Murder at the PTA

by Lee Hollis

  Maya shook her head, her eyes fixed on a quivering Spencer.

  “I’m going to do my homework on you, Spencer Jennings,” Maya said calmly. “I’m going to turn over every rock and scour every corner, and if I find one hint of a history of violence, a police record, or even a jaywalking ticket, I will come after you, because even though I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt now, that could change in a heartbeat, do you hear me? I will hunt you down.”

  “I have a DUI!”

  “What?” Maya asked.

  “I got pulled over on my way home from a party a few years ago and got busted for drunk driving! It cost me fifteen grand and a year of substance-abuse classes, but I got my driver’s license back and all is good now! It only happened once! Other than that, I have a clean record.”

  “Give me your license.”

  “What?”

  “Your driver’s license—let me see it.”

  Spencer hesitated, then reached into his back pocket.

  “Slowly . . . ,” Maya warned.

  He pulled out his wallet and gently brought it around in front of him. He opened it up and pulled the laminated card out and handed it to Maya.

  She studied it.

  “Forty-One Bridgeport Road, Brunswick, Maine,” Maya said as she memorized it. “Now I know where you live.”

  She handed the license back to Spencer. “Get out of here.”

  Spencer nodded and started to leave when he stopped in front of Maya and stuck out his hand.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For not calling the police. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, as long as Maisie gave you that spare key to her apartment and you didn’t steal hers and have an extra made.”

  “No. She definitely gave it to me.”

  “Then we’re good.”

  “Okay,” he said, his face full of relief.

  Maya waited for him to go, but he just stood there a few moments longer, staring at her.

  “Was there something else?” Maya finally asked.

  “Uh, I know this is a really inappropriate time to ask this given the circumstances, but . . .” he stopped himself, debating whether he should continue, but then he stupidly went for it. “Are you single?”

  Chelsea gasped, appalled.

  Maya gripped her gun and raised it slightly, enough for him to notice. “Do you actually hear yourself right now?”

  Spencer’s face went pale. “You’re right. That was a really bad call. I never should have asked that. I can be really dumb sometimes.”

  “Well, we finally agree on something, but I got that impression from the moment you told me you drive drunk.”

  “You ladies have a nice evening,” Spencer said as he gingerly slipped past Maya and scampered out the door.

  “I can’t believe you let him go,” Chelsea barked.

  “He won’t go far, if we need to talk to him again,” Maya assured her.

  “Why would Maisie hide something like that from me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  It was clear that self-absorbed Chelsea didn’t hear, or chose to ignore, the very probable reason, as Spencer spelled out in exquisite detail, as to why Maisie had shut her sister out on her romantic life.

  But Maya wasn’t about to upset a paying client.

  “What really gets me is how he hit on you like that!” Chelsea said, infuriated.

  “I’ve got to admit it was a pretty ballsy move considering I was packing heat,” Maya laughed.

  “No, I mean why would he pick you over me? I mean, seriously, I’m a successful Broadway actress who does Pilates six times a week.”

  Maya nodded, trying her best to be sympathetic.

  “Do you know how many guys—from Wall Street hedge fund managers to hipster artists painting murals in the East Village—do you know how many of them take a whack at me every single day on the street on my way to the theater, at restaurants, the gym, gallery openings? It happens everywhere I go! I mean literally, it’s insane!”

  “I can only imagine,” Maya said.

  She had just deposited Chelsea’s retainer-fee check using her phone and bank app, but it had yet to clear, so she really wanted to keep her happy until she knew for sure that the money was safely in her account.

  “The guy obviously has a few screws loose,” Maya added for good measure.

  “Right? I totally agree!” Chelsea said.

  Maya was wise enough to know it was not just the restaurant and retail businesses where the client is always right.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  His face looked drawn and tired. She worried that he wasn’t getting much sleep behind bars. And she was probably right. He had entered the dayroom in handcuffs and wearing a tan jumpsuit that hung off his once-muscular frame. But she could see there was still a little twinkle in his eye, especially when he saw his beaming daughter excitedly waving at him.

  As he approached and the officer who accompanied him released his wrists from the handcuffs, Vanessa impatiently shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet, anticipating the moment when she could finally make physical contact with her father.

  When the officer snapped the cuffs on his belt and stepped back with a cursory nod, that was her cue. Vanessa rushed forward and threw her arms around her father, Max.

  “I love you, Daddy!” she practically sang, holding him tight.

  “I love you too, baby girl,” he choked out, voice cracking, on the verge of tears.

  Maya could tell how much he missed his only child. She surreptitiously checked her watch. Twenty-nine minutes and forty-six seconds left for this little family reunion.

  Max noticed her checking the time and frowned. He knew she didn’t like being here, exposing her daughter to a state prison and all that entailed, but they both knew there would be no living with Vanessa if Maya didn’t at least agree to a few visits to see her incarcerated father. Early on, Max gently asked about conjugal visits, which to her surprise, were allowed at this facility, but Maya had quickly declined. That was right before she asked for a divorce.

  When Vanessa finally let go first, they both sat down, smiling at each other. Maya folded her arms, choosing to take a back seat in the conversation.

