinner before you leave. Listen, I’ve gotta go. See you.” He hurried off and I continued toward Dinny’s apartment, hoping I would not find Rolly at home.
I found the key and climbed the stairs to let myself in. It was a sad, empty space with a few magazines and books scattered on the coffee table, but little else except Dinny’s laptop and some manila folders on an otherwise empty desk. No books in the bookcases, no pictures on the wall. The air was thick with the smell of new paint. I peeked into the bedroom and spied an unmade bed, piles of clothes on the floor and chair. On the kitchen counter a box of granola and a can of coffee sat beside a few brown bananas.
I returned to the living room and sat at the desk, opening the laptop. The files Katie had copied ran the gamut from lesson plans, exams and assignment sheets to some personal correspondence mixed in, letters to his parents, someone who sounded like a sister, and other letters seeking jobs. I pulled up his resume, which was impressive—two master’s degrees in literature and history, from Princeton and Amherst, respectively, Rhodes Scholar following his undergraduate years at Yale.
Whitley was his third teaching job. His first job had been as an English teacher at Hotchkiss, a position he held for eight years. Following the second master’s, he had moved to New Hampshire to teach at Exeter. After ten years at Exeter he had been hired by Whitley, where he had stayed until last year. Interesting career path, I mused, wondering why he had left the other two, much more prestigious schools. It’s amazing what resumes don’t tell about a person’s job history. I noticed his college graduation date. Unless he’d been a child prodigy, I guessed him to be about fifty-five. He looked ten years younger.
I finally came to the letters I was seeking, in a folder marked “plague.” Cute, I thought, clicking on the first file. There was the first letter in Dinny’s collection, full of vitriol and anger at the administration, calling both Brooke and Dinny incompetent and worse. I clicked file after file and originals of the now-familiar letters popped up on the screen. I checked every one, finding a few incomplete or discarded attempts. However, there were no letters or threatening text about Jared’s affair with Ellen Petty.
Continuing the search, I found a file marked “Carolyn” that contained six documents labeled “letter 1,” “C’s poem,” “let-2,” “Petty,” “let-3,” and “bye-1.” Excited, I opened one after the other, but found all except the file labeled “Petty” blank. This last was a letter to Dinny in support of gay rights, specifically in regards to Carolyn and Judith’s relationship. Jared’s was a passionate, well-reasoned and articulate letter of support, totally unlike the rambling craziness of his other missives.
I continued to search through every folder and file, but found nothing more. Just curriculum stuff and a few charts and grids that he used for record-keeping. Discouraged, I pushed back from the desk, closed the laptop and removed the stick. I held in my hand the proof they needed to sue Jared’s ass. Too bad it could never be used.
CHAPTER 31
It was nearly lunchtime so I headed across campus to the cafeteria. As I neared Leamy Hall, I spied Paula Kroll.
Noticing me, she waved, walking toward me. “Ms. Steele, hi.” I paused, waiting for her to reach me. “How are you settling in?”
“Great, thanks.”
“I heard you found Missy. Good for you. Everyone is so relieved.”
I nodded. “I’m headed to lunch. Want to join me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m teaching a piano lesson in a few minutes. I’m booked all afternoon with lessons here, then in town. This is my busiest day.”
“Do you have time for a quick coffee or soda?”
She hesitated, eyes scanning the quad. “Well, maybe just a quick one.”
We made our way into the cafeteria, where I loaded my tray with every luncheon choice on the menu. Paula poured a glass of iced tea and waited while I poured catsup over my french fries, then buried my hot dog with onions, mustard and relish. “I live alone,” I told her, as if that explained my piggery. “It’s hard to resist sampling it all when someone else does the cooking.”
“I know what you mean,” she said graciously. “The first few years Jonathan and I lived on campus, I gained twenty pounds.”
I took a slurpy bite of hot dog. What was her secret? Rail-thin now, she certainly had no place to hide twenty pounds. “This has been quite a spring at Whitley, hasn’t it?”
“Sure has.” She was eyeing her tea intently.
“I understand you were close to Carolyn Santos.”
“Yes, we were good friends, especially in the early years. We’d kind of drifted apart the last few. She was a wonderful person.”
“Any idea why she did it?”
“None. It was totally out of character.” She leaned forward, whispering, “Jonathan doesn’t like me to say this, but I don’t believe for one second that Carolyn killed herself. He says the alternative is just too awful to think about, but I just don’t believe it.”
Me either, I thought, watching her. “You think she was murdered, then?”
“Well—”
“Hello, ladies. You look like you’re plotting to overthrow the king.” Jonathan Kroll stood over us, his expression not nearly as friendly as his words. “Paula, I thought you had a lesson.”
Paula blushed, stammering as she rose. “Yes, oh, look at the time. Ricky and I were just talking about the girls and the dorm. I was trying to give her a few pointers from our years as dorm parents.”
