Murder at the PTA

by Lee Hollis

  “Then what?” Hicks demanded to know.

  “It’s about Chelsea Portman,” Maya said flatly.

  Hicks flinched, then quickly regained his composure and took a bite of his toast, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing and responding. “Is that Maisie Portman’s sister, the actress?”

  Sandra suppressed a laugh. This whole act of pretending to vaguely know of her was both laughable and insulting to their intelligence. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Sandra noticed his hand holding the napkin was trembling slightly.

  “What about her?” Hicks casually asked.

  Maya was losing patience. “We know you’re having an affair with her.”

  Hicks responded like most men confronted with the truth. His first instinct was to react surprised, genuinely stunned as to how anyone could possibly believe such an outlandish lie. And he did so like a true adulterer. “What? Who said that . . . ? That’s the most preposterous . . .”

  But he could tell from their dead stares that they were not believing him for a second, so after a little more effort to deny, he gave up and his shoulders slumped. “Where did you get this information?”

  “Nobody told us anything. We just know,” Maya said.

  Hicks eyed Maya, a little intimidated by her all-businesslike tone. And then he turned to Sandra and gave her the once-over before it dawned on him. “You . . . That was you in our hotel room. I saw the back of your head as you ran off down the hall, and I remember thinking the woman looked like you.”

  Sandra didn’t answer, but her guilty expression gave her away.

  Hicks was getting more discombobulated by the minute and shouted, “What were you doing there?”

  “I ran into Chelsea at the hotel bar and when she had a little too much to drink, I helped her to her room.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that you just happened to be cocktailing in the Top of the East bar.”

  “It’s a gorgeous bar with excellent drinks,” Sandra said flippantly.

  “What’s really going on here?” Hicks wanted to know.

  “I’m a private investigator,” Maya sighed. “And I’m looking into Maisie Portman’s death.”

  Hicks glared at her. “Maisie Portman committed suicide.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Maya said.

  “Well, the police are. The case is closed,” Hicks seethed before turning his attention to Sandra. “And what are you? Detective in training?”

  Sandra shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Who hired you?”

  The question caught them both by surprise, since the answer was so ludicrous.

  “Chelsea Portman,” Sandra muttered.

  “Wait just a minute. Chelsea hired you? Does she think I killed her sister?” Hicks cried, panic rising in his voice.

  “No, we’re just looking at different angles, and following every lead available to us . . . ,” Maya said, attempting to calm him down.

  “And we found a life-insurance policy . . . ,” Sandra added.

  Maya shot her a look, and Sandra shrank back, kicking herself.

  “What life-insurance policy?”

  “Maisie took out a life-insurance policy naming Chelsea as her primary beneficiary,” Maya said, sighing.

  “Chelsea hired you to find out if her sister was murdered, and now you think she was the one who did it? This is insane!” Hicks bellowed as he began putting the pieces together. “So you befriended her at the bar in order to see if she would slip up and say something incriminating, but then you saw me when I showed up to meet her at the hotel!”

  “If it makes you feel any better, it was a complete surprise. We had no idea . . . ,” Sandra said.

  “Let me put your minds at ease. I did not kill Maisie. Check out my Facebook page. I was doing a live event for hundreds of followers in the cafeteria before the PTA meeting that night, talking about the special things we’ve been planning for the fall semester. There was no way I could have done it.”

  “We’ll be sure to check it out,” Maya said, not quite convinced of his innocence just yet.

  “As for Chelsea, she was home in New York at a Sam Smith concert with a bunch of girlfriends. They must have posted a thousand Instagram photos. So I’m sorry to report that we both have well-documented alibis all over social media. Now, is there anything else?” Hicks huffed.

  “No, that about wraps it up,” Maya said.

  “Well, I appreciate you waiting until my wife left before hurling all these ridiculous accusations at me,” Hicks spat out.

  Maya clearly wanted to bite her tongue and keep mum but couldn’t. “Most of them, anyway.”

  “Most of them what?” Hicks asked.

  “Most of them are ridiculous,” Maya said, unable to resist a final jab.

  Hicks fought to keep his cool, but it was getting harder. He glared at Sandra. “I trust you’re not going to go blabbing to Alice at your next knitting circle or something?”

  Knitting circle?

  Sandra had no idea John Hicks was such a sexist pig.

  “No, what you do in your private life is none of my business,” Sandra said.

  “Apparently that’s not entirely true since you’re here in my house right now,” he said angrily.

  “Thank you for your time,” Maya said, as both she and Sandra turned to leave.

  “Oh, Sandra . . . ,” Hicks said.

  Sandra spun back around. “Yes?”

  “Have you made a decision yet? Will you be resigning as PTA president?”

  She thought about it for a few seconds. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Not that what I think means anything, but God, I really hope you do.”

  Sandra gave him a thin smile. Her days of respecting him as the principal of the high school were officially over. “Well, I appreciate your opinion. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll keep you posted. Goodbye, Johnny.” Hicks flinched and Sandra smiled. “Isn’t that what Maisie used to call you? Johnny?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  Sandra followed Maya out the door and to the car, and before either of them had the chance to strap on their seat belts, Maya’s cell phone was chirping.

