by Sharon Sala
“So you’ve been spying on me?”
“I only intended to confirm you were handling Cody Fairmont fairly. Knowing the boy, I suspected Barbara might be exaggerating her claims.” Mrs. Rhodes shook her head. “But Cody’s not the issue. It’s your dishonesty.”
“Did you happen to check out any of the links to educational research I shared with you? Or compare my students’ reading test results to the other second graders’? The children absolutely love this technique, and Pippa’s excited to try it, too.” In fact, it had been Pippa’s idea to win over Mrs. Rhodes by testing the two classes side by side, but Mara wasn’t about to throw her new friend under the bus.
“My school is not a laboratory,” Mrs. Rhodes insisted. “Nor are our students subjects for your experimentation. This is the last time I intend to warn you.”
Mara stood. “You’re right. I thought my students’ progress and enthusiasm would convince you, but it was a mistake to go about it the way I did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened yesterday at school, and even sorrier if anything I did resulted in that vandalism. But don’t punish Rebecca for my mistakes. Don’t hurt a child because you’re upset.”
“This is too much, really. Go home and stay home, Mara. At least until the next board meeting, when we’ll be discussing whether your termination’s the best option for everyone involved.”
Chapter 6
A dam surveyed the damage: a temporary storage building with its door pried open, the construction materials inside it ruined and tools scattered. And gallons of paint missing, some of it splashed up against the windows and new adobe facing of the nearly completed five-star restaurant that was set to open within weeks. The paint was mostly dry now, indicating that this had happened sometime in the night.
“Could have been a lot worse,” he told the deputies who had shown up to take the report. At least none of their expensive equipment had gone missing, and the restaurant’s interior remained untouched.
“They didn’t even bother smashing out the windows,” he added. “If you ask me, this was kind of a halfhearted effort. All of it easily repaired.” Nuisance though it was, it shouldn’t put a dent in his timetable for getting the first phase of the project running.
“I don’t know,” said the deeply tanned Deputy Ortega. “That black paint looks pretty angry.”
“Not half as angry as what we saw at our last call, sir.” The heavyset Deputy Smith spoke deferentially, as he had even in those first tense days that followed Christine’s death. Likely impressed by Adam’s money. “Happened over at Red Bluff Elementary.”
Jolted, Adam said, “That’s where my daughter goes. What happened?”
“Just one classroom damaged, sir,” Smith explained. “But it’s a total wreck. Lots of paint there, too. Bloodred paint.”
“Which classroom? Whose?”
Deputy Ortega’s leathery expression hardened, the suspicion in his eyes reminding Adam of the man’s pointed questions following Christine’s death.
By way of explanation, Adam added, “I’m concerned that someone who’s angry with me might be taking it out on my little girl. Or the woman teaching her.”
“It was Mara Stillwell’s classroom,” Ortega allowed. “I understand she’s had some other troubles, too. Too bad, a pretty young woman, new to town like that. Hardly knows a soul around here yet, I’d imagine.”
His tone implied that he’d heard otherwise, or that he at least suspected she and Adam were personally entangled.
Adam explained how he’d known Mara and her brother in New Jersey. How in an effort to help his daughter work through her mother’s loss, Mara had been giving Rebecca art lessons after school. “I consider Miss Stillwell a friend.”
“A close friend?” Ortega asked, his brown eyes stony.
“I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s what you’re implying,” Adam said bluntly.
“Meaning no offense, sir.” Smith shot his partner an anxious look and tentatively suggested, “Do you think maybe someone else might’ve noticed you’re friends and not liked it? Some guy looking to get the new schoolteacher to himself?”
“She’s only lived here a few months,” Adam said. “I don’t think she’s dated anyone here.”
“Might not matter. Might just be some guy who wants to know her better. Or what about somebody from back home?” Smith continued. “Somebody who didn’t want her coming out here? Who couldn’t stand to let go?”
