“Why?”
“Maybe she’s lonely. I do know they discuss you. Isn’t there a gay-rights ordinance in this state now? If they were conspiring to get you, couldn’t you sue their asses off?”
“Yes. Bigtime. I’d make a lot of money out of their conspiracy.”
“You might want to talk to a lawyer, if you haven’t already.”
“What is it they want?” I asked.
“The anti-union stuff is big, but I can never figure out exactly what they want. They seem to be enamored of power. Whatever gets them more power, they want to do. What precisely they’re going to do with all this power is beyond me. I think Kara wants to be a state legislator. She and I have been part of the same bridge club since time out of mind. Those gossips in the bridge club are back in the Stone Age. I may stop going. It isn’t fun anymore. All they want to do is gossip. All I want to do is play cards. And I don’t have time for that anyway.” Abruptly she stood up. “Check with me through Meg. I’ll do what I can for you. Anybody who can handle my kid and get him to work is okay by me.”
I stopped to see Meg. “I met with Mrs. Faherty.” I explained.
Meg said, “I wish I could have told you.
” I said, “We both keep faith. I understand.”
42
At home that night, Scott and I talked while he made dinner. He made a gorgonzola sauce with milk, sage, and cheese, then poured it over some kind of chicken. Any cheese sauce I make always comes out grainy. His are always smooth and silky. I watched him work while I filled him in on my day.
Scott said, “It sounds like it’s all starting to unravel.”
“No question. Tomorrow’s confrontation about the grade fixing should be telling.”
“Merton didn’t warn you to tone it down with the administrators?”
I gave him a quizzical look.
He said, “You’ve been under a lot of stress. You’ve said some important things, but these people are your bosses. They can make things difficult for you.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s funny. I couldn’t be having these conversations if I didn’t have you. People are right–you are my safety net.”
He stopped stirring for a moment and took my hand. I gazed into his blue eyes. He said, “Please be careful. I’m really worried about you.”
“My friends are rallying around. Look at what the LD teachers were willing to do.”
“You’ve gone out of your way for them and the kids they serve for years.”
I said, “It was the right thing for me to do.”
He smiled at me, then said, “All this leaves aside the fact that somebody committed these murders.”
“It’s gotta be administrators or suckups or some combination of both.”
Scott said, “I don’t get how the timing was supposed to work on this.”
“How so?”
“Okay. For them to get you implicated, the murder had to happen first. Unless they planned the murders just to get back at you.”
“Maybe they did. They put the second body behind the wheels of my truck.”
“Okay,” Scott said. “Scenario one. They planned the murders and they planned to implicate you in them. The murders were all about you.”
“Unlikely, but theoretically possible.”
“So they organized everything ahead of time and waited for their chance. Seems a little far-fetched that they would be able to monitor your movements on this one day. That there would be this one fight at the faculty meeting. That this one woman would happen to walk out.”
“Not real possible.”
“The second scenario is that the murder happened, you found the body, and they realized they had an opportunity and went into action”
I said, “So the superintendent and head of the board and all the others were in on it together?”
“Obviously they were in on conspiring to screw you. The question is, did they commit the murders?”
“So somebody kills two teachers. Meanwhile, the superintendent and the school board president, seizing an opportunity to destroy my life, try to frame me. What if the cops had caught the real killer?”
“They haven’t so far. And remember, the accusation can sometimes be enough.”
“But why?”
“They’re homophobic pigs? Because they can? Because they’re sick sacks of shit? This is all going to come out. All of it.”
“But who killed these people and why?”
43
Jourdan found me in my classroom first thing Tuesday morning. He said, “This place is a madhouse. The police questioned me again yesterday. They finally gave up late in the afternoon.”
I said, “I’m voting on the murderer’s being one of the administrators.”
He nodded. He sat on top of one of the kid’s desks. He said, “You know, I was thinking about what Pinyon said about traveling to conferences. I went yesterday and checked my files. I wasn’t at any conferences back in the eighties. They were making it up.”
“That would be so like them.”
“I called Sandra Barkin. She keeps records of everything. And she has them at home. By year and alphabetically. Class lists, phone lists, travel vouchers. She never went when they said she went.”
I repeated what Scott said. “It’s all going to unravel.”
Jourdan said, “I talked to Luci. They were really trying to fix grades?”
“We’re going to try to prove it.”
“Excellent. I can’t wait to see them fall.”
Francine Peebles bustled in a few minutes after Jourdan left. She said, “The funerals are Thursday and Friday. You’d think they’d have them on the weekend so we all can go. Are you going? I should be one of the representatives from the faculty who go. They shouldn’t be charging us for sick days if we go.”
I said, “Francine, how well did you know Gracie and Peter?”
Francine said, “I didn’t like Peter. Not because I’m racist. That manner of his. That sucking up. He was always friendly, but really, there should have been limits. But he’s dead and it’s sad.”