  “How’s school?” Max asked.

  “It’s all right. I’m in the school musical.”

  “What are they doing this year?”

  “Hello, Dolly! . . . again,” she sighed. “We pushed for Rent but Ms. Callis is afraid it’s too edgy and doesn’t want any more controversy after she tried doing The Full Monty . . .”

  Max chuckled. “Are you Dolly?”

  “No, Minnie. She’s whiny and hysterical and kind of fun to play.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Max said sincerely, but then his smile faded. “What about boyfriends? You’re not dating, are you?”

  Vanessa blanched, covering her face with her hands.

  “You better not be. I may be stuck in here, but I know people . . .”

  “Max!” Maya admonished.

  “What? I’m kidding. Just because I’m locked up and all my personal belongings are being stored in a metal box doesn’t mean I have to put my sense of humor in there too, you know.”

  Vanessa deftly avoided the topic. “Any news on a parole hearing?”

  “I think we’re still a little too far out from that right now, baby girl,” Max said.

  Vanessa stared glumly at the floor. “Oh . . .”

  Her disappointment was killing him, so he tried a more optimistic tack. “But we’ll get there at some point.”

  Maya’s heart broke for her daughter. Her father’s arrest, which was all over the news at the time, had been especially traumatic for her, and then there was the pain of the highly publicized trial and conviction. Their house had been vandalized, their garage door spray-painted with the word Guilty even before Max’s arraignment. What was remarkable was Vanessa’s strength and determination to protect her fathe
r and not succumb to the public trolling of her social media accounts. But despite her steely resolve, Maya could tell the situation had been hard on her, and it pained Maya, as a mother, not to know how to make it any easier. The fact was, they were both still hurting and there was a big empty void left in their lives now.

  Max and Vanessa engaged in some more small talk, and the time zipped right by. Maya was surprised when she glanced down at her watch and they had only three minutes left.

  Max shot a look at the officer, who was getting ready to return him to his cell, and then returned his gaze to Maya. “Have you filed the papers yet?”

  Vanessa pretended not to know what he was talking about, but she wasn’t that good of an actress. She knew exactly what papers to which he was referring.

  “Uh . . . no . . .” Maya said, fumbling.

  He had a sad puppy-dog expression on his face, which Maya instantly resented him for, because it just made it that much harder on his daughter.

  “They’re still with the lawyer,” she said quickly, hoping to end the conversation.

  “It would mean a lot to me if you took a little more time before—”

  She cut him off. “Let’s not do this now, okay?”

  He was taking advantage of Vanessa’s presence. He knew better than anyone that Vanessa didn’t want her parents to divorce, that she still held out hope that maybe once he was released they would be a family again.

  But that was a fantasy.

  Maya could never see that ever happening.

  And there was absolutely no reason that either of them should give their daughter false hope.

  Max bowed his head and nodded, very dramatically, in fact, so it would have maximum impact on his daughter’s already scarred psyche.

  But then, he was back to his usual chatty self for the remaining time he had left to visit with his family. “So I heard about your assistant principal’s suicide at the school . . .”

  “It’s all anyone is talking about,” Vanessa said breathlessly.

  “Did she suffer from depression?” Max asked.

  Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe, but it wasn’t something anybody really knew about. Her sister doesn’t think it was suicide at all, and she has hired Mom to prove somebody murdered her.”

  Maya sighed. Her daughter could be frustratingly loose-lipped, another trait she apparently inherited from her father.

  “Wow, that’s pretty dark,” Max whispered before turning to Maya. “Any leads so far?”

  “I can’t really discuss the case,” Maya said, trying to shut him down.

  “You’re a PI, not a lawyer. There is no attorney-client privilege.”

  “You’re right, Max. There is nothing legally keeping me from talking about my work. I just don’t want to.”

  Max cracked a smile. “Okay, I’ll stop. But . . .”

  Maya rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

  “I was just going to say, if you need any help, I still have a lot of police contacts on the outside who would be happy to do me a favor.”

  “I’m sure they would. Thanks for the offer. If I need anything, I’ll get in touch with you.”

  She had no intention of involving him in any of her investigative work, but there was no harm in just keeping the peace and telling him what he wanted to hear.

  Mercifully the officer was back, handcuffs in hand, ready to escort Max away. Vanessa teared up as Max enveloped her in one last hug, squeezing her tightly, bending down to whisper in her ear that everything was going to be all right and they would one day be together again.

  Maya felt her own emotions rising and tears welling up in her eyes, but she fought like hell not to cry. There was no way she was going to break down in front of her estranged husband, not after all the tears she had shed over him during his arrest and trial. She had thought that she had no more tears left at one point, but there was a small part of her who still cared for him. Probably because of what they would always share—a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful daughter.

  The officer finally broke up the emotional goodbye, snapped the cuffs back on Max, and dragged him away. Max winked at Maya as he went past her, and she gave him a nimble nod.

  And then she took her daughter by the hand and led her out of the prison and to the car, where they drove home in silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “You really didn’t have to come with me tonight,”

  Maya said as she sipped from a paper cup of coffee while sitting behind the wheel of her car.

