by Diane Weiner
“Good morning, Mr. Petrocelli,” said Sandra from behind her desk. Sandra dressed like a school marm and her permed hairstyle dated back to the 80’s.
“Good morning, Sandra. Are you okay? You seem a little preoccupied.”
“I’m still a little shaken about having been questioned by the police. They asked me all about the day of the murder. The detectives wanted to know who’d come by the office to see Vicky that day and who I thought might want to kill Vicky.”
“What did you tell them?” said Antonio.
“I said I could think of plenty of people who’d threatened to kill Vicky over the years. I told them about Blaze Conrad––that was an obvious choice. Then there were the Moores.”
“The Moores, oh yeah, I remember them,” said Antonio.
“They were concerned about their daughter being bullied by the kids in her class. Vicky told them it was their own fault for raising a child with low self esteem. She told them if they’d taught her to be self confident she wouldn’t be such an easy target,” said Sandra.
“Mr. Moore went ballistic and threatened to kill her, right?”
“Yes, but he was angry. Who would blame him? That didn’t mean he’d actually plan a murder,” said Sandra.
“They wound up pulling their daughter out of Westbrook and putting her in a charter school. That was a civil way to handle the situation. Where’s Mr. Ford?”
“Mr. Ford’s at a meeting. He’ll be back around lunch time. There are several phone calls to return. Mr. Ford said to give you these.” Sandra handed Antonio an array of yellow message slips. She was sweeter than apple pie and competent to the max.
Antonio poured himself a cup of coffee. He had previously taken his coffee with cream and sugar but since becoming an interim principal, he started drinking it black. It was still a little early to return phone calls so he began answering emails. Jody Decker, the social worker, came in with a stack of paperwork for him to sign. She was wearing a black skirt, a gray sweater, and unusually high heels for the workplace. He’d heard the tapping of heels on the linoleum warning him that she was coming. Jody was meticulous at her job and pleasant for the most part, but her voice reminded him of the sound the garbage disposal made when chewing up egg shells and coffee grinds.
“I walked by Vicky’s office and it seemed surreal. I still feel her sitting there, talking on the phone or typing on the computer,” said Jody.
“I know,” said Antonio. “It seems like she’s still here.” Antonio wanted to add, “Like a ghost haunting the castle,” but he stopped himself.
“So the police think it was murder?” Jody readjusted her headband.
“That’s what I hear.” Antonio flipped through the papers Jody had brought him.
“Do they have any clues as to who did it?”
“Not that I know of,” replied Antonio.
“I’ll bet dollars to donuts it was Blaze Conrad.” Jody waved her index finger. “Remember how angry he was when Vicky was exonerated? He even said to that TV reporter that he could kill her for covering up what was happening to his son.”
“Lot’s of people say things like that when they’re angry.” He signed the packet in the places Jody had marked with a mini sticky note.
“Yes, but we know he had a violent streak. Remember how he keyed her car right in broad daylight? With witnesses right there in the parking lot?”
“I’m sure the police are looking into it.” Antonio handed the documents back to Jody. “I really need to get back to work. Have a good break if I don’t see you.”
Antonio worked for a few hours. Mr. Ford returned around noon bearing hot pizza. Snow flurries had melted on his hat and trench coat. Antonio and the office staff were invited into his office for lunch. It was a nice prelude to Christmas break.
Chapter 6
It still seemed a little strange, being home on a weekday morning. Johann nuzzled against Susan as she poured Meow Mix into his bowl. He liked rubbing against her well-worn sweatpants, which were almost, but not quite, as soft as his shiny black fur. Ludwig, the gray tabby, immediately started eating. Susan heard a knock at the door. She was grateful that her cats didn’t go crazy and bark like maniacs the way dogs did when someone knocked. Susan was definitely a cat person.
“Just a minute.” She padded to the door in her fuzzy slippers. Spending the entire day in slippers was one of the perks of retirement. She peered through the peephole (not so easy with those bifocals) and saw Carolina.
“Hey, honey, come on in,” said Susan “Let me take your jacket.”
“Thanks.” Carolina was crying as she stepped into the foyer and shook the snow off of her boots. Susan noticed that Carolina had lost a few pounds.
“How about some hot chocolate?” Susan didn’t wait for a response. She hugged Carolina, and then she padded back into the kitchen where she filled up the tea kettle. “How are you holding up?”
“Not so great. I keep hearing her voice inside my head and smelling her perfume. Sometimes I’m just sad, other times I’m angry. Furious is more like it. Last night I just started throwing things around the living room. I must have thrown every book we own out of the bookshelf. I want whoever killed my mom to spend the rest of his life locked away in prison, or better yet dead. Too bad we no longer have the death penalty here.”
“I’m going to make sure we catch that person Carolina. We have Lynette on our side. She’s a great detective.”
“I know I can depend on you. I miss Mom so much and not only that, I’m afraid I’m going to lose my dad too.”
“You’re dad will still be here for you.”
“No, Mrs. W. There are things you don’t know about my dad.”
“What do you mean? What kinds of things?”
“I have no one else to confide in. You have to help me.”
