“She did?”
“Absolutely. She made a big show of claiming her heart problems made her ineligible, but that’s all it was—a show. Once I got the job, she never missed a chance to humiliate me.”
“That must have made you angry,” I said, prodding the same way I did when Nathan was struggling to express himself.
“Of course,” he huffed. “But I certainly—” He stopped abruptly. He covered the pause by stuffing a dripping nacho into his mouth. “These are really good. Sure you wouldn’t like some?”
“No, thanks.” Filling in the blanks, I asked, “I heard how dejected she was when she was forced to retire.”
He kept his eyes downcast and ignored me.
“That was your decision, wasn’t it?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. ”I was in charge of the high school at that time. I did what was best for the school. For my students. You parents wouldn’t have me do any less. She was so absorbed when her husband got cancer, she made a mess of her class schedule. Sent her students out on stupid field projects, writing reports on businesses.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“She taught English. She was supposed to be teaching the classics— reading for enjoyment. Instead, she was teaching them how to write office memos and technical jargon. She—”
“Mrs. Kravett was teaching her students technical writing? Are we talking about the same person here? The woman who used to preach about how much better off we’d be if we threw out our TVs and stereos and blenders?”
Jack snorted and nodded. “She even took some computer course at night last year. Claimed it was time English curriculum reflected the real world.”
An overwhelming sense of sadness enveloped me. I could see her so clearly in my mind’s eye. There she was at the blackboard, hands on her hips, frowning at us in our seats as she asked, “Haven’t any of you turned off all that electric junk in your house, just once? Grabbed a good book, sat in front of the fireplace, and read aloud to a loved one?” After class, we’d snickered about how “out of touch” she was. Now, it felt so awful to know that even she had surrendered to some extent and had tried, at the last, to get with the times.
Jack continued, “The whole thing was just an excuse so she wouldn’t have to grade book reports and give lectures anymore.”
“Good Lord, Jack! The woman was sixty-six and she showed more guts and innovation than you, thirty years her junior!”
Jack clenched his jaw and glared at me. “I’ve got to get back to school.” Jack rose. He didn’t look at me as we walked to his car. I felt sure he wished my head was in the way when he flung his bat into his truck.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I said, “Tommy Newton told me you showed him some computer records to determine when Steve had logged on. Could I look at them?”
Jack shook his head. “The police took ‘em.”
“Why didn’t anyone know Mrs. Kravett’s password?”
“Steve was wrong. She didn’t have a password in the first place: She never used the computer.”
“You’re sure about that?”
He gave an angry shrug. “Unless she lied about it. We have forms for the staff to fill out that have them log their passwords, just in case they forget or—”
Die an untimely death, I mentally filled in.
“The forms are kept in a locked cabinet in my office,” he continued. “She wrote there that she didn’t use the computer and didn’t have a password.”
“You can always get a password out of a system if you know what you’re doing,” I said. “I remember something in my computer training about a memory dump…getting a printout of storage buffers. And at my party, Steve said something about his plans to do that on Sunday.” Except he was killed on Saturday.
Jack nodded. “He said he was going to shut down the system to get her password last Sunday. I already told him he’d be wasting his time, since she didn’t have a password.”
I clenched my jaw and looked out the window. We were almost at the school. If Steve said Mrs. Kravett had a password, she had a password; that’s not a mistake a computer expert would make. Apparently Jack’s arrogance made him oblivious to such an obvious conclusion. Regardless of what Jack had said earlier on the subject. he was also arrogant enough to assume that Lauren had locked her door by mistake and to set off an alarm trying to open a window to tell her so.
“Can I try something on your computer? It will just take sixty seconds, tops.”
He raised his eyebrows, but before he could protest, I added, “It could have something to do with why Steve was murdered.”
“So now you’re Molly Masters, P.I., huh?”
We pulled into the school lot. “Something like that.”
We entered the front lobby. The barracuda was sitting at her desk. She peered over her glasses at me, then went back to work at her terminal. Behind her, against the wall of Jack’s office, sat two girls who looked a year or two older than Karen. Both were whimpering. Their knees were scraped, their clothes muddy and tousled. Jack leaned toward them, hands on hips and said kindly, “Let me guess. You both got kicked off the chess team.”
The girls looked at him in confusion and shook their heads.
“Football? Track? Bobsledding?’
The girls managed small smiles through their tears, finally realizing he was teasing.
“No? We’d better all step inside my office and see if we can get to the bottom of this.”
Listening to him, I was relieved to see he was much better at dealing with children than with adults.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Molly, you can run your little experiment on Ms. Nelson’s terminal.”
By the gesture of his head, I took it to mean that Barracuda’s name was Ms. Nelson. She turned her laser eyes to me. “Make it snappy.”
“Can you log out of this program, please?”
She not only got out of the program she was running, she turned the computer off. I flipped the switch back on and got a screen asking me to sign on. I typed MASTERS and pressed enter; The screen returned a message: Unauthorized User. I entered KRAVETT and got the message: Enter Password. So she had indeed used the computer and had established a password.