“You’ve heard the rumor that Gracie might have been having an affair with a student.”
Francine said, “I heard that. I can’t believe it. I’m sure it’s not true. I know it’s not true. I worked with Gracie with a lot of her kids. We shared duties after school sometimes. She never, ever did anything untoward.”
At lunch, Meg joined me in my classroom. She had a woman I vaguely recognized with her. Meg said, “This is Emily Haggerty, my source in the PE department. She is reluctant to talk to you. I’ve insisted that it’s vital.”
Haggerty was a tall slender woman. She wore an orange and brown warm-up outfit. She said, “I don’t see why this is so important.”
I said, “We’re dealing with murder.”
Haggerty said, “Nobody who was a friend of mine died.”
Meg said, “We need to find the killer. Who knows where he or she might strike again?”
Haggerty plunked herself into a student desk. “Whatever. If I didn’t hate those male gym teachers, I wouldn’t even be here.”
Meg asked, “Why do you hate them?”
“They’re all misogynists, racists, homophobic pigs. Any woman who disagrees with them is accused of being a lesbian. They are assholes.”
“Why didn’t you ever report them?” I asked.
“Ha. The administrators in this district loves those idiots. Those sports boosters are all-powerful.”
If she had information about possible suspects, I would listen to her ranting about her colleagues. I said, “Anything you can tell me would be helpful.”
“Yeah, right. For a while I dated one of those schmucks who plays cards. They always think you’re still interested. He’d come around and confide in me. Jesus, crap he used to tell me. I am so not interested. Men and their egos!”
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
“Those guys had everything set for their double dipping. Let me use
your computer for a second.” She sat at my desk. Meg joined me in looking over her shoulder. Haggerty called up her e-mail, opened one, transferred an attached document to my desktop, then clicked on it. A spreadsheet appeared on the screen. She said, “This lists the coach, the sport, the time, and the date of every one of the incidents when they were double dipping. This is for the past three years.”
“How’d you get all this?” I asked.
“The women watched. We knew what the men were trying to do. What really pissed a few of the women off was the men wouldn’t let them in on their cheating. We’ve been planning this for a long time. Most of us, anyway. A few of the women are cowards. All the men are cowards. Assholes! Ha! They’ll be sorry now. Will this get all of their asses fired?”
I said, “It’s going to depend on how much money was involved and how much of this can be proved. Will the other women in the department back this up?”
“Just ask the sons-of-bitch men. They can’t deny it all. Hell, call up their outside jobs. Some of them just went home or went drinking, but some went to other jobs or took classes. They can’t cover up this many lies.”
I searched for Peter’s name, found it. I said, “Peter and Cauchon, the AD, had a big fight. Peter threatened to tell on them for double dipping.”
“And he’s dead, I know.”
I said, “It’ll be obvious that insiders gave us this information.”
“As long as it gets them fired. Higden should have been.” “Why’s that?” I asked.
“I turned him in for doing drugs. Why the hell wasn’t he fired?”
I said, “Mainly because it wasn’t on school grounds, and they had no physical evidence of drugs.”
“No,” she said. “It was because he was a suckup and a man. Graniento would protect any man who was in trouble. The suckups always win. I thought for sure I had him when we saw him. I was with a couple parents. We all know what we saw.”
I said, “Well, he’s dead.”
“He was an asshole,” Haggerty said. “He tried to come on to me once. He got a big fat rejection. He claimed it didn’t matter to him. Ha!”
I said, “With this information you’ve given me, the double dipping should stop.”
“And all the other unfairness in the PE department? They try to lord it over us …” She ranted for several minutes. The English department wasn’t alone in having divisions. I wasn’t sure that was a comforting thought.
When Haggerty left, I asked Meg, “How did she ever come to confide in you?”
“Ah,” she said, “magic. The same way both sides in the department come to you. I listen. Then I say some version off, ´How interesting, tell me more.’ It’s amazing how many people just want someone to talk to.”
As we’d arranged yesterday, during my planning time Morgan Adair escorted me to the central office. Georgette said, “They’re in the conference room.” She smiled at me. “Get ’em, tiger,” she whispered as I passed her and entered the room.
The gang was there: Towne, Graniento, Spandrel. Our guys were there: Merton, Luci, me, and the union attorney, Marguerite Seymour. At the far end of the table sat a man and a woman who were introduced as being from the regional education office.
Towne said, “What can we do for you people? This is all very mysterious. We should have been notified about the existence of this meeting and the topic and been given an agenda. The union can’t just decree.”
Spandrel produced an eight and a half by eleven—inch sheet of paper and shoved it across the table. She said, “We’ve had complaints about the union, specifically Tom Mason.”
Seymour, the lawyer, glanced at it and said, “This isn’t signed.”
Spandrel said, “It doesn’t need to be.”