“Mercifully behind us,” he said, gazing from one to the other of us. Jonathan Kroll was angry, very angry, and the smarmy smile he had plastered across his face failed to hide it. At that moment, Rolly, my knight with a plastic tray, appeared and asked to join us. His interruption gave Paula an opportunity to make her escape, leaving her husband standing over Rolly and me with no apparent reason for being there. He quickly excused himself and hustled off to join the lunch line. I noticed that he took his tray to the opposite end of dining room.
“What’s his problem, do you suppose?”
“Insufferable twit. Always has been. Very controlling, very jealous. Doesn’t let the poor creature out of his sight most of the time. Don’t know how she stands him. She’s a marvelous musician, much more talented, not to mention intelligent, than he is.”
“She doesn’t think Carolyn committed suicide.”
“Neither do I.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
He looked as if I’d stabbed him.
“So, who would want her dead?”
“This is not the place to discuss it.” With that, we lapsed into silence, me scarfing up my french fries and hot dog while Rolly dined on soup and salad. Finally, he excused himself and headed for class.
As I sat slurping up the last bit of catsup with a limp french fry, Missy Franklin appeared. She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed from running.
“Missy? What’s wrong? I thought you were in class.”
“I asked to go to the bathroom so I could find you. Looked for you earlier, but you weren’t here. Rafe told me he saw you coming in as he was leaving.”
I left my tray and walked her to the side door. “What is it?”
“It’s silly, really, but I saw Ms. Freeman before lunch and she expects me at practice today.”
“What’s the problem? If you don’t want to go, I’ll write you an excuse. Say you’re sick.”
“No, I want to go, but he might be there, you know, Mr. Phelps. I wondered if you might be able to come and watch practice. I’d feel better if you were there.”
Eyeing her, I could see what Jared Phelps, Carolyn Santos and all of her friends saw in Missy Franklin. Her features were slightly skewed, but she had the most intense blue eyes I’d ever seen. When she looked at you, it was difficult to turn away, and when she smiled, her features magically found their proper places. “Arresting” was the word I would use to
describe her. “Arresting” and “charismatic,” the very words I would use to describe Jared Phelps.
“Of course. What time?”
“It’s a three fifteen to five practice. Sometimes coach likes to talk to us first, but we’re usually out on the field by three thirty or a little after, then back in the locker room by five, ‘cause JV uses the field.”
“I’ll see you at three thirty, then.” I watched her retreat with the loping gait of a long-distance runner. When I run, I look like a pigeon-toed ostrich.
CHAPTER 32
I strolled across campus and bumped into Rich Naylor coming from the Science Center. He congratulated me on locating Missy, whispering, “I hear you’re some kind of private investigator,” as he fell in step alongside me. “Did Dinny hire you, or was this just a happy coincidence?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to him about that.”
“So, now that your job is over, are you jumping ship on us?”
“Not until the new houseparent arrives.”
“How loyal of you.”
“How long have you been at Whitley?”
“Fourteen years, the last eight as dean. At least, I think that’s right.”
“What did you teach?”
“History. Still do, one class a semester. Dinny recruited me from Loomis to be the department chair because he didn’t want to give the job to…” He stopped, carried away by his own pomposity. “Never mind.”
“Didn’t want to give the job to Jared Phelps? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Not exactly kosher, talking out of school, doncha know?”
“I’ve met the man. You won’t be telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“Jared was—is—a gifted teacher.”
“And he knows it?”
“He’s always been a little full of himself, I suppose, but then, aren’t we all?”
“It’s too bad about Carolyn Santos, isn’t it? She sounds like she was a lovely person.”
“Didn’t know her well.”
“That’d make you one of a small minority. From what I’ve heard, the woman was incredibly popular.”
He sniffed. “With some people.”
“Not you, though?”
“Honestly, I barely gave her a thought. I’m an academic, Ricky. One of a dying breed. What do we know about art and artists? Carolyn did her thing, had her circle of friends. Robin and I have ours.”
“Oh, heard that Robin and Carolyn ran road races together; you, too, sometimes.”
“Ancient history. Before we had kids. Unlike the single folks on campus, now that we’re parents, we’re very involved in town activities. Our children go to the local schools, and we’re very committed to our church. In fact, our friends are mostly off-campus people.”
That’s why you were out with all your faculty buddies for Robin’s birthday, I thought, biting my tongue. I gave him what I hoped was a sly, conspiratorial look. “You’re sort of like Gerry Weinstein, then, with his off-campus friend.”
“Oh, yes, Wendy. Something, isn’t she? Her family goes to our church. We seldom see her there, but her mom and dad are regulars.”
“Have they been dating long?”
“About six to eight months, I’d say. Why do you ask?”
Ignoring his question, I asked, “Do you socialize with them much?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, we’re more involved with Westfield locals. You know, parents of our children’s friends and all.”
“Are you in Westfield and at Whitley, for the long haul, do you think?”
He smiled, regarding me. “Not necessarily. A few more years, at least, but then I think I’ll be ready for a head’s position. New challenge, you know?”
“Did you apply for the Head of Upper School position?”
“Wow, for a housemother, you’re full of questions. No, I didn’t think I was ready to be Head. Dean suits me better, and Brooke was the favorite. Look, I’m late. Gotta run. Happy snooping.” He veered off, heading for the classroom building, leaving me with more questions about Jared Phelps and the whole lot of them, for that matter.
