I suppose I must have snorted because Jack turned to me in surprise.
“Sorry. I guess I was just remembering that this generous spirit told my first date that I had something contagious. That knowledge is tempering my grief and outrage.”
“People change. Look at Haley. And this Tiffanee obviously had too.”
“Might have,” I sniffed. Todd Tyrell was busy sticking the mic under the noses of Tiffanee’s students, friends, and neighbors. They all seemed shocked and some couldn’t stop crying.
“They can’t all be faking it,” Jack said.
I thought back to Tiffanee, prowling the halls of St. Jude’s, her glossy waist-length hair swaying behind her like a wall of silk. Of the three bullies, she was the one with the most memorable face and body. Princess T. She had a dancer’s moves even then, despite the platform shoes and the skirt that was never regulation length, the one that got her sent home by the principal more than once. Now she was dead at thirty-one. And some people were grieving apparently.
Jack said, “What’s wrong?”
“You know, something strange. Pepper must have known Bethann’s name. She knew that Bethann also had a hard time with these bullies, yet she never mentioned it. Even when I talked to her on Saturday night.”
“That’s because she doesn’t want you to get involved, Charlotte. And she’s right. Don’t go snooping.”
I ignored that, and tried Mona’s number for the fourth time as Todd rehashed the item on Bethann Reynolds, a quiet preschool teacher who’d lived with her mother near the corner of Amsterdam Avenue. Todd had tracked down some of her colleagues and captured their shock and tears too. He intoned deeply, “How ironic that two weeks after Bethann Reynolds succeeded in a harassment suit against her former employers, she should come to such a tragic end.”
No answer from Mona.
What the hell was going on? I worried about it all evening even when I did my preparations for the morning: coffee, table set, To Do list, clothing laid out. The works. Jack didn’t worry about a thing. He didn’t prepare for the morning and he has never had a To Do list.
Don’t overschedule. Leave yourself time buffers so you will have the flexibility to deal with the unexpected.
6
Usually Monday morning is my favorite time of the workweek. Seriously. I don’t tell everyone that, as some people get annoyed by the idea. But I love to see a fresh, clean week stretching ahead, full of possibility and promise, with objectives and tasks laid out clearly. Jack likes to say that I lose people the minute I start blabbing (his word) about objectives and tasks, even if they can handle “the Monday thing.” Don’t shove it down their throats, he usually adds.
Whatever. I was at my desk by seven thirty. The dogs had been walked and fed and were back for their early-morning nap. My week was shaping up. I had five items on my To Do list for that day. My big priority was the workshop that evening. I’d called it Taking the Nightmare out of Your Mornings. Of course the handouts were all prepared and ready to distribute. My materials were packed and ready to go. I’d practiced my presentation and left plenty of time to run through it one last time before I gave it. I finished up by giving Sweet Marie a bath and a nail trim to get her ready for her first therapy-dog visit the next morning. This was not appreciated, but you can’t have it all. Truffle made himself scarce.
I moved on to my next item cheerfully. I had an initial consultation for a condo kitchen at ten in the morning. Of course, I was ready for that. Then the afternoon was blocked off to do a proposal for a couple who had downsized from a sprawling home on a leafy acreage to a compact two-bedroom condo with a view over the Hudson River. They were thrilled to be smack in the middle of restaurants, shops, river walks, and other good things, until they’d woken up to the fact they’d lost 80 percent of their storage space. Too bad the realization came only when their new storage was jammed and they still had more than half their boxes sitting in the living room and hallway. If only they’d called me in before, it would have been a lot easier and cheaper for them. I was used to this organizing problem. They were smart not to try to cram everything into their new place—a tactic that can make a home feel like a secondhand furniture showroom in the middle of the post-Christmas sales.
I had worked with them to estimate the contents of the surplus boxes and had an appointment to return the next week with a plan of action. Setting out that plan was my afternoon’s objective. I was humming as I made sure I had everything I needed to get the most out of it. That way, when I got home from the morning’s activities, I’d be ready to roll. I spread out my materials, and made another pot of coffee. The dogs repositioned themselves to continue their nap in my bedroom/office. They have their official office sleeping cushion and blanket. I was still humming when the phone rang. I recognized Mona’s home number. I’d called it enough the night before.
“Charlotte?”
“Mona?”
“Of course it’s Mona. Who else would it be? Don’t you have call display?”
I rubbed my temple. I rarely get headaches, but something told me that might be about to change. “I’m glad you called. I was trying to reach you last night. What’s happening?”
“Okay. Just wanted you to know, I’m considering going into hiding.”
“Hiding? Why?” Couldn’t stop myself. I just blurted it out.
“It should be crystal clear, Charlotte.”
“Humor me. I seem to have missed out on a piece of the puzzle. Just run it by me again, Mona, if you don’t mind. Why would you go into hiding?”
I listened to her long sigh. She said, “Fine. As you know, Serena has returned to the area. I was fantasizing about killing her, but I could never do it. Now other people are dying the same way as my fantasy. When I heard about Tiffanee I was freaked-out at first. It was like being in a nightmare. You know?”
“I can imagine.”
