Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  Within half an hour, Frank arrived and met Claire and Ron in Claire’s office. They took him into the restroom and showed him the mirror, and he was angrier than Claire had even seen him. When they returned to the school’s Admin. Office, three teachers were waiting for them.

  “Someone slashed my car tires,” Jim said. “I went out to go to lunch and couldn’t go anywhere. Fucking delinquents.”

  “My car windows were broken out,” Millie said.

  “Mine, too,” Charlie said.

  Claire looked at Frank. He shook his head and rubbed his hand through his hair.

  “Better show us the damage,” he said.

  Outside, they all stood in the car park looking at the three vehicles.

  “Okay,” Frank said, finally, “we need to get the police involved. These teachers need police reports to go with their insurance claims.”

  Frank, Claire, and the three teachers remained outside while an officer took down the information for their reports.

  Before Frank left, he said, “Claire, I know this is difficult. Try to stay calm, okay? Keep me apprised of the situation.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate all your help more than you know.”

  He nodded and gave her a worried smile.

  Claire asked the question that had been niggling at her. “Clearly the school’s problems are escalating. Is it me? Am I an incompetent principal? I mean, I expected some reprisals, but this—well, it’s far more than I expected.”

  Frank twisted his mouth and then said, “No, it’s been getting worse for a while. Under each of the last few principals.”

  She nodded. Not terribly comforting. I’m merely the latest in a line of incompetent principals.

  CLAIRE SAT AT her desk and looked at her calendar. The circle around Wednesday’s date, with the notation ‘Bi-weekly round table meeting’ meant she’d been working here for four weeks now. In some ways it seemed impossible that time had gone by so quickly. Yet from another perspective, it also seemed so much longer.

  Although she was supposed to attend the meeting, she didn’t dare leave the school. At least that was the excuse she gave Steve via an email. She wouldn’t have gone, anyway, because she would have seen John Richmond, and that was something she wasn’t ready to do.

  Late in the afternoon, in a brief moment of quiet, one of the teachers, Jody Simms, poked her head inside Claire’s office. “I know this guy, my sister’s husband’s brother,” she said, “who would love to meet you.”

  Claire tilted her head. “Why on earth would he want to meet me?”

  Jody grinned, then shook her head and said, “Apparently, you haven’t heard yet. I’m notorious for matchmaking. You aren’t married, are you?”

  “I’m not. But, well, I—”

  Before Jody had a chance to respond, Ron rushed into Claire’s office. “Sorry to interrupt. We’ve got another problem, a fight out in the entrance hall.”

  All three of them ran out of the admin office. Two students were on the floor, struggling with each other, punching and clawing, surrounded by a crowd of students cheering them on.

  Several teachers stood on the sidelines waiting for help. Claire looked at Ron, and they both waited for a lull. When it came, she yelled at the students to break it up. Several bystanders took a few steps backwards. The fight continued.

  Claire looked over at the group of teachers and motioned for them to join her and Ron. Once everyone was in position, she gave a hand signal. Ron and a male teacher grabbed one of the males and put him into a wrist-shoulder hold restraint, holding his head down. Claire and the other two teachers did likewise with the other student. They took one student to Claire’s office and the other to Ron’s office so they could cool down.

  It didn’t take long for Claire and Ron to establish that the fight was over a drug-deal gone wrong. Claire notified Frank, the police, and both boys’ parents, and when everyone was there and seated in the school’s small conference room, a long meeting ensued. After the police and parents with boys in tow left, Frank, Claire, and Ron sat in Claire’s office behind closed doors.

  Frank said, “Did the police search the boys’ lockers? I don’t recall them doing that?”

  “No,” Claire said. “Should they have?”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “Or at least someone should. I guess the three of us can do that. Those kids will probably be back here. We need to see what’s stashed in their lockers.”

  They found the boys’ lockers, opened them, and looked inside. Ron pulled a gun out of one of them. He handed it to Claire, and said, “This is why you don’t get the truth here. This is the new truth.”

  Claire stared at the gun, the first one she’d every actually held, and she fought hard to hold back tears. When she could finally trust herself to speak, she said, “Should I call the police and ask them to come back?”

  “Probably,” Frank said. “But if news of a gun in school hits the media, we’ll have a much bigger problem, with parents and with the school board. The board, especially John Richmond, hates negative publicity. Better to lock it up in your office.”

  After Frank left, Claire carefully wrapped the gun in paper towels and placed it in the bottom drawer of her desk and locked the drawer, then made herself a mental note to look into the possibility of conducting a drug search of the school building and grounds.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON THURSDAY, JUST another day in paradise, Claire sat in her office eating lunch, while reading emails, and generally keeping out of everyone’s way, when her phone rang.

  “It’s Steve Jensen. Hey, I read your report. It got me thinking about you. Do you have plans for Friday? We could have dinner again. Maybe see a play afterwards.”

  “Uh, well—I—” Seeing one’s boss outside of work was a bad idea. She opened her mouth to say ‘No’, but the word wouldn’t come out. Her mouth went dry. She already had an enemy on the school board. It couldn’t hurt to have Steve as an ally. Besides, she truly enjoyed talking to him. She closed her eyes and said, “I guess I could do that.”