  “I’m done being uncomfortable sitting on my couch at home waiting for this kid to finally pop out,” Frances said, tugging on the seat belt that was firmly strapped over her protruding belly. “I might as well be uncomfortable sitting here with you where we are actually doing something.”

  “Well, I appreciate the company,” Maya said, smiling.

  Frances grabbed a small bag of potato chips off the dashboard, ripped it open, and began devouring it. “I’ve had so many cravings lately. Right now I’m all about salt ’n’ vinegar chips. I just can’t get enough of them.”

  “There’s a 7-Eleven around the corner if you run out,” Maya said, her eyes trained on a seedy, run-down three-story apartment building across the street.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” Frances said with her mouth full. “I had no idea how being pregnant makes you so tired.”

  “I’ve been through it. I understand.”

  “Well, I know it’s been tough on you, running the business on your own. I promise I’m not going to take much of a maternity leave, maybe a few weeks, just to get acclimated to the lifestyle change.”

  “You take as much time as you need.”

  Maya knew motherhood wasn’t an easy adjustment, and that Frances, although a tough talker, was not fully prepared for what was going to happen once she gave birth to her son. So, for now, Maya was going to allow her to make all the big promises she wanted, and they would adjust expectations later.

  Frances finished the chips, crumpled up the bag in her hand, and then stuffed it down in the cup holder next to her. “Hey, is that him?”

  Maya whipped around to see a man coming out of the building. His head was down and his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatshirt, but she instantly recognized him. “Yes, that’s Spencer Jennings.”

  He unchained a motor scooter from a bike rack, hopped on it, and zipped off down the street. Maya turned on her Chevy Volt and peeled out of her parking space in pursuit.

  “If you don’t think this guy murdered his girlfriend, then why are we following him?” Frances asked.

  “Because I’m not one hundred percent certain he’s innocent, and he’s the only suspect we’ve got at the moment. Maybe he might lead us to somebody else.”

  “Ow . . . ,” Frances cried.

  “You okay?” Maya said, turning to Frances, who rested a hand on top of her stomach.

  “Yeah, he’s a ruthless kicker. I’ll be surprised if this kid isn’t drafted by the Patriots in a few years.”

  Spencer made a few turns down some residential streets, leaving his shabby area and entering a more upscale neighborhood with bigger colonial houses and immaculately landscaped lawns. Maya kept her distance, staying far enough behind him so as not to arouse suspicion. He pulled up in front of a yellow nineteenth-century three-story house, parked his scooter, and trotted up to the front door.

  Maya pulled to the curb across the street and switched off her lights. She watched as Spencer rang the bell and waited. The door opened, and an attractive woman, probably in her early thirties, with long wavy brown hair and a tight-fitting halter top pressed against her chest, threw her arms around him and drew him in for a long, wanton kiss. Then she took his arm and pulled him inside the house and shut the door.

  Frances opened the passenger’s side door.

  “Where are you going?” Maya asked.

  “I’m going to go in for a closer look,” Frances said, struggling to free herself from the seat bel
t.

  “Absolutely not. You stay right here. I’ll do it,” Maya insisted.

  “Listen, Maya, I’m pregnant, not disabled, okay? I want to feel like I’m doing something, and I’ve missed our girls’ night stakeouts. I’ll be careful. I promise. We can stay in constant contact by phone. I’ll talk you through everything I see. And if I suddenly go into labor, which would be such a blessing at this point, then you can take over for me.”

  Maya was still resistant, but she knew how stubborn Frances could be, so there really was no use in arguing with her.

  “Fine,” Maya sighed.

  Frances blew her an air-kiss and then struggled to haul herself out of the car. Maya watched as Frances swiftly crossed the street, her hands on her belly, and darted up the front lawn of the yellow house, pretty fast for a woman eight months pregnant. She bent down to stay below the sill of the front windows but had trouble because of her giant stomach. Finally, she disappeared for a few moments behind some freshly trimmed hedges and then raised her head slowly to peek in the window. Maya could see that Frances’s phone was clamped to her ear, and hers was now ringing.

  Maya answered. “What are they up to?”

  “They’re drinking champagne. I think it might be her birthday. He just gave her a gift, which she’s unwrapping now.”

  “What is it?”

  “Hold on . . .” Frances raised her head a little higher to get a better look. “A necklace. Looks expensive too.”

  “That lying creep. He did find it,” Maya muttered to herself.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He bought that necklace for Maisie Portman weeks before she died. We found him in her apartment looking for it, but he claimed he didn’t find it.”

  “Well, he just regifted it. They’re kissing now in front of a roaring fire. Man, this scene could not get any more clichéd. I feel like I actually want to throw up, and this is after all those months of morning sickness.”

  Maya laughed.

  “Uh-oh . . . ,” Frances said, her voice trailing off.

  “Frances, what is it?” Maya said urgently, sitting up in her seat. From the car, she spotted a dog, maybe a pit bull, barreling around from the back of the house that was barking wildly and racing toward Frances.