For password, I tried her husband’s name, Bob, then Robert; then her sister’s name, Ellen, and finally Steinway. Each time, the message Invalid Password flashed. I thanked Ms. Nelson and left.
During my drive home, I mulled over the events of the past few days. I had forgotten to ask Lauren an important question that might clear some things up for me. I had a few minutes to kill prior to Nathan’s bus arriving, so I went to her house.
As soon as we were seated in her kitchen, I said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. What happened the night of my party? Why did Steve get so angry and everyone leave in such a huff?”
“That was all Steve’s little smoke screen so he could get out fast while saving face. He picked an argument with Sam, Denise’s husband. Steve pretended to be offended about a joke Sam made about how steep Steve’s charges were. He really wanted to leave because of something Rachel said.”
“What did she say?”
She blushed. The answer hit me a moment later, and I answered for her, “Rachel recognized your lover at the party.”
She nodded. Her features tightened and she had to blink back tears. “Back when my lover was…testing the water with me, shall we say, he used to take Rachel and me out to the park for picnics. Having Rachel casually say hello to him would have been just fine, but I winced. Steve was looking right at me. Our eyes met, and he knew. And I knew he knew; the pain was written all over his face. Once Steve made the connection, he wanted us out of there fast before everyone else realized what had happened.”
She took a halting breath and chewed her lip. “Hang it all. I’m taking up smoking again. If it shortens my life expectancy, hurray.” She got up and snatched up her car keys. “Sorry to kick you out. I’m going to the store for a pack.”
“It’s time for Nathan’s bus anyway. I’ll see you later.”
“Molly? I may as well tell you. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway. My… lover? It was Preston Saunders.”
Chapter 14
Pay Your Bill
Shortly after Karen’s afternoon bus had arrived, Tiffany came to my door. She’d just gotten a new haircut. The left side of her blond tresses was decidedly longer than the right. It was a wonder her equilibrium wasn’t thrown off. She was panting too heavily to speak, other than a breathy: “Hi.” I looked past her and spotted a bicycle lying on its side in my garden.
“Tiffany, are you all right? Did you crash your bike?”
“Bike? No.” She fanned her face, then put a hand to her chest to emphasize her physical ordeal. Watching her, all I could think was that Stephanie should simply have had herself cloned instead of bothering with natural child birth. The two women had the same delicate features: pretty little nose, big eyes, wide cheekbones. If Tiffany were a couple of inches taller and used a sober hairstylist, she and her mom would be dead ringers.
She took another gulp of air. “I don’t have a kickstand on it yet. I didn’t want to get it scratched up by leaning it against a rough surface.”
“I see.” Better my garden smashed than her precious bike scratched. She was her mother’s daughter, all right. “What brings you here?”
“My boyfriend’s birthday is, like, coming up, soon?” She blushed and continued, turning each sentence into a question. “And I need, you know, some cash? I thought maybe you could use a babysitter?” She looked up at me hopefully.
“Gee, I really don’t need a sitter right now. I wish you’d called first and saved yourself the trip.”
“My mom says it’s harder to say no to someone face to face.” She lifted her over-plucked eyebrows into a pleading expression.
Her mother was right, in general. Unfortunately for Tiffany, this particular face looked like Stephanie’s. And that was one face I relished saying no to.
“Sorry, but I don’t need a sitter today.”
Her jaw dropped. “You mean I rode all this way for nothing?”
“It appears so.”
“Could you give me a ride home?”
“No, I can’t.”
“But, like, you just said you weren’t doing anything. That’s why you don’t need a sitter. So you can give me a ride, right?”
“Wrong.”
She clicked her tongue, put a hand on her hip, and shot a disconsolate glance at her bike in the garden. Her shoulders sagged and her lip trembled. This was obviously an act, but it did cause me a pang of guilt. She was just a child, and she didn’t have to pay for the sins of her mother. Granted, this was also a spoiled child. She would have benefited greatly from Mrs. Kravett’s no-nonsense teaching style.
Decisions. “Tell you what. Come on in and I’ll get you a snack to shore you up for the long journey home.” I would have to look up the Saunderses’ address. My bet would be that it was less than ten blocks away.
Karen, who’d been changing out of her school clothes, skipped down the stairs and said, “Yippee! Tiffany’s here! Nathan, come on down and get your hair straightened!”
“No, Karen.” I called back up the stairs, “Never mind, Nathan. Tiffany’s just here to eat your food, not style your hair.”
He raced out to the landing. “The snack cakes and powdered doughnuts are mine!”
Tiffany grinned up at him. “Could I have cookies and milk?”
He looked thoughtful. “Okay, but only four cookies.”
I got her the requested fortifications, and we grabbed opposing barstools at the kitchen counter. In the adjoining family room, Karen turned on afternoon cartoons. Moments later, Nathan appeared. He did an obvious check to make sure he approved of her snack.
She tousled his hair, something Nathan despises. “Hi, big guy. How are you?”
He growled and raced back upstairs to comb out her finger marks.
“So what’s your boyfriend like?” I asked.