  She pushed the receiver away from her ear a moment and bit her lip.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at your home. Why don’t you give me directions?”

  Her heart was racing now. Shouldn’t she meet him somewhere like she’d been doing? Wasn’t that safest? Oh, what the hell, Steve wasn’t the enemy. After she gave him the address and directions, she hung up the receiver, then picked it back up and called Angie Williams to see if she could babysit again. If she couldn’t, then she would take it as a sign that she shouldn’t go out with Steve. As luck would have it, Angie told her she’d love to babysit Marcus.

  That evening, she went out shopping for another dress. She and Marcus ate dinner in the mall food court, which worked well, Marcus liking the idea and therefore didn’t complain as much as usual when shopping.

  When Steve arrived to pick up Claire on Friday night, she was dressed in her new shiny blue skirt, the color of which matched her eyes. What she especially liked about the skirt was that it would swirl if she were dancing, and swirling skirts always made her feel ultra-feminine. Her blouse, with elbow-length sleeves, matched the skirt in color and had tiny raised flowers on it. She shrugged on her coat, grabbed her handbag near the front door, then dashed outside without inviting him in. Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. She gave a nervous smile, and said, “Sorry, my house is a mess.”

  At the Golden Dragon Mandarin Buffet dinner conversation proved less problematic than she’d feared, because she discovered that if she asked him questions, and kept him talking about himself, he didn’t have much of a chance to ask her personal questions. That kept her from having to lie, at least for the moment.

  He talked more about his carefree high school and college days with Frank, and Frank’s wife, Gloria. His stories were funny and entertaining. Then, turning more serious, he told her about his father, who had been a fighter pilot in Vietnam, and later an aerospace engineer, and who had la
ter divorced his mother. Steve’s mother raised Steve and his two younger sisters alone. She sounded like a strong woman. The more he talked, the more intrigued she became. There was so much more to the man than she’d even realized.

  “I’ve been doing all the talking,” he said after his second trip to the buffet tables. “Tell me about yourself. What were your school days like? Tell me about your parents and siblings. Do you have any? Siblings, I mean.”

  “I don’t. I was an only child. I guess I was enough of a challenge for my parents.” She took a bite of food and looked down at her plate as she chewed, hoping he’d move on to another topic.

  “Maybe you were everything they wanted, and they didn’t need another child,” Steve said.

  She smiled, and sipped her iced tea, peering at him over the rim of her glass. How could she avoid lying to him without breaking the program’s rules?

  “Come on. Tell me more. What are your parents like? Where do they live? Are they educators, too?”

  Every time she changed identities, her protectors provided her only a minimal background to go with it. It was up to her to create a more complete faux background. If Brad was whispering in her ear right now, he would tell her to outright lie. But when she’d tried that in previous identities, it had not gone well. She eventually got tripped up in her made up past and had to move on. It seemed more prudent to stick as close to her real life as possible, without giving anything that could be used to trace her.

  She sighed, and carefully said, “My Dad and I, well, we haven’t spoken to each other in thirteen years.” She looked up at Steve and shrugged. “I guess I’m not very good at relationships.”

  “Are your parents still married?”

  “No. Divorced. I was sixteen. When they split, my father and I went our separate ways. I’ve only seen him once since then, at my mum’s funeral a year after their divorce.”

  “Why is that? Did he mistreat you?”

  Claire bit her lip, thinking. Why not make up a doting father who’d made his daughter feel like she could succeed at anything? Steve would never know. Joe Powell had pushed his daughter to excel in all academics, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except in doing so he had prevented her from all social activities. According to him, she didn’t need socializing. Too distracting. Was it any wonder that she was socially inept? Not only had he locked her in her room the minute she returned from school, forcing her to study until she went to bed, but on occasion he’d even withheld food and drink when her performance didn’t meet with his personal expectations.

  “Uh, well, no,” she said. “He didn’t mistreat me. Not exactly. Still, he’s not a pleasant man. I should probably leave it at that.”

  Steve nodded. She could see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, and she excused herself to get another plate of food. She wasn’t particularly hungry any longer, but it was a good excuse to leave the table. With any luck, he would forget about the conversation.

  When she sat back down a few minutes later, he said, “What about your mother? You mentioned her funeral?”

  Damn, the man was persistent. Claire struggled for composure. How could she talk about her mum without crumbling into tears? Her mum, Amelia, had been a beautiful social butterfly from a wealthy family. For husband Joe, that had made up for her having a lower intelligence than he had, and he’d fooled her into thinking he would be her perfect husband. Soon after their wedding, Joe had clipped Amelia’s wings and forbade her visiting with friends or going anywhere without him.

  “Are you all right?” Steve asked.

  “I’m fine. I guess talking about her has brought back some sad memories. It’s been a long time.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s still hard for me, especially since she was the only family I had left. I was only seventeen. It—her passing—left a crater in my life.”