“Although Tiffanee deserved it too. Just as much as any of the others.”
“No one deserves to die like that. You must be bothered by that.”
“I’m bothered because I’m the one who might have done it. Even though I didn’t, I never should have shot my mouth off about that bitch Serena and her vile followers.”
“Who did you tell? Besides me.”
“I’m not sure who all might have overheard me. Did you tell anyone else? I trusted you to keep that private. And yet you sent Pepper after me.”
“Did Pepper talk to you?”
“She grilled me, last night. She can be tough and nasty, you know.”
I did know.
“I didn’t actually send her after you. I was worried after our conversation, Mona. You’re a 911 operator. You can’t be threatening people and fantasizing about murder. That’s not something I could just hear and ignore. I’m your friend, not your accomplice.”
“But you knew I didn’t mean it. I’m not a homicidal maniac.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mona, but you sounded like you did mean it.”
“Did you think I was crazy? Ready to kill?”
“I thought you were under a lot of strain and someone had to talk to you. Pepper is a sensible person in a position of authority.”
“Yeah, well. Who else did you tell?”
I had tried to keep Mona’s name out of it, but Pepper had figured out who I was talking about. The misfits had mulled it over, but I didn’t plan to share that with Mona, who seemed to have gone off another deep end. “Pepper was the person who needed to know, Mona. Where are you now? Can we meet?”
“You must be kidding.”
“What? Why would I be kidding?”
“No, we can’t meet. People are dying. And it all has to do with Serena being back. I’m going to keep a low profile until it’s over.”
“What’s over?”
“Whatever is going on. Sometimes you’re as thick as a brick, Charlotte.”
“I suppose that’s true, but I’m doing my best. This is all quite surreal. We really should get toget
her.”
A cloud of suspicion accompanied Mona’s words. “Why?”
“To talk. I’d like to help, but I have to figure out what’s going on first.”
“Good luck with that. I may be messed up, but I am not an idiot. If it was easy to figure out, I’d have figured it out. Someone’s wiping them out and that person is trying to implicate me. That much is obvious.”
“But why?”
“That Serena. She’s the cause. This whole mess started after she came back and asked me to reconnect with her, wanting to make amends and all that. I said ‘to hell with that’ and now look.”
“But, Mona, you yourself said you imagined running Serena over.”
“I said I wanted to see her face splattered against my windshield.”
I shook my head at the image in the light of the two hit-and-run deaths. “Just explain. How is someone trying to implicate you?”
“Stealing my things. Probably planning to leave them at the death sites as false clues.”
“What do you mean? What kinds of things?”
“Scarves. Gloves. Everyday clothing, but they’d have my DNA on them. Cops can do a lot with that. I’m being set up to take the fall for many, many murders.”
“There hasn’t been anything about finding that kind of thing at the death sites, as you call them.”
“Well, duh. That’s because there’s serious backlogs at the labs, but you wait.”
Was Mona losing her mind? “What do you mean by ‘many murders’? Please let me—”
“And then there are all the phone calls with no one on the other end. It’s driving me crazy. No time to talk, Charlotte. I need to take action, and I’m not going to be a sitting duck.”
“Action? Mona, that’s—” I bit my tongue. “Please, let’s get together and—”
Mona laughed long and hard before she hung up.
I wasn’t nearly as clearheaded after I’d talked with Mona. Could she be right? Was someone trying to implicate her? Why? Would there be many murders? Or was Mona losing it? Perhaps she was becoming paranoid, as the result of trauma inflicted years ago and triggered by Serena’s return. Was going into hiding a good idea?
Time to rejig my To Do list. Now the day’s priorities were:Follow up on Mona—how?
Call Pepper—re Bethann and Mona—bullies?
Initial consultation with new kitchen client—10
a.m.
Proposal for downsizing project
First therapy-dog visit!
Workshop Two—WPL—arrive at 6:30
Find time to relax
I had seven items on my list by this time. I hate that. Something wouldn’t get done. I had to follow through with the kitchen consultation, the therapy-dog visit, and the workshop. And I had decided to put Mona on top of the list. Otherwise, I’d have trouble keeping my mind off her. I hoped I wouldn’t get behind on the downsizing plans. Something told me I wouldn’t do much relaxing that day, even though I know it’s important to keep rested.
There was no answer when I called Mona back, but I’d decided not to let that deter me.
I quickly checked my assembled kit for the consultation about the condo kitchen: measuring tape, my “what to expect” handouts, brochures, and a standard contract to show the client. Everything was packed except my minicomputer. I’d laid out a pair of black dress pants with a pale stripe, and a turtleneck. I’d added a scarlet cardigan in a cashmere blend. Woodbridge in the cold weather takes planning. My winter dress boots have an insulated lining, so they are good to minus twenty. They are old, but necessary. I considered tucking my nifty new tartan lace-up leather booties into my briefcase, but they’d be awkward to put on, so I chose to save them for a snowless day. I packed a pair of black suede pumps with red leather trim.
