by Mary Feliz
Stephen passed me a plate of gingerbread men, while Elaine handed me a steaming mug of coffee.
“I guessed you take cream,” she said. “If you prefer black, I’ll pour it out.” I assured her it was perfect and took a sip to prove it. Real cream.
Elaine sat in an overstuffed Victorian rocker looking as if she’d escaped from a Brontë novel. Her hair was meant to be pulled back in a bun, but renegade hairs created a friendly cloud around her head.
Stephen patted a seat on the couch next to him. “Have a seat, please, Maggie.”
“We’re still waiting for Dennis DeSoto,” Elaine said. “But why don’t we tell Maggie about ourselves before we begin.”
She turned to me and smiled. “I’m Elaine. I’ve lived in this house for fifty-five years, ever since I started teaching history at Orchard View the year it opened. My husband was the first principal. I took a few years off while our three girls were young, but later on I taught and became principal after my husband died.”
Stephen interrupted her. “Elaine’s in on this meeting, Maggie, because she keeps a close eye on the school.”
“And I’m Flora Meadow,” said the woman from the window seat, fingering the crystal medallion she wore around her neck. “I’m the PTA secretary, a parent, and an herbalist.”
I had no idea what an herbalist did, but from the crystal and the fairies embroidered on the bottom of Flora’s forest-green skirt, I figured it was some sort of Northern California New Age thing. I had a vague impression of having seen her among the parents on the first day of school.
Flora must have been used to explaining her profession. “I work with herbs and roots to devise natural treatments to support balanced body systems and maximize health,” she said, rattling the description off as if it were all one word.
“Now is not the time for a commercial break, Flora dear,” Elaine said. Flora looked offended and shrunk in on herself like a startled snail retreating into its shell.
The front door crashed open. Dennis DeSoto had arrived. “Ah, good to see you’re all here,” he said. “I can’t stay, but April, I wanted to let you know that Demi has everything in hand in the office, so you can stay here as long as you need to. I must run. I have an important meeting.”
Dennis scanned the room and scowled when his eyes met mine.
I had no idea why he’d taken such a dislike to me. But he was odd himself, so I decided not to worry about his opinion.
“Thank you, Dennis,” said Elaine. “Please don’t let us keep you from your important meeting.”
Dennis disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.
“Who’s Demi?” I said.
April grabbed a gingerbread man from the plate on the coffee table and bit off his head. “Her name is Elisabeth,” April said. “She’s married to that jerk. Dennis just calls her Demi. All their kids have names starting with D, and Dennis thought hers should match.” She glared at the headless gingerbread man and amputated his foot. “Elisabeth is kind, smart, and attractive. I can’t figure out why she stays with him. A man that self-centered cannot be good in bed.”
Tess snorted. I tried to hide my smile with my coffee cup.
“You should switch to decaf,” said Flora. “Chamomile tea can be calming too.” She picked up her cup with a shaking hand and smelled the coffee. “Is this Starbucks or from the independent coffee shop, Elaine?”
“I’m afraid it’s Maxwell House, Flora. Would you like some tea?”
Flora replaced her cup in the saucer without taking a sip. She muttered something under her breath about fair-trade practices and how no one took these things seriously except her.
Stephen cleared his throat, and everyone’s attention shifted to him.
“Let me tell you what I know about what happened at the school last night,” Stephen said. “And then we can talk about how we’ll proceed.” He looked at his watch. “It’s five past two now, and I’d like to get us all out of here before school ends at three.
“Police investigators suggest the porta-potty explosion and the squirrels were done by the same kid or group of kids. My contact did not tell me, specifically, what the connection is.”
I half raised my hand and Stephen nodded to me.
“Does that mean the vandalism at my house may be connected too?”
“What vandalism?” Pauline said.
I started to answer, but Stephen jumped in. “Maggie and her family moved in less than a week ago, but have experienced a spate of property damage.”
“I thought we were here to discuss protecting the school,” Pauline said. “Not to cater to individual homeowners.”
“You’re right, Pauline,” Stephen said. “Maggie is here not only because it was her idea to brainstorm ideas to protect the school, but also because the problems at her house may have some connection to the school issues. Her experiences may help us catch whoever is behind this.”
Pauline looked away.
Stephen continued: “Maggie suggested we encourage dog walkers to exercise their pets on the campus, and ask parents to find out what their children have heard from other students. The police are in favor of both ideas, but suggest that dog walkers patrol in groups, keep their dogs on leashes, their cell phones handy, and, of course, clean up after their pets.”
“Miss Harrier will have a problem with that,” said Pauline. “She’s always been at odds with the dog owners who use the field before and after school.”
Stephen smiled. “Munchkin and I have been the target of her wrath, and you’re right, there’s no love lost between her and the dogs. She’s worried about liability and overwhelming poor April here with requests for help from kids who’ve stepped in a mess the dogs left behind.”
April wrinkled her nose.