CHAPTER 33
Feeling sleepy after my enormous lunch that was now settling uncomfortably in my stomach, I walked back to Round House for a nap. It was after two when I woke and headed back to campus. I wanted to find Fred Draper, head of the grounds crew. He and Carolyn had worked so closely in designing Rolly’s garden. Perhaps he would have something interesting to say about her. After several inquiries I found him underneath a truck in the maintenance barn. I called several times until he rolled out on his dolly, staring up with a grease-smeared face. “What’s up? You lost, miss?”
“No, I’m looking for you, Mr. Draper. Ricky Steele. I’m filling in as a houseparent at Round House this week.”
Reluctantly, he stood. “Oh, yeah. Guess they’d have to get someone in. I’d shake hands, but I’m pretty dirty.” His rough hands were black, the kind of black that permeated every fold and crease, no matter how many times they were scrubbed. He stood an inch taller than my five-nine, in blue jeans and tee shirt, the Whitley School logo on his left breast pocket. Wiry but strong, his arms were brown from working all day in the sun.
“That’s a beautiful garden you and Carolyn Santos designed for Rolly.”
He nodded.
“He was one of my favorite teachers here at Whitley.”
“Nice guy. The garden was mostly her idea. Me and my men just put it in. Gave her a few suggestions for plantings—shrubs, perennials and such—but it was really, Carolyn’s… Ms. Santos’ baby.”
“How long did it take to plan it?”
“Let’s see, Mr. Petty came to me about it last fall, around Halloween, I think. Then, Ms. Santos started drawing and sketching. She’d check in with me every few weeks to see what I thought.”
“You’ve known Carolyn Santos for a few years now. What were your impressions of her?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “Didn’t know her well, but she was a real talented lady.”
“Some people say she was wasting her talents at Whitley, that she should have been an artist full-time.”
He shrugged. “Dunno about that.”
“Did she impress you as the suicidal type?”
“No, not really.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing bothered her, you know? She liked the kids. She got along well with the staff. Besides, she’d been looking forward to the garden dedication all winter. We took a long walk around it the day before she died. She was mad because I couldn’t be here. Wife’s family had a gathering out of town. I couldn’t miss it. She was fussin’, sayin’ they should postpone the ceremony so I could be there. I told her she was crazy. Told her she’d just have to put on a show for both of us. As it turned out, neither of us were there. Thank God I was out of town. Would have been hell standin’ there accepting the credit.” He looked away, but not before I spied the sadness in his eyes.
“She was a friend, wasn’t she?”
He shrugged. “You could say that. As much as faculty and staff can be friends. Look, I gotta get back to work.”
“Just one more thing. What did you think of Jared Phelps?”
“Bastard. And that’s all I’m gonna say about the guy.”
“Not gonna tell me why.”
“Nope. If you meet the little pervert, you’ll figure it out. Now, I gotta get back to this truck.”
As he settled back on the dolly, I decided to push my luck. “Mr. Draper, what’s your take on all the vandalism and thefts this past year?”
“Search me. Townies, students, who knows? All I know is, wasn’t any of my guys. And I damn well won’t stand by and see them accused. Aren’t even in the science building but once a month or so.”
“And were they accused?”
“Not by me.” With that, he wheeled under the truck. Conversation over.
CHAPTER 34
I spent an hour in the Whitley
Library, flipping through old yearbooks, waiting for the lacrosse practice to begin. Jared Phelps hadn’t changed much over the years, except his eyes. In the last few pictures, they’d been wild and unfocused as opposed to earlier pictures depicting an open, more easygoing countenance. Last year’s yearbook had been printed and distributed before Jared’s firing, so there he was, in all his wild-eyed glory, standing at the chalkboard, lecturing. Adolph Hitler came to mind.
Before heading over to the field, I called Brooke Richards to explain why I could not be at faculty meeting. He reiterated his statements about it being optional for houseparents and rang off, promising to go over any items I had questions about after the minutes were emailed tomorrow.
The girls were just coming out when I reached the field. I appeared to be the only spectator. However, sure enough, ten minutes later, I spied Jared Phelps loping toward the field. Hope was nowhere in sight.
He approached the team, calling, “Missy, hi.”
She froze as I moved between them, cutting him off. “Overstepping, aren’t we, Mr. Phelps?”
“Well, if it isn’t the little snooper. Figures you’d turn out to be a dick, or is it dyke?”
News did travel fast. I watched as Missy joined her teammates, then I turned to face him. “Stay away from her.”
“So now what, you’re her bodyguard?”
“According to my sources, you are only welcome on campus when Hope is with you and I don’t see her.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be housemothering or something?”
“I’m not going to let you near her, so you might as well leave.”
“It’s not up to you.”
“Her aunt has asked the school to keep you away from Missy. Have you ever met Missy’s Aunt Pamela?”
“This isn’t what Missy wants.”
“I’m afraid what Missy wants is not your concern, Mr. Phelps. So, why don’t you just run along home?”
Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1) Page 15