  “I can understand that,” Steve said. “I was sixteen when my parents divorced, too. My dad married his mistress. Moved away. I guess that’s why he and I aren’t close. It’s not the same as losing a parent, though at times it felt like he’d died because my mom wouldn’t allow us to talk about him.”

  “Your mum was bitter about the divorce?” she asked.

  “Yeah, took it pretty hard. At least she had her career. She was a professor at Stanford University. I think her work saved her from slumping into depression.”

  Claire bit her lip and tried not to think about her parents.

  When she didn’t say anything, Steve gave her a funny look. “You know, if you ever want to talk to me about your loss, your feelings, I’ll be glad to listen.”

  “Thank you. Someday, perhaps. Sorry to be so gloomy. Can we change the subject?”

  “Of course. Sorry. I noticed you were fingering your charm bracelet. Are those cats on the charms?”

  “Oh, yes.” She tried to smile, embarrassed that he’d noticed something she hadn’t even realized she’d been doing. “Cats of all varieties. My mum loved cats and would take in any stray. My father used to tell her that if she wasn’t careful she would turn into an old cat lady with a houseful of cats and crap.”

  Steve laughed. “So, do you share her affinity for cats?”

  “I suppose, but I don’t have any pets. Maybe someday I will. But more likely a dog than a cat.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because they’re more loyal.”

  “I have to ask. Why are you wearing a cat bracelet if you like dogs better?”

  “Oh, well, it was my mum’s. I actually made it for her. I design and make jewelry as a hobby. I used to, anyway. This one,” she said, touching the silver charms, “I gave to her for her thirty-eighth birthday. Sadly, it was her last birthday. This is the only keepsake I have of hers.”

  “That’s really sad,” Steve said. “At least you have that, though.”

  She wasn’t supposed to keep it. She was told she mustn’t keep anything from her past, but she’d managed to sneak a few small items into her purse. Her keychain with the ticket stub from the first time she went to see the Royal Ballet when she was nine, the cat bracelet, and her pi necklace that she’d made when she’d started teaching mathematics.

  “What was your childhood like?” he asked.

  “Huh . . . oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your question. I was thinking about something.”

  “Anything you want to share?”

  “No. It was nothing, really.” Nothing that she could talk about, that is.

  He nodded, then said, “I wondered about your childhood. I’ve told you tons of stories about mine. What was yours like?”

  “Quiet, mostly. No siblings to fight with.” She forced herself to smile, hoping to lighten the mood. She went on to tell him carefully edited stories from her childhood, leaving out that fact that they’d lived in England, that her grandfather had been a musical prodigy, and that life hadn’t been happy.

  By the time they finished dinner, conversation evolved to the less personal and Claire began to relax. She had made it through the difficult backstory questions. Not perfectly, but Steve seemed satisfied with her answers. Everything about Steve, at least outside of work, was so open and relaxed and, while he exuded confidence, he didn’t come across as conceited.

  After dinner he took her to the Front Range Center For Fine Arts for a production of “Wicked”, and during the play, Steve took her hand in his and they sat by side, hands entwined, and it seemed right somehow.

  Afterwards, he drove her home and walked her to her front door. Taking her hands in his, he smiled and gazed into her eyes, which sent her pulse racing. She thought she saw a question in his eyes, and she looked down at their hands. He let go of her left hand and reached up, tilted her face upwards to his, bent forward and gave her a kiss so light, so gentle that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  He straightened up and gazed into her eyes. “I hope I haven’t
chased you away,” he said. “I want to see you again, if you’ll let me.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I’d like that, too. I had a nice time.”

  “Goodnight, Claire.”

  Closing the door behind her, Claire leaned up against the door and smiled. What a perfect date. She could actually get used to this.

  Angie walked toward the door, and paused. “I thought I heard you come in,” she said. “Did you have a nice time?”

  “Really nice. How was Marcus?”

  “We played some games, watched TV, and ate cookies,” Angie said. “Not an exciting date, but I’ve had worse.” She smiled and winked.

  CLAIRE CHECKED PHONE messages on Monday afternoon, hoping Brad had returned her call. Still nothing. There was, however, a message from Kate asking her to call home. Claire immediately hit the speed dial for her home phone.

  “Sorry I had to call you at work,” Kate said. “Someone’s been calling here and when I answer the phone, no one says anything. At first, I thought it was some jerk being rude. Then I remembered that guy in the park. Do you think he could have your phone number?”

  “Oh, God, I hope not. Have you seen him around the building recently?”

  “Well, no, not him. I did see a car driving slowly past here a few times. I didn’t recognize the driver, though. It could have been just someone looking for an address. I’ve done that before. You know, got lost.”

  Claire was starting to hyperventilate. She took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly, calming her nerves. “All right, I’m going to make another phone call and then I’ll call you right back.”

  She hung up and then called Brad. Please don’t go to voicemail, she said under her breath. This time, he answered. She told him about the incident in the park, the phone hang-ups, and the car driving past the building.

  “Okay, hang in there, Claire. I have to talk to my boss and then I’ll call you back.”

  While she waited impatiently for his call, she searched online for information about stalking. Ten minutes passed, and then her phone rang. She answered.