As far as Adam knew, Mara’s ex-fiancé was either in jail or out on bond, awaiting trial. And she hadn’t indicated he might still be a problem. “You should certainly ask her, but I don’t know of anybody like that from her past.”
“What about you, Mr. Jakes? Anybody with a grudge you’re aware of? A business partner you cut out of all this?” Ortega gestured from the defaced restaurant to the huge lodge and guest casitas, still under construction. With a sneer in his voice, he added, “Or maybe you have some unhappy investors?”
“I don’t cheat my associates.” The ice in Adam’s voice was sharp enough to cut. “And I don’t mislead my investors.”
“We didn’t mean anything by it,” Smith added quickly.
Ortega’s gaze said otherwise. “Have you received any anonymous calls or letters, any threats or warnings?”
Adam shook his head. “Nothing.”
“What about unusual attempts to solicit ‘donations’?” Beneath the lowering sky, Smith was sweating in the chilly air, perspiration beading his upper lip.
“Nothing like that, either.”
“There’s always blackmail,” Ortega said pointedly. “Someone claiming to know secrets—the kinds of secrets that can land even a rich man in hot water.”
Adam swore, then challenged, “You want to accuse me of something, Deputy? Then do it. But unless you have hard evidence, I wouldn’t advise standing around here slinging innuendo about crimes that haven’t been committed. Not when you have several real ones you need to get busy solving.”
It took several moments for Ortega to collect himself to answer. “Sorry if you were offended. Just trying to cover all the bases.”
Adam didn’t buy the deputy’s supposed contrition. Whether he suspected Adam of a crime or resented his wealth and position, Ortega clearly didn’t like him.
“If you’re busy,” Smith said soothingly, “we’ll talk to your construction supervisor, have him accompany us while we finish our evidence collection.”
“I think that would be a fine idea,” Adam told them. “It seems I have other matters to attend to.”
As Mara drove back home, the rain set in, a cold, gray downpour that cascaded off rock and hard-packed soil, and filled the arroyos, normally dry channels that crisscrossed the area.
“Great,” she muttered, realizing she had no umbrella. But why shouldn’t the sky dump on her? With her classroom trashed and Jillian Rhodes bent on her dismissal, getting soaked was just par for the course.
Mara wished she’d never come to this two-stoplight town. Wished she’d dug in her heels and faced her problems on her home turf. But the fact remained, Red Bluff was the only home she had left—one she couldn’t afford, emotionally or financially, to lose.
Which meant that, tempting as it was, self-pity was no option, and neither was blind panic. She needed to keep her wits about her, to call the teachers’ union representative and see if they would provide a lawyer to help get her through this.
But what she really wanted now was someone who cared for her. Someone who wouldn’t judge, who would simply be there. Maybe Pippa, she thought. Pippa would be kind.
No sooner had the idea occurred than Mara dismissed it. She didn’t want Pippa’s sympathy; she wanted Adam, with his arms around her. Adam, who would be outraged on her behalf.
Not a good idea, she knew. For one thing, she would end up fighting to keep him from marching straight to Jillian Rhodes’ home and lighting into the principal with a blistering attack. For another, she absolutely knew that if he came over, th
ey would end up in bed together, which would only complicate the situation further.
She tamped down the thought, even though it made her ache with frustration.
With a sigh, she turned into the Trejos’ empty driveway and nudged her Mini beneath the open carport. After tucking her things inside a plastic grocery sack, she dashed for the front door. Soaked before she reached it, she fumbled with the new lock before remembering she’d shut off the generator to save fuel before she’d left.
Wet as she was, she ran back outside to restart it so she would have lights and could run her electric heater, not to mention her refrigerator. After returning in record time and dashing inside, she shivered through the act of changing into dry jeans and her warmest sweatshirt. With the rain beating against the roof, she dried her hair and, yawning, grabbed a throw off her bed.
It might be only noon, but she was bone tired, wrung out by the destruction of her classroom, the confrontation with her principal, and the crush of emotions falling as thick around her as the driving rain outside.
