Scandal in Fair Haven

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Scandal in Fair Haven Page 34

by Carolyn G. Hart


  "Hurry!" We wal­ked fas­ter and fas­ter.

  Soon the­re was no so­und or sight of the scho­ol. The chin­ka­pin oaks to­we­red abo­ve us. It was co­ol and sha­dowy and qu­i­et.

  Now I co­uldn't be held hos­ta­ge by the li­ves of chil­d­ren.

  But wo­uld I ha­ve any chan­ce to open my pur­se when we re­ac­hed the pla­ce whe­re Bro­oke in­ten­ded for me to die?

  I had no il­lu­si­ons. My de­ath was to be the fi­na­le.

  Now the­re was no sub­ter­fu­ge. The gun was in the open, po­in­ted di­rectly at me.

  I know what kind of da­ma­ge a.38 do­es at the ran­ge of two fe­et.

  If I tri­ed to open my pur­se, Bro­oke wo­uld sho­ot.

  No. Not yet.

  Fronds of wil­low tre­es wa­ve­red in a soft bre­eze. Gre­enish wa­ter glis­te­ned ahe­ad of us.

  We ca­me to a fork in the path. "This way." Bro­oke's on­ce-lo­vely fa­ce was as hard and un­fe­eling as por­ce­la­in.

  "Brooke… you can't do this. You can't get away with this."

  "Yes. Yes, I will. You see, you're the last per­son who knows."

  I al­most con­t­ra­dic­ted her. Chuck Selwyn knew. Su­rely she re­ali­zed that. She'd over­he­ard my talk with Dan.

  But if Bro­oke didn't know, I wasn't go­ing to tell her.

  The path led up­hill. A whi­te pa­vi­li­on crow­ned the gen­t­le ri­se. Ben­c­hes over­lo­oked the shim­me­ring la­ke wa­ter.

  We clim­bed the steps.

  Funny to think I co­uld be so awa­re of the mus­c­les in my legs. The sen­se of mo­bi­lity, the awa­re­ness of exis­ten­ce.

  "It's yo­ur own fa­ult," she sa­id bit­terly. "If you hadn't co­me to town, they'd ha­ve be­en su­re it was Cra­ig. And my Dan wo­uld ha­ve be­en sa­fe."

  We re­ac­hed the whi­te iron ben­c­hes.

  "You've got a no­te­bo­ok in yo­ur pur­se. You carry it aro­und."

  "Yes."

  "All right. Get it out."

  So I had a few mi­nu­tes left, the ti­me it wo­uld ta­ke to wri­te the words sig­ning away my li­fe.

  But I co­uld open my pur­se.

  We sat down.

  I lif­ted the pur­se flap, got out the no­te­bo­ok and-be­hind it, pres­sed aga­inst the back-my keys with the Ma­ce ca­nis­ter. And I flic­ked on the ta­pe re­cor­der as I set the pur­se down, still open.

  I pla­ced the no­te­bo­ok on my lap and lo­oked at her mer­ci­less fa­ce. "So Dan wo­uld ha­ve be­en sa­fe-at the pri­ce of Patty Kay's li­fe and Amy's li­fe and Cra­ig's."

  "I had to. I had to." It was a de­ep, tor­tu­red cry. "Don't you un­der­s­tand? Patty Kay was go­ing to ru­in Dan's li­fe. Ru­in it. All be­ca­use of a prank. He didn't me­an for Fran­ci to , be so stu­pid. It was just a prank."

  "A prank? Do you know what was in tho­se no­tes?"

  Her mo­uth qu­ive­red. "Boys talk that way. It me­ans not­hing. Patty Kay wo­uldn't lis­ten to re­ason. She wan­ted Dan to re­sign from all his of­fi­ces and te­ams and apo­lo­gi­ze in an as­sembly. It wo­uld ha­ve be­en so aw­ful. And Stan­ford -he's be­en ac­cep­ted. They'd want to know why he qu­it all his ac­ti­vi­ti­es. He wo­uldn't be ac­cep­ted an­y­w­he­re."

  "He might ha­ve le­ar­ned so­met­hing abo­ut be­ing hu­man."