“Of course, I will. What sorts of things?” Susan poured packets of hot chocolate into mugs. No matter how carefully she poured the packet into the cup, cocoa powder always wound up on the counter.
“Well, my dad…he drank a lot. He and my mom fought about it all the time. Sometimes he got violent. He once gave her a black eye. No one can know. She would have been so embarrassed if anyone knew. He lost his job a few weeks ago and got even worse. My mom kicked him out. He’s been living in an apartment, which my mom was paying for. He begged to stay but my mom had had it. She even saw a divorce lawyer.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. What can I do to help?” Susan poured water into the mugs. Then she reached behind the quinoa for the bag of Mint Milanos.
“I need to know if my dad had anything to do with my Mom’s murder. I need you to help me find out before the police find out about him. If he is involved, I want to know first. If he isn’t the killer, then I want to know who is. Maybe then I’ll be able to start pulling my life back together.”
“Do you really think your Dad could possibly be involved? Getting physical after drinking is one thing but murder is quite a stretch.”
“I never would have been able to picture it but lately…he’s changed so much.” Carolina began sobbing. Susan handed her a tissue.
“Do you want me to talk to Lynette?”
“No, please don’t. Just help me snoop around a bit and see if there’s anything tying him into the murder. I don’t want to find out he’s guilty on the five o’clock news. If he was involved, I want to know first so I can digest it.”
“I’m certainly no Kinsey Malone, but I’ll do what I can.”
“He bowls on Saturday mornings. Let’s go to his apartment while he’s out. He gave me a key.” She pulled the key out of her pocket to show Susan.
“Okay, it’s a date.” Susan couldn’t say no to Carolina but wondered what can of worms they might be about to open.
Chapter 7
While Susan was digesting what Carolina had just told her, Lynette and Jackson were at the station discussing the bruises found on Vicky’s face. Not knowing about Javier’s history of violence, they focused instead o
n Blaze Conrad.
“These bruises don’t look that severe. I’m not sure these were the cause of death,” said Lynette.
“Remember last year? We found that old lady dead in her apartment with bruises just like this. Her nurse had been beating her and that caused her death. Looks really similar,” said Jackson.
“Your flawless memory hidden under that goofy veneer still surprises me,” said Lynette. “I guess you’re right. The medical examiner has ruled out heart attack or embolism. We have to wait till he finishes the lab work but for now it seems like the most plausible explanation. Let’s head over to the school and interview some of the faculty. Meanwhile, I have one of the deputies checking into the information we got from the secretary this morning.”
Jackson opened the passenger door for Lynette and slid behind the wheel.
“The students should be out by now,” said Lynette. Westbrook Elementary was a sturdy, one story building complete with a flag pole out front. The brick exterior weathered well and the school looked as new as the day it was built. There was a circular drive in front which the buses used. On the left side of the school there was a small parking lot and a drive through street where the parents dropped off and picked up their children. On the other side of the school, there was a large parking lot used by faculty and visitors. A few spots nearest the front of the school were reserved for administration and VIP visitors.
“This school looks exactly as it did when I went here,” said Lynette.
“This is how I remember it too,” said Jackson. “It’s amazing that after all these years, the population has remained steady. They haven’t needed to add on like so many of the schools near here. My niece actually goes to school in a trailer believe it or not. They call it a portable classroom. She says it gets pretty darn cold during the winter months. I bought her a fleece hoodie last Christmas to wear inside her classroom.”
When they entered the school, Sandra had already set up a conference room and called in the teachers who Jackson and Lynette wanted to speak with. Theresa Rizzo came in first. She wore a teal-colored sweater. Lynette noticed that it really flattered her skin tone.
“Have a seat, Miss Rizzo,” said Jackson. “We’re interviewing people who were at the concert the night of the murder or who may have had contact with Mrs. Rogers during the day.”
“Well, I was at the holiday concert. I was there with my friend Jody. When Mrs. Wiles screamed, we were amongst the first to reach the office. Mr. Ford asked Jody and me to keep bystanders from entering the office. When Mrs. Wiles screamed, most of the audience got up and headed in her direction.”
“What was your relationship like with Mrs. Rogers?” said Lynette
“She had always been nice to me. I was a brand new teacher when I applied here. Vicky was supportive. She asked what supplies I needed for my room and got me everything I requested. When one of my parents called her to complain about something that happened with their child, she refused to discuss it with them until they talked to me first.”
“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to harm Vicky?” asked Jackson.
“Not really. Not everyone loved her all the time but I can’t think of anyone around here who would have hated her enough to kill her.”
“Thank you, Miss Rizzo. We’ll be in touch if we have further questions.” Jackson stood up and opened the door for her.
He watched her walk out of the office suite.
“Ask her out,” said Lynette. I saw how you were looking at her.”
“I don’t even know if she’s in a relationship,” said Jackson. “You know I have a terrible record when it comes to relationships.”
“It’s because you act like a bumbling keystone cop. You have to stop hiding behind your goofiness and let people see the real Jackson. You’re a grown up now. You’re not still competing with your Mensa member brother for your parent’s attention.” Lynette knew that Jackson yearned to be married and start a family. He was in his late thirties and had confided this to her.