“The police will step up vehicle patrols through the night and do a walk-through in the late evenings.” Stephen paused and looked at Elaine. “We’ll be relying on you and the other neighbors to report anything you see or hear that’s unusual.” He tilted his head and rubbed his earlobe. “Remember, stopping vandalism is necessary for several reasons.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “We want to catch minors, address any issues they have, and scare the pants off them before they have to be tried as adults. We want to keep the school in good shape for the students. And, let’s face it, vandalized schools don’t give voters a good impression. The school parcel tax is up for renewal next year, and we’ll need every vote to get it passed.”
Elaine chimed in: “And no school has extra staff or funds to be doing unnecessary maintenance.” Everyone made noises of agreement.
Tess spoke up. “You each have different spheres of influence, so talk up this effort among your friends and neighbors. Refer any questions you can’t answer to Stephen, April, or me. April, if Miss Harrier has any issues, have her call Stephen or Jason Mueller. But please assure her that the police are in favor of our plan, although we can refine it if there are any problems. I’ll draft up a letter if you like, for Harrier’s signature. To tell the school community what we’re doing?”
April nodded. “That would be great. She’ll want to edit it, so if you can get it to me on a thumb drive, I’ll tell her it’s a draft that you need her help with.”
Pauline spoke up. “I’ll put together a roster for the dog walkers, so we can make sure we’ve got coverage on evenings, nights, and weekends.” She pulled out her phone and her fingers moved quickly, apparently making notes. “Elaine, I know you like the hour before school. What about the rest of you? Stephen?”
“Munchkin and I have another assignment at the moment, but let me know if you can’t get anyone for the wee hours: two-to-four, or midnight-to-two. I’ll find someone.”
Pauline nodded. “I’ll let you know. If students are our vandals, I don’t think they’d be out that late, but you never know.”
Tess leaned forward in her chair. “Mozart, Teddy, and I will take after dinner. Say, seven-to-eight?”
Pauline looked at me, fingers poised over th
e phone. “And you? Maggie, was it? What time would you like? I know you have that golden retriever.”
I hesitated. The kids and I had no routine yet. I had no idea what would work. And with Max gone, I needed to be home in the evenings with Brian and David. They were both old enough to be left alone for short periods, but I wasn’t ready to let them fend for themselves on a regular basis.
Stephen broke in on the conversation. “Pauline, let’s leave Maggie off the list for now. She’s just moved and has a lot on her plate.” He held up his hand as Pauline began to protest. “Even if she saw someone destroying school property, it would be difficult for her to identify the person. She doesn’t know anyone yet, besides us.”
Pauline sniffed.
Stephen’s understanding of my predicament left me in an expansive mood, so I threw Pauline a bone. “I’ve been active in my children’s schools, Pauline,” I said. “I intend to volunteer both here and at the high school after we get settled. Our moving van still hasn’t arrived, though.” I smiled and was expecting an empathetic smile over the perils of moving, but she ignored me.
Stephen consulted his watch. “Two-forty-five. If no one has any other suggestions or questions, I can let you loose to corral your kids.”
Pauline left quickly. Everyone else welcomed me to the community and made the proper social noises of sympathy over our vandalism trouble. Flora urged me to get involved in the PTA and recommended some soothing herbal tea. “Most folks around here don’t understand how stressful Orchard View can be, especially when things aren’t going well. I’m sorry for all your troubles, Maggie.”
I thanked her, after which Flora left to meet a client for an aromatherapy consultation, while April returned to school. Elaine didn’t have a dishwasher, so the rest of us washed, dried, and put away her dishes, chatting as we did so.
“I’m very sorry you’ve run into so much trouble in less than a week, Maggie,” Elaine said. “Orchard View is a great town. I hope you and your family will be happy here.”
“I hope so too,” I said. I thanked her for hosting the meeting, gave Mackie a quick scratch behind the ears, and turned to leave.
I was almost out of earshot when I heard her whisper to Stephen, “What about . . . ?”
Could they be talking about me behind my back? I frowned and squirmed inwardly with that uncomfortable thought, but then I rejected it. One of the things I’d instantly liked about the group was how straightforward they all seemed. But Elaine’s whispered comment served to confirm my feeling that there was a great deal more going on in Orchard View than any newcomer could fathom.
Chapter 12
If your schedule leans toward early mornings, develop a repertoire of handheld breakfasts you can eat in the car. Take time the night before to lay out your clothes and everything else you’ll need for the next day.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Saturday, September 6, Morning
The remainder of the week passed in a flurry of chores, homework, and home repairs. Tess and I had spoken on the phone, but neither one of us could find a spare hour to meet for coffee. Friday afternoon, the moving van arrived with an extra team to speed up the unloading. After school, the boys and I made our beds, unpacked our clothes, and took warm showers that washed away much of the tension that had built over the course of the week. We ate pizza in our pj’s and crashed early, serenaded by the coyote choir.
On Saturday morning, David and I were getting organized to leave for band practice when a sleepy-looking Brian drifted down the stairs in a T-shirt and boxers. Belle followed. I let her out and passed Brian a spoon, bowl, box of cereal, and a carton of milk.
“Thanks, Mom,” Brian mumbled around a crunchy mouthful of Cheerios. “Is it still okay if I stay here alone this morning?”
“If you want to,” I said, not sure whether he was asking to stay or if he wanted me to force him to go with me. Brian wanted to be independent, but staying alone in a house, particularly one in which a man had recently died, might be a little creepy.