The only difficult and troubling item on the list was how to check up on Mona. I knew I had to knock that off first. I called once more but Mona didn’t answer. As before, there was no answering machine. This time that struck me as odd, since I figured a 911 operator who worked a lot of overtime would need to take messages. Maybe she had a pager or some other form of communication that I was unaware of. I gave Pepper a buzz at the police station, hoping to get her before the day got going, but no luck. The hit-and-runs would have all the Woodbridge investigators scrambling this week. I decided to check in every half hour until I reached her. In the meantime I got myself ready for my morning consultation. But Pepper didn’t call back. I knew that the detectives’ mornings were often spent in meetings, so I left detailed messages outlining my worry about Mona’s mental state and the possibility that her fears were real.
I called Mona four more times, letting the phone ring on and on. I was beginning to take the lack of an answering machine personally. I knew she didn’t want to meet with me, but I felt I had to do something. There must be a better tactic than going into hiding. If she needed protection or help, I would have to see that she got it.
But maybe she’d just been called in to work. I wasn’t sure when she would switch from night to day shift. I called. Someone who was definitely not Mona answered, “911.” I steeled myself. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, calling the emergency number, but what if it was an emergency?
“Is Mona Pringle on duty today?”
“What?”
“Is Mona—”
“I heard you, actually.” It was a man’s voice, warm and almost friendly, yet with that businesslike firmness that 911 operators require. “You know you’re not supposed to call here for anything but an emergency.”
“I do know that, but I urgently need to talk to Mona. It’s a type of emergency. If you can tell me she’s there, I can relax. I am sorry for calling this number. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I waited.
He said, “Is this Charlotte Adams?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it’s very important. I need to talk to her.”
“Actually,” he confided, “I know you are her good friend, so I’ll tell you, she was supposed to be in today and she’s not here. She didn’t call in either. It’s not like her. I’ve been calling and calling.”
Her good friend? “You mean she just didn’t show up?”
He lowered his voice. “It’s a first for her. Mona’s very dedicated. I am filling in, but the supervisor is having kittens over it. Anyone else, and her ass would be grass. You hear me?”
“I do. And I know she’s not at home.” I noticed my voice got higher as I spoke. It was almost in the trill range. “Would any of your coworkers have an idea where she could be? What about you?”
“They don’t have a clue, and if I had any idea where she was, I’d get on over there and tell Mona to get her butt in here, but I don’t. Do you?”
“No, obviously, or I wouldn’t be calling 911.”
“I know you’re her friend, so if you find her, tell her what I said.”
“I will. How do you know I’m her friend?”
“She talks about you. How else would I know?”
“Of course. Are you her friend too?”
“Damn straight. My name’s Brian. Does she talk about me?”
“Oh, Brian. Of course she does. I’m glad it’s you.”
Well, when had I turned into such a total liar? Not that I cared at that moment. The idea of Mona not calling in before missing work was just too bizarre. A few lies were a small price to pay.
“Keep in touch, Charlotte.”
“You too, Brian.”
After I hung up, I wondered if I should have confided in Brian. He was a 911 dispatcher too. He might be able to help me find her. And he might know how long she’d been acting this way.
Five minutes later, I parked the Miata at the Woodbridge Public Library and headed grimly to the reference section where Ramona was reigning reference librarian on this blowy morning. Luckily, the library opened at nine on Monday mornings. Unluckily, the usual crowd of entitled readers had managed to stagger in and occupy the best spots, reading the Wall Street Journal, the
New Yorker, and Consumer Reports. They gave me their normal poisonous glances. Ramona waved and trotted over with a click of her cowboy boots. Her chambray shirt was a lighter blue than she usually wore and the silver earrings chunkier.
“Thank heavens, a friendly face,” she said. “Even if a worried one. I am up to my patootie in prima donnas here today and you, Charlotte Adams, are a welcome relief.”
“Glad to help.” I grinned. “Not everyone’s that glad to see me.”
“Information needs?” she said. “For here or to go?”
“Here, if possible. Do you know Mona Pringle?”
“Nine-one-one operator. Sure.”
“That was just a pro forma question. I am well aware that you know everyone who grew up in Woodbridge.”
“Well, maybe not everyone, but I did get around. I’ve known Mona since the year I had a summer job with the parks department and she was a little kid.”
“You have?”
“Sure.”
“Did she have rough time?”
The earrings jingled as Ramona nodded her head. “It was like she was a wearing an invisible ‘kick me’ sign, that could only be seen by mean kids.”
“Good analogy.”
“Maybe it was more of a ‘boot me to the moon’ sign or ‘beat me up’ notice. You get the picture. She was such a nice little kid. I used to remind her that Ramona had the name Mona in it too, so I’d make extra sure she didn’t get bullied on my watch.”
“Did that work?”
“It seemed to make a difference.”
“That’s a relief. It’s sort of a private matter, but I need to get in touch with Mona. It’s quite urgent. I’m sure that she’s not at work, and, anyway, I’ve been told not to try to reach her there.”
“I can’t snoop into her library records,” Ramona said with a frown. “They’re confidential.”
I gasped. “I wouldn’t ever suggest that. Never. I thought perhaps there was some information that was on public record that you could—”
The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder Page 8