“You’re a diamond in the rough, Jackson. It’s time to start polishing.”
“Can you ask your mom if she knows whether or not Theresa Rizzo is seeing someone?” said Jackson.
“What are you, a teenager? I’ll ask, but my mom hasn’t worked here since last year so I doubt she’ll know.” Just then Sandra poked her head in the doorway.
“Miss Decker is here,” said Sandra.
“Thanks,” said Lynette. “We’re ready for her.”
Sandra escorted the social worker into the conference room.
“Thanks for coming by, Ms. Decker. I know it’s the end of the day and you’re probably ready to get out of here.” Lynette pulled a chair out from the conference table and Jody sat down.
“No problem. I want to help in any way possible,” said Jody.
“Can you tell us about the night Vicky Rogers died?” asked Lynette.
“Well, it was the night of the holiday concert, as you know. During intermission there was a bake sale run by the parents in the back of the cafeteria. I was with my friend Theresa. We bought coffee and chocolate chip cookies and chatted with our friends. The cafeteria was packed. When it was time for the concert to resume, we returned to our seats. We were expecting Mrs. Rogers to say a few words but she seemed to have disappeared. Then we heard a scream. Jody and I flew out of our seats and raced down the corridor. That’s when we realized something had happened to Mrs. Rogers. Mr. Ford asked us to help him keep people out of the office.”
“Can you tell us anything about Mrs. Rogers that might be useful to our investigation?” asked Jackson.
“Well,” said Jody, “Vicky had a mean streak. There was this teacher––Miss Green––that she had it in for. Vicky had told her to teach math in the morning but Miss Green argued that she preferred teaching reading in the morning and math in the afternoon. I doubt Vicky really cared, but because Miss Green challenged her, she got vindictive. When we were making the class lists at the beginning of the school year she loaded her up with every behavior problem in fifth grade.”
“So in your opinion, there may have been people here who were angry enough to kill her?” asked Jackson.
“I’d have to say yes. Some loved her but there were more who hated her.”
“Thanks, Miss Decker. You’ve been very helpful. Give us a call if you think of anything else,” said Lynette.
“I certainly will,” said Jody.
Next, Sandra brought in the head custodian. He was tall and lanky, probably about Vicky’s age. Lynette and Jackson introduced themselves.
“Hello, Mr. Abrams. We’re investigating Mrs. Roger’s murder. Thanks for coming in,” said Jackson.
“No problem. I hope I can help.”
“I see here that you grew up with Vicky Rogers,” said Jackson, as he rifled through his notes.
“Yes. My family lived next door to her up in Ithaca. We used to have frequent barbecues together during the summer months. Her family had a pool. We had an open invitation to come over and swim. Vicky and I used to ride our bikes to school together. When the head custodian position opened up, Vicky was nice enough to call me. She knew I had recently lost my job.”
“What was she like growing up?” asked Lynette.
“She was a lot of fun, and a bit of a daredevil. She was also really stubborn. She was always fighting with her mother about something or other. I remember when she got her first car. Her parents had bought her a used Toyota for her birthday. I’d have been ecstatic to receive a car as a birthday gift but not Vicky. She kicked and screamed about it not being a brand new car. Vicky took the keys, slid in, and crashed it deliberately into their family car which was parked in the driveway. She destroyed both cars but she didn’t care. She had to have her way. She had her father wrapped around her little finger but her mom was onto her.”
“That’s very interesting. Thank you for your help, Mr. Abrams,” said Lynette.
“By the way, did you happen to see anything unus
ual the night of the murder?”
“Hmm, let me think. It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s been our experience that sometimes the smallest details help solve the case,” said Lynette.
“It’s just that I know I turned out the lights after I cleaned the office,” said Mr. Abrams. “I was outside sweeping the front walk during the concert and I saw the overhead light turn on in Vicky’s office through the window. She never used the overhead light––said the fluorescents gave her a headache. She always used the lamp on her desk. It struck me as odd.”
“Did you see anyone in the office?” asked Jackson.
“I can’t say I did, but I was mopping floors most of that night. Two of my crew called in sick so I had to cover and help Ivy clean the rooms. God forbid the district would spend the money to send in subs to help us.”
“It always comes down to money, doesn’t it?” chuckled Jackson. “Thank you for your time. We may be in touch again.”
After Mr. Abrams left, Lynette turned to Jackson. “What’s our next move?” Jackson checked his phone. “I’ve got the address for Blaze Conrad. Why don’t we follow up on that? I’ll send a car to Mr. Conrad’s home to pick him up. It won’t take long to get him down to the station,” said Jackson.
Chapter 8
While Jackson was calling the station, Lynette’s phone vibrated. It was her Mom.
“Mom, what is it? You know I’m at work.”
“Yes, I know, but I was wondering how the Vicky Roger’s murder case is coming along. I was thinking, maybe you should look into that parent, Blaze Conrad. I happened to be in Vicky’s office one day last year and heard him arguing with Vicky. He was really irate. I even heard him threaten to kill Vicky.”
“Stay out of this, Mom. I know how to do my job. How’s that quilt progressing?”