She lay back with her head aching, wondering if the stress of the past two days had triggered a relapse into illness. She would call the union rep later—and Pippa, too—she decided, putting off the inevitable.
Minutes later, she popped up. Where was Jasper? Normally the kitten charged out to attack her shoelaces or beg a treat or a chin-scratch whenever she came inside.
Rising to wander through the four small rooms, she called him. When he didn’t come, she took out his box of kitten food and shook it. No response, but tiny as the little guy was, there were any number of places he might hide.
More than likely scared of the rain’s noise, she thought. Poor thing had never heard it before, probably thought the world was coming to an end.
Better to let him come out on his own than frighten him further by tearing apart the place to find him. Besides, her head was pounding now, and she felt slightly dizzy. She wanted nothing more than to sit down.
Irritated with herself, she struggled to fight off her lethargy. In a fit of pique, she went to her little kitchen table and dumped the papers she’d brought home to grade.
Attending to them, she told herself, was an act of faith. A compact between herself and the students she swore she would return to teach.
But as she reached for one paper that had sailed onto the floor, she froze, the events of the past two days instantly banished from her mind.
It was a drawing, a piece of child’s artwork immediately recognizable as Rebecca’s. Another of her “falling” pictures, this one, too, depicted a figure pitching forward from a bluff’s edge.
Except in this picture, the mouth — clearly female—formed a red O of horror, and another person’s hands were visible at the paper’s edge.
The hands that had pushed Christine Jakes to her death, Mara realized, a sick chill ripping through her body. Monstrous, claw-tipped hands that made a mockery of the sheriff’s ruling of accidental death or any of the rumors suggesting suicide.
Rebecca Jakes was telling Mara, in the only way she could, that her mother had been murdered. And whatever the girl knew, it was coming clearer all the time.
I have to call Adam, Mara thought. I have to talk to him about this.
But by that time the throbbing in her head was so insistent that the mere thought of speaking left her nauseated. Migraine, she realized, reminded of past episodes—and the medicine she carried in her purse just in case. After taking her pill, she lay back against the sofa’s cushions and closed her eyes in the hope she would soon feel better.
Her last coherent thought was that this felt different from a normal migraine. Different enough that instead of taking her pill, she should have called someone for help.
Chapter 7
T he torrent sheeted off rocky soil and cascaded down the streets surrounding Red Bluff, including the steep and winding road leading to Adam’s construction project.
Faced with dangerous driving conditions, he stopped at home, rather than making the treacherous journey to ask Mara about the situation at the school. He would call her instead, he decided, or at least wait until the weather improved.
But the moment he entered through the attached garage, he heard his daughter crying. Not the quiet snuffles he’d seen from time to time since her mother’s death, but sobs so hard she sounded breathless.
Certain she’d been hurt, he raced toward the crying, which led to his home office. Just outside the doorway, he found Mrs. Somers on her knees, her arms wrapped around Rebecca, who was struggling to pull away, her face red.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Kneeling beside her, Adam scanned for blood, protruding bones, anything to explain the noise. “Rebecca?”
She turned to stare, her damp blue eyes astonished, since he so rarely raised his voice around her. But the shock lasted only moments before her lower lip began to wobble. “They’re—they’re going to make me change teachers. They’re taking me out of Miss Stillwell’s class!”
“What? Who told you such a thing?” Adam asked, furious to imagine that his own thoughtless behavior—that ill-timed kiss with Mara—might have sparked such a disaster.
Rebecca pointed at the phone on his desk, and Mrs. Somers nodded to confirm it.
The housekeeper stood, knees cracking, and rubbed the small of her back. “Rebecca went to get some printer paper from your office for another picture, and your answering machine was taking a message. I didn’t hear it myself, but apparently—”
“It was the principal,” Rebecca said, still crying. “Was I bad? Is that why she’s changing me to Mrs. Kelly’s room?”