“Mom ‘n’ Dad say he’s too old for me. He’s a senior.
His name is Cherokee Taylor.” She giggled. “Isn’t that just the best name you’ve heard?”
“He was in Mrs. Kravett’s junior English class last year, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“It’s an eye-catching name.” What did friends call him for short? Chair? Key? “Hang on a sec.”
I dragged out the files and quickly found Cherokee’s. “Mrs. Kravett kept a paper he’d written. It was about your father’s business, Saunders and Bakerton Imports.”
“Yeah. That’s how we met. Me and Cherokee, I mean. Last year he came and interviewed Daddy.” She peered over my shoulder at the report. “Oh, That’s the old one. Mrs. Kravett made him start all over again and write a new one.”
“How could you tell which version this was so quickly?”
“The final version had a different title. Something like ‘Company Cashes In on Endangered Animals.’”
The title on this report was “Local Company Proves It Pays to Import.” That was one heck of a topic change. “Endangered animals?”
Tiffany nodded. She jammed a chocolate cookie intact into her mouth.
“Tiffany, I’m no expert, but I would think you need to be careful about what you’re saying. There are laws banning the import of products from endangered species. It sounds as if your boyfriend had implied that your father broke some of those laws.”
She rolled her eyes and nodded, a few crumbs spraying from her lips as she said, “Tell me about it. My parents went nuts when Mrs. Kravett called and, you know, told ‘em what Cherokee said in his report. Daddy said the whole paper was a batch of…stuff from the wrong end of a bull. That’s the other reason why I can’t, like, let ‘em find out we’re dating. It’s not just that he’s, you know, four years older than me. They hate him because of that report he wrote.”
Two more cookies went down the hatch.
“So what happened?”
She dabbed a napkin to her lips in a belated attempt at daintiness. “He got an A.”
“No, I mean what happened after your father said the report was bogus?”
“According to Cherokee, the guy who gave him all the information was fired Daddy says that was Sam Bakerton’s decision. Daddy’s partner is in charge of hiring and firing. He, you know, said it was because the guy was just, like, lousy at his job. Everyone had a meeting, and Mrs. Kravett insisted on giving Cherokee’s paper to some…customs officer or something.”
She paused long enough to guzzle her milk. “Dad said they investigated and…I can’t think of the word, but it means they couldn’t find anything wrong. That was the end of it. Except Daddy says if Cherokee so much as drives down our street, he’ll shoot him. Daddy’d shoot Cherokee, I mean.”
I hopped off the stool, excited at having finally heard what sounded like a very strong lead into the murder case. “Listen, I think I’ve changed my mind about needing you to sit for me.”
“Great!”
“My only special instructions for you are Karen no makeup, Nathan no hair. And, again, I’ll pay four dollars an hour. I’ll be back before five.”
I looked up the address for Saunders and Bakerton Imports. It was in Albany, which would take me the better part of an hour to reach. I’d have to drive fast to make a round trip in less than two hours. At least the trip there would give me time to formulate a plan.
Or not. When I pulled into the parking lot forty-five minutes later, I decided my snooping wasn’t going to be all that easy. So far my plan was to ask Sam and Preston whether some of their products were illegal, they would say no, and I would leave, humiliated and perhaps a marked woman, just as Mrs. Kravett had been. This is what’s known in academic circles as poor planning.
The company looked like a big warehouse, which, once I thought about it, was as it should look. The company received and then shipped products around the globe. An at
tractive woman sat at the desk in the lobby. Behind her, to my happy surprise, was a board that listed twenty or so names and whether they were currently in, and Sam Bakerton’s read OUT. Now I could pretend to Preston that. I had come to visit Sam. The receptionist asked if she could help me. I introduced myself and said, “I was here to see Mr. Bakerton, but I see he’s not here.”
She glanced back. “That’s right, but he should be back any minute. Why don’t you wait here?”
Drat. “Maybe Mr. Saunders could see me instead.” She buzzed him and gave my name, and moments later an impeccably dressed Preston Saunders emerged, grinning broadly.
“Molly. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Actually, I was here to see Sam. He’d promised me a tour next time I was in the area, which happened to be now.” Yeah, right. My tires were still steaming.
“I’d be happy to escort you.”
He showed me his office and Sam’s, which were equally large and posh, then took me into the huge warehouse. As we navigated the aisles, we managed to keep a patter of dull conversation going that would’ve made Jack Vance’s PTA meetings sound lively. I finally got my opening when Preston showed me a stack of boxes he said contained African carvings.
“They’re ivory carvings?”
“Oh, no. There are strict regulations controlling ivory trade.”
“Government red tape, huh,” I said in a How-about-them-Giants voice. “There’re probably ways to get around that crap, though.”
He shook his head. “As long as this company bears my name, we’ll follow all the regulations. Wiping out elephant herds and whole species of animals just to decorate somebody’s home just doesn’t make sense.”
“Really? I thought I read about an investigation of a company around here that was doing just that. Must have been your competition then.”
Preston’s expression instantly grew hostile. “We’re the only large-scale import company in the area. Where exactly did you read that?”
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