  She checked the caller ID.

  “It’s Chelsea Portman.”

  “I knew John would have her on speed dial, but boy, that was fast,” Sandra remarked with a chuckle.

  Maya pressed the answer button on the screen and put the phone to her ear. “Hi, this is Maya.”

  Maya sat there listening. After a few seconds, she nodded and said, “I understand.”

  And just like that the call was over. Maya dropped her phone in the cup holder between them and said, “Well, I can’t say that wasn’t totally unexpected.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She just fired me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Maya opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out the half-full bottle of Jim Beam and poured some into two shot glasses. She handed one to Sandra, who sat opposite her in a rickety old chair.

  Sandra leaned back and held the shot glass close to her mouth. “You remind me of one of those grizzled old private eyes who keep liquor in a drawer to ease the pressure when a case hits a dead end.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Maya said with a wry smile. “You like bourbon?”

  “Not really, but I don’t see the ingredients I need for a cosmopolitan in that drawer.”

  The two women laughed and then clinked their glasses and swallowed the bourbon. Sandra had to suppress a cough as the bourbon burned through her throat.

  Maya slammed her shot glass down on the desk. “You okay?”

  Sandra nodded as she put a fist to her mouth, waiting to see if she was going to erupt in a coughing fit. “My husband always said I would never be a professional drinker.”

  “I think that might be a good thing. My husband never said that to me, probably because we met in a bar.”

  Sandra giggled. “Was it was
one of those god-awful singles’ bars?”

  “No, just your typical neighborhood watering hole a few blocks from the police academy. I was a cadet and went out with some other recruits after a day at the shooting range to blow off some steam, and he was there with some fellow officers hanging out and playing darts. Our eyes met, and before I knew it he had sent a drink over.” Maya rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, oldest trick in the book, and I fell for it.”

  “I think it’s sweet.”

  “Not really. It was more calculated than that. Max had spotted me on my first day at the academy, when he gave an orientation speech. He knew the cadets went to the same bar every night after training, and so he made sure he was there when I showed up.”

  “Do you have a picture of your husband?”

  “Just google him. He was all over the internet when they arrested him for corruption. You might even be able to find his mug shot.”

  There was an uneasy silence before Sandra spoke. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s just a fact of life. You know, the funny thing is, when I was in high school I always chased the bad boys, the dangerous-looking ones who smoked pot and drove fast cars and skipped school all the time. I thought they were exciting and unpredictable and so sexy . . . but then when I met Max, I thought maybe I was finally growing up, finally changing, and making more responsible choices. I mean, hell, he was a police officer! It was like a one-eighty-degree turn from my previous boyfriends. And then, in the end, he turned out to be just another bad guy, and I realized I hadn’t changed at all.”

  More silence.

  Sandra leaned forward. “I could use another shot.”

  Maya raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  Sandra nodded.

  “Okay, but I’m sending you home in an Uber. I don’t need my new partner getting arrested too.”

  “Deal.”

  Maya poured more bourbon into the two shot glasses.

  “I wish I remembered more about you when we went to high school together,” Sandra remarked, smiling.

  “Girls like me weren’t really friends with girls like you,” Maya said. There was no bitterness in her tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. You were the typical high school success story. Captain of the cheerleading squad—”

  “I wasn’t captain!” Sandra shouted defensively.

  “Maybe not, but you were the most popular! All the boys had a crush on you. You dated the class president, if I recall.”

  “Yeah, and he cheated on me too,” Sandra muttered, shaking her head at the memory.

  “What?”

  “Yes. I should have learned my lesson right then and there. Never date a politician. But did I? No, I’m a sucker for any man who tells me he wants to make the world a better place with progressive, humane policies. In Danny Ludwig’s case, that meant putting a soda machine in the cafeteria. With Stephen, that meant expanding health care in the state of Maine. Either way, I bought into it.”

  “What a pair we make. One of us is still hitched to a convicted felon and the other is tied to a serial philanderer,” Maya said.

  “Girl power,” Sandra replied.

  They clinked their glasses again and downed their second shot.

  “Maybe we could have been friends in high school,” Maya remarked. “We could have bonded over our terrible taste in men.”

  Sandra laughed.

  Suddenly the door flew open and a very pregnant Frances shuffled inside the office, stopping short at the sight of Maya and Sandra doing shots together.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—” Frances said with a surprised look on her face.

  “Don’t be silly,” Maya said, jumping up. “We were just chatting.”

  “I swear if I don’t drop this bowling ball soon, I’m going to go out of my mind!” Frances wailed as she crossed to the other side of the room and sat down at her own desk in the corner.

  Sandra wasn’t sure if she should stay or leave, so she just sat still for the time being.

  “Can I get you something to drink, Frances? Coffee? Water?” Maya offered.

  “No, I’m fine, but I was just sitting at home alone and I was going stir-crazy, so I thought I would take a chance and find you still here so I could”—her voice lowered into a whisper; this wasn’t easy for her—“apologize.”

  Maya walked over to her desk. “Frances . . .”