As Adam hugged his daughter, he felt the pounding of her heart. Hadn’t this poor kid been through enough? “Nobody’s changing anybody, sweetie. Let me have a little privacy so I can sort out this mistake.”
Rebecca pulled away to look up at him. “It’s a mistake, that’s all? And you can fix it?”
“I’ll do my very best. But you know what? It’s really getting cold out. I would love a big mug of hot chocolate. Do you think you could help Mrs. Somers make the good kind?”
Over the girl’s head, his gaze met the housekeeper’s. Mrs. Somers nodded and said, “Come along, Rebecca. You can help me measure out the cocoa.”
Once they were gone, he closed the office door and listened to the message, a tense-sounding Jillian Rhodes explaining that she felt it was “in everyone’s best interest” to transfer Rebecca to Mrs. Kelly’s class beginning Monday. She’d left her home number, too, “should you like to discuss this further.”
“You’d better believe I’d like to discuss it.” Adam stabbed at the numbers he’d just taken down, then stood facing the window, the rain outside so heavy, his expensive view dissolved into a silver haze.
“This is Jillian Rhodes,” she answered on the first ring. “I was expecting your call, Mr. Jakes.”
“What on earth is going on?” he demanded. “My daughter heard your message, and now she’s in hysterics. She absolutely loves Miss Stillwell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Rhodes said. “Unfortunately, this change is necessary, for everyone involved.”
“I heard there was a break-in. Some damage to Miss Stillwell’s classroom.” Outside, the wind shifted, driving the water against the window. Adam moved away from it to hear.
“Extensive damage,” Mrs. Rhodes corrected. “And I understand you had an incident today, as well. At your worksite.”
“Nothing major. Just a little paint damage and some easily replaceable supplies.”
“Considering what Miss Stillwell told me about a phone threat and attempted break-in at her home, I’m guessing that someone’s taken notice of what’s going on between the two of you. Which, I must say, is entirely inappropriate. Especially with what I’m told happened in the classroom.”
“I didn’t call you to be scolded like a second grader,” he said. “I called to keep you from taking out what happened, after school hours, on a seven-year-old.
”
“This isn’t about punishing Rebecca,” Mrs. Rhodes insisted. “I mean to keep her safe from whoever’s doing such dreadful things. Besides, it’s a conflict of interest for Miss Stillwell to be—”
“I’m completely capable of seeing to my daughter’s safety, and Miss Stillwell and I have agreed to keep our distance.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to work out the details of your private lives between yourselves—with Rebecca in Mrs. Kelly’s class. I’ll explain to your daughter—”
“No, that’s not acceptable. Rebecca’s flourishing this year. I was at my wits’ end, but now she’s talking, loving school again, catching up to where she should be with her work. You know how bad she was all last year. This is a child’s mental health we’re talking about.”
“I’m well versed in children’s mental health, Mr. Jakes. And I’m afraid this is an area where the principal has discretion.”
“I believe the superintendent has the discretion to overrule you.” Adam let the comment hang, giving Mrs. Rhodes a chance to reflect upon the superintendent’s enthusiasm for the increased tax revenues that would result from Adam’s project. Already, the district had planning committees discussing the construction of a newer, larger elementary school and an addition for the high school.
Normally Adam would have bent over backward to avoid looking as if he was throwing around his money and influence, but he wasn’t risking his daughter’s emotional well-being.
“Rebecca’s teacher will be Mara Stillwell,” he told the principal flatly.
“I’m afraid that Mara Stillwell,” Mrs. Rhodes said irritably, “won’t be teaching anyone’s children for the time being.”
“What are you talking about?” Worry undercut him, dropping him into his chair. “Mara’s not hurt, is she? Has something—did someone…?”
“She’s fine, as far as that goes.”
“So this is a disciplinary matter?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I’m legally barred from discussing personnel issues. As is the superintendent.” Her tone told Adam that she resented his bringing up her boss. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next month’s school board meeting to present your concerns.”