“Who wrote it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Seymour picked up the paper and ripped it up. She said, “If it’s not signed, it doesn’t exist.”
“We have lots of copies,” Spandrel said.
Seymour said, “You can have a mountain of copies. This union doesn’t deal with unattributed accusations. If you do, you’re a fool.”
Spandrel gaped. I’d seldom felt more pleased at the look of frustration and fury on her face.
Seymour said, “Now that we have that settled, let’s move on. We have evidence of cheating on state tests, grade fixing, and altering of statistics for state and federal reporting.”
That got a round of silence from the assembled administrators.
Seymour went on. “All three of you are implicated.”
“You can’t have proof,” Spandrel said.
Seymour picked up a box next to her chair and placed it on the table. She said, “In here are copies of statements by various teachers, copies of grade books, copies of the grade sheets, copies of just about everything that you people have done.” Bless Georgette.
Towne said, “I’m sure Mr. Graniento has an explanation.”
Graniento rounded on her. “I have an explanation? I have nothing to explain. We’ll need the district’s attorney here.”
Seymour said, “I called him and asked him to be here. He had a schedule conflict. I’m sure he’ll be happy to go over all of this with you. Page by page.”
“We’ll need those,” Graniento said.
“These are copies for you,” Seymour said. She shoved the box toward them. The assembled administrators looked at it like it was a pile of living shit.
Spandrel said, “Those are confidential school documents that you have obtained illegally.”
Seymour said, “You have a law degree? You haven’t even seen the documents. You don’t know precisely what they are. The representatives of the regional education office have copies. Inspectors from the state will be here this week. They will also have copies.”
“How did you get all this?” Spandrel said. “Someone must have broken into the system. Someone is a traitor.”
Seymour said, “Why don’t you wait for your attorney and talk to him?”
After the meeting, Luci, Seymour, Merton, and I met briefly. I told them about the double dipping and the attempted dissolution of the gay student group. The attorney said, “I’ll talk to their lawyer. He’s got sense.”
I thanked her.
“How’s the escorting working?” Merton asked. “Great. Everything’s organized, and Scott’s coming by to pick me up after school.”
44
After school, Spike sauntered into the tutoring session first. His hair was bright yellow with swirls and spikes nearly six inches high. Celebrating, I suppose. He rapped his knuckles on my desk. He said. “I think something’s wrong with Fred. You better talk to him.” Spike had his skateboard with him. Bringing those to school was against the rules, too. I didn’t care. At least it wasn’t his motorcycle. He and his toy took their seat and got to work. Good enough for me.
At five minutes to four, Fred Zileski sidled into the room. He’d never been late before. I had wondered how the after-school-tutoring kids would be on this second day of upset. Until Fred’s appearance, only Spike had showed up. Fred saw the emptiness and shook his head. I remembered parent conferences when his father said, “You’ll go to that tutoring. You’ll go every day. You won’t complain. Or you’re off that football team. Off completely.” Fred’s dad had worked a deal with the coach so the boy could be late for practice. It helped that Fred was one of the best players on the team.
Fred didn’t take his usual seat but plopped into a desk near the door. He took out his grammar notebook, turned to a page, and started to cry. Getting Fred started on his work was usually pretty easy. The crying was unique.
Spike gaped.
I said, “Something’s wrong.” Pretty obvious, but I’ve found with teenagers it’s usually better to start with the basics.
Fred wore his letterman’s jacket open over a T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt had the logo and picture of a band I did not recognize. The number of obscure rock bands I didn’t recognize was legion.
/> I grabbed the box of tissues on my desk, walked over, plopped them on his desk, and leaned my back against the wall.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked. I figured it was a relationship problem, although usually the criers were teenage girls, and usually it was at a dance, and usually they were in the washroom having their teen tragedy. Boys tended to do their crying alone in their rooms.
Fred shook his head, sobbed, grabbed a tissue, blew his nose. I waited. Giving teenagers time was a trick I’d learned long ago.
Spike walked over. “What the f–”
I glared.
“What’s up?” Spike asked.
Fred just cried. I said to Spike, “Let’s go easy on him.” Finally under some degree of control, Fred spoke in a tone of teenage doom, “I don’t want to be here.” “That’s pretty normal,” I said.
“Not today. Today’s different. I got nobody to talk to. Nobody never asked me to lie.” “Who asked you to lie?”
He snuffled a huge amount and settled his feet flat on the floor. He stared at the Lord of the Rings poster on the wall. He said, “I can’t talk in front of Spike.”
I glanced up at the other teenager. He was unabashedly gazing at Fred and me.
There were only a couple minutes left in the period. I said, “Spike, you can wait in the office for the final bell. Go directly to your locker and then the office. No side trips.”
He muttered, “I know.” Before he left, Spike made a detour to pat Fred on the shoulder.
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