  Frances held up a hand. “No, I never should’ve yelled at you like that. You were just doing your job, following the leads wherever they took you; it’s what we’re supposed to do, but I couldn’t handle it. . . .”

  Frances opened a drawer in her desk. There wasn’t a bottle of bourbon in it, just a mound of assorted candy bars. She plucked one from the drawer, unwrapped it, and began taking big bites of a Milky Way. “At first I blamed the pregnancy for my appalling behavior, but I knew pretty soon I wouldn’t have that excuse anymore, so I just had to face reality. It’s totally me. I’ve been acting like a real bitch, and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  Maya smiled.

  “You’re my best friend, and I don’t think I’ll survive if you can’t forgive me,” Frances said, her eyes brimming with tears. She wiped them away with her index fingers. “The crying I can still chalk up to the pregnancy.”

  “Of course I forgive you, Frances,” Maya said, walking around the desk and leaning down to hug her.

  “I know I’ve been a terrible partner lately, but that’s going to change. I’m going to be around a lot more so you don’t have to—”

  Sandra winced. Frances caught herself before finishing the sentence, but they all knew the gist of what she almost said. So you don’t have to find a new partner.

  Sandra knew that was her cue.

  Sandra stood up. “I better get going. . . .”

  Maya crossed back around Frances’s desk. “You don’t have to leave right away.”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Frances said. “I can live vicariously watching you two do more shots.”

  Sandra was taken aback by Frances’s almost jovial tone. She had never heard her sound friendly before. She feared it might just be an act, a way to show Maya she wasn’t jealous of their budding friendship, and the last thing Sandra wanted to do was to cause more tension between the two best friends.

  “Good luck with everything. I’m sure you two will have the case wrapped up in no time,” Sandra said before turning to Maya. “Thanks for the bourbon.”

  Sandra scooted out the door. Maybe it was time to stop playing private eye and deal with the problems she was facing at home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “I’m so proud of you, baby,” Max said, his eyes welling up with tears, reaching out to squeeze Vanessa’s hand.

  Maya wasn’t sure if he was crying because he was happy for Vanessa’s tour de force or sad that he was stuck in prison and couldn’t physically be present to see his daughter shine on the stage in Hello, Dolly!

  They were back in the small windowless visiting room, Maya and Vanessa sitting opposite Max in those hard uncomfortable folding chairs. Several armed guards stood by stoically, keeping watch over things.

  “She has an incredible singing voice,” Maya added.

  “No surprise there,” Max said, grinning and winking at Vanessa. “She obviously gets that from me. Your mom can tell you, I used to kill at karaoke.”

  Vanessa giggled. “She doesn’t have to. I remember when I was little, you used to come into my room and perform ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ I was like your captive audience.”

  Max did his best Marlon Brando impression. “I coulda been somebody. I coulda been a contender.”

  The reference was totally lost on Vanessa.

  Maya noticed Max looked more tired and drawn than the last time they had visited. She wanted to ask what was going on, if he was dealing with stress on the inside—more than the usual rigors of fear and violence one had to cope with in prison—but
she was afraid to ask in front of Vanessa because she didn’t want her daughter to hear about it if her father was being threatened. Word inevitably got around when a cop was forced to serve time, and revenge-seeking convicts were always eager to put a bull’s-eye on his back.

  Maya reached into her bag and rummaged around for some loose bills. She handed a five to Vanessa. “Why don’t you go to the vending machine and get us a snack? I’m craving a bag of salt ’n’ vinegar chips.”

  Vanessa eyed her suspiciously. “Are you trying to get rid of me so you can talk to Daddy in private?”

  Max leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “That skill she has of reading people, that she gets from you.”

  “Five minutes,” Maya said to Vanessa.

  Vanessa held out her hand after pocketing the five. “I’m thirsty. I could use a Diet Coke too.”

  Maya sighed, reached in for another five and slapped it in the palm of her daughter’s hand. “Don’t hurry back.”

  Vanessa got up and ambled away.

  Maya turned back to Max. “You don’t look too good, Max.”

  He shrugged. “Typical stuff. There are a lot of bullies who like messing with me in the yard, but I can handle it.”

  She noticed a Band-Aid on his arm. “Did someone attack you?”

  “I wouldn’t call it an attack. I went for the last dinner roll in the cafeteria, and this dude decided he wanted it so he bit me on the arm before I could even open my mouth to take a bite. But it was no big deal. I jabbed him in the forehead with my fork to teach him a lesson.”

  “You don’t call that an attack?”

  “Not a real one. I’ve dealt with plenty of those. You should see the big scar on my torso from a shiv in the shower last March.”

  Maya shuddered. “Oh, Max . . .”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Max stared at the floor before finally looking up at Maya. “I want to get the hell out of here, babe . . .”

  “I know. Just stay positive. Your parole is coming up in a few months.”

  “Ten. Ten months. That’s almost a year.”

  She didn’t know how to make him feel better, so she just resorted to more small talk about Frances’s due date, how Frances was finally moving in with Coach Vinnie, how she had been getting help with her case from a new friend, although she neglected to mention it was a U.S. senator’s wife. Max took it all in, happy for the distraction.