“Umm . . .”
“You don’t have to,” I reminded him. “I’d be happy to have your company. And I don’t have many errands. The building inspector will be by later, but I should be home by then.”
“I’ll stay here and go back to sleep.” Brian yawned. I put out my hand to rumple the little-boy curls, but pulled my hand back, remembering just in time how much he didn’t like it.
David came down the back stairs two at a time.
“Hey, squirt,” he said to Brian, laughing as Brian responded by sticking out his Cheerio-covered tongue. “I thought you were going to sleep in?”
“Someone,” said Brian, glaring at his brother, “was bellowing marching-band tunes in the shower this morning. Woke me up.”
It was time to go.
“Got everything, David?” I said. “Let’s get a move on.” I grabbed my keys and backpack, let Belle in from the porch, and told her to stay with Brian. She curled up under the table at his feet.
“Brian, can you feed her when you’ve finished breakfast? Just put your dishes in the sink.”
Brian nodded. He reached for the milk carton and knocked it over. Belle scrambled to clean the evidence off the floor. I tossed Brian a dish towel and a sympathetic glance, and David and I took off for the car, band, and errands.
We navigated the curves on Monte Viejo Road through the morning fog. It wasn’t raining, but I had the wipers on. Every few feet, a big drop of condensation slid off the end of a branch and plopped onto the windshield.
The vast temperature swings typical of a California fall were one of the most difficult things about David’s schedule. By afternoon, it would be warm enough for shorts, T-shirts, and iced tea. First thing in the morning, however, we shivered in jeans and fleece hoodies, and we each had an insulated travel mug for the predawn trips to school: hot, rich coffee for me, creamy milk chocolate for Brian, and hot chocolate with a splash of coffee for David. Hot drinks and peanut-butter toast were our favorite portable band-morning breakfast so far, but we would need to vary our repertoire as the season wore on.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and tried to remember the items on my to-do list. David was quiet, and I looked over once or twice to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep.
When I dropped him at school, David told me practice finished at 3:30 p.m. and he was getting a lift home from another band parent.
“Hang on!” I said as he was closing the car door. “Who is this parent?”
David rolled his eyes. “I told you I had a ride for today, remember? On the first day of school? When I wanted you to sign my band form? You wanted me to set up a carpool to help out, so I did.”
I shook my head. “But I don’t know her. . . .” I started to reply, but my cheeky kid was a step ahead of me.
“It is as I have feared,” he said in a fake accent. “My mother has indeed gone mad.”
He switched to his normal tone of voice. “Look, Mom, I’ll text you her number and you can call her. But I met her yesterday and she seemed okay. No horns. No knives. No chainsaws. I promise if she’s a bad driver I’ll ask to get out and I’ll call you. I’m fourteen, Mom. I know this stuff.”
I might have scolded him for using a disrespectful tone, but instead, I laughed. “Okay, kiddo,” I said, “but remember that there is a very fine line between a smart kid and a smart-ass. Remember to stay on the right side of that line.”
He shut the door and strode off, waving. The car behind me honked and the driver gestured for me to move on. I sighed and moved forward. Being the parent of a young teen was tough. Just when I wanted to pull him close, David pushed me away. And when I thought he should be more independent, he tended to cling. I wished Max were here to consult with. Before I left the parking lot, my phone pinged with what I assumed was the contact information David had promised me. I’d try to meet the mom for coffee, but if that didn’t work, a phone call w
ould have to do. But if she sounded like a flake, didn’t answer, slurred her words, or sent my mom antennae aquiver in any way, I’d be at school to pick up David.
By noon, most of my errands were done. I’d phoned the mom who’d be driving David home. She lived less than a quarter mile from us and we agreed to meet for coffee the next day. She confirmed that she’d met David the day before when she was checking uniform measurements, and thought he was a charming child. Her son also played trumpet. She hoped I wouldn’t mind if she drove David home and that I might be willing to carpool from time to time.
I thanked her and said I looked forward to meeting her. I refrained from mentioning that I also wanted to confirm that she wasn’t a chainsaw-wielding psychopath.
I’d forgotten to get gas until I was almost home and didn’t have time to turn around and still get back in time to meet the building inspector. I typed a reminder on my phone. The gas gauge was on empty, but I hoped I still had a little fuel in reserve.
* * *
I called to Brian as I walked into the kitchen. No answer. No Belle running to greet me. I walked to the table to look for a note and deposit my grocery bags before going back to the car for more. I nearly slipped on the tiles and banged my elbow hard on the table as I tried to avoid dropping the eggs.
The kitchen looked like something out of an old I Love Lucy episode. A thin sheen of soapy water covered the floor and bubbles oozed from the running dishwasher. I sighed and leaned my head on my hand, wincing as my bruised elbow hit the table.
Poor Brian. It looked like he’d tried to help by starting the dishwasher, but made the classic mistake of using laundry detergent or regular dish soap in place of the powder formulated for dishwashing machines.
I turned off the washer and grabbed towels from the drawer next to the sink. I threw them on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and pulled a mop from the rack Adelia had installed behind the basement door.