  Brooke wasn't lis­te­ning. The gun ne­ver wa­ve­red as her vo­ice ro­se. "Da­vid-I don't know what Da­vid wo­uld do. He

  would be so angry. It's ter­rib­le when he's angry. His vo­ice drops and drops and drops. So de­ep and cold and ha­te­ful. He wo­uld di­sown Dan. I know he wo­uld. And what co­uld Dan do? Whe­re co­uld he go?"

  I un­der­s­to­od now what dro­ve her to the hor­rors she'd com­mit­ted. Da­vid For­rest held high stan­dards. Per­haps im­pos­sibly high stan­dards. He ex­pec­ted so much of his wi­fe and his son. It might ha­ve be­en pres­su­re from his fat­her that cor­ro­ded Dan's so­ul. It was cer­ta­inly that pres­su­re which led Bro­oke to mur­der.

  "Patty Kay was yo­ur fri­end."

  She drew a rag­ged bre­ath.

  "She wo­uldn't lis­ten. You don't know how Patty Kay was. She didn't ca­re what kind of scan­dal it ca­used. She was go­ing to ma­ke Dan pay. But it was too la­te. I tri­ed to ma­ke her see. She cal­led me that mor­ning, as­ked me to co­me over to her ho­use af­ter lunch. That's when she told me she'd se­en Dan-and fo­und the no­te. I sa­id I knew it was a mis­ta­ke, so­me kind of dre­ad­ful mis­ta­ke. She in­sis­ted that it wasn't. She told me she'd se­en Dan go in­to the bu­il­ding. She lo­oked in­si­de and saw him open a loc­ker and put so­met­hing in it and that the lo­ok on his fa­ce was spi­te­ful and me­an. She cal­led out and he lo­oked up and saw her and ran away. And she got the no­te. She sho­wed it to me. I kept tel­ling her that it was a joke. Not a ni­ce one, but so­me­ti­mes the­se things hap­pen. They're kids-they don't me­an it. I tri­ed to ma­ke her un­der­s­tand. Why des­t­roy a boy's li­fe? But she wo­uldn't lis­ten. Then, the next mor­ning, when we le­ar­ned abo­ut Fran­ci, it was li­ke tal­king to a sto­ne wall. Dan didn't me­an for Fran­ci to do what she did. And no mat­ter what Patty Kay did to Dan, it wo­uld ne­ver bring Fran­ci back."

  "When did you de­ci­de to kill her?"

  "I co­uldn't sle­ep. Not all night. I lay the­re and lis­te­ned

  to Da­vid bre­at­hing. I knew he wo­uld turn Dan out. Just li­ke that. His only son. You don't know how harsh he is. I had to stop Patty Kay. She'd pro­mi­sed not to say an­y­t­hing un­til the trus­te­es met. I was to talk to Dan. I sa­id I'd ha­ve him co­me with me to the me­eting Sa­tur­day night. I told her he wo­uld apo­lo­gi­ze. She fi­nal­ly ag­re­ed that if Dan ca­me be­fo­re the bo­ard and apo­lo­gi­zed to the Hol­li­ses and qu­it fris of­fi­ces, that wo­uld be eno­ugh. She sa­id it co­uld all be kept wit­hin the bo­ard. But I knew bet­ter than that. Pe­op­le lo­ve to talk. When you're from a fa­mily that mat­ters, they can't wa­it to te­ar you down.

  "When I left I'd ma­de up my mind. I dro­ve stra­ight to the bo­ok­s­to­re. Cra­ig lets the staff use his car to run er­rands. I wa­ited un­til no­body was wat­c­hing and I got his keys- they hang on a ho­ok in the ma­in of­fi­ce-and I went to his car and got his gun. When I put the keys back in the of­fi­ce, that's when I to­ok Ste­vie's swe­ater. Ever­y­body at the sto­re knew abo­ut Ste­vie and Cra­ig. I wish now I'd told Patty Kay." Her vo­ice was sharp, vin­dic­ti­ve. "I knew that if the po­li­ce fo­und out abo­ut Ste­vie and Cra­ig, they'd ar­rest Cra­ig. So that's why I got the swe­ater. I wor­ked it all out, how much ti­me it wo­uld ta­ke. But up un­til the last mi­nu­te on Sa­tur­day, I kept thin­king it wo­uld be all right, that Patty Kay wo­uld lis­ten. Things li­ke this don't hap­pen in Fa­ir Ha­ven. I ga­ve her every chan­ce. Right up to the last mi­nu­te in the play­ho­use, I beg­ged her."

  "You didn't gi­ve Amy a chan­ce."

  "I co­uldn't. She re­cog­ni­zed my vo­ice. She cal­led Thur­s­day af­ter­no­on. Abo­ut our sche­du­les. And her to­ne chan­ged, right in the mid­dle. I knew. So I went to the bo­ok­s­to­re." The mir­ro­red sun­g­las­ses hid her eyes. "I didn't ha­ve any cho­ice."

  "She was ni­ne­te­en ye­ars old."

  "I didn't ha­ve any cho­ice." Now her vo­ice was pe­evish. I was bot­he­ring her.

  The la­ke spar­k­led in the sun­light.

  "All right now. The no­te." She'd tho­ught it thro­ugh, sol­ved her prob­lem. She so­un­ded so con­fi­dent.

  I lo­oked in­to the dark ho­le of the gun bar­rel.

  Then my eyes wi­de­ned. I lo­oked past her, back to­ward the way we'd co­me. My mo­uth ope­ned.

  Her he­ad jer­ked to lo­ok back.

  I to­ok a de­ep bre­ath, whip­ped the Ma­ce ca­nis­ter to­ward her, and jam­med my fin­ger on the but­ton.

  Mist spe­wed over her
.

  A cho­king, gut­tu­ral scre­am.

  A shot.

  But I wasn't the­re.

  As the Ma­ce spe­wed, I'd bol­ted to my fe­et and jum­ped over the si­de of the pa­vi­li­on. I drop­ped in­to a cro­uch and be­gan to run.

  Her wa­ve­ring angry scre­am ro­se.

  Another shot.

  Leaves crun­c­hed be­ne­ath my thud­ding fe­et.

  I plun­ged in­to the wo­ods.

  The gun so­un­ded one mo­re ti­me.

  Brooke For­rest's fu­ne­ral was two days la­ter. Pri­va­te ser­vi­ces, of co­ur­se.

  There co­uld be no do­ubt of her gu­ilt, thanks to my ta­pe re­cor­der. But the­re was no pub­lic re­ve­la­ti­on. Char­ges aga­inst Cra­ig we­re drop­ped. The fi­nal sto­ri­es in the me­dia abo­ut the shoc­king se­ri­es of in­ci­dents in Fa­ir Ha­ven we­re oddly in­com­p­le­te, simply a sta­te­ment from the Fa­ir Ha­ven po­li­ce chi­ef that Bro­oke For­rest's su­ici­de clo­sed the in­ves­ti­ga­ti­ons in­to the de­aths of Patty Kay Mat­thews and Amy Foss.

  The in­fe­ren­ce was un­mis­ta­kab­le, but no mo­ti­ve was re­ve­aled.

  I kept in to­uch with Des­mond Ma­ri­no. Mar­ga­ret, of co­ur­se, spo­ke every so of­ten with Cra­ig. I'd be­en wrong abo­ut one thing. Dan For­rest re­ma­ined as pre­si­dent of the stu­dent co­un­cil at Wal­den Scho­ol.

  It didn't es­pe­ci­al­ly sur­p­ri­se me. The po­wer of we­alth

  and pri­vi­le­ge may di­sap­po­int me, but they ne­ver sur­p­ri­se me.

  However, I sub­s­c­ri­be to the old-fas­hi­oned vi­ew that pe­op­le ul­ti­ma­tely re­ce­ive what they de­ser­ve.

  Of co­ur­se, when the truth isn't re­ve­aled, ima­gi­na­ti­on ta­kes over. Des­mond wro­te me abo­ut the gos­sip and in­nu-en­dos and ugly ru­mors clo­uding Patty Kay's na­me.

  I de­ci­ded that Patty Kay de­ser­ved bet­ter. I was not in thrall to Da­vid For­rest, the For­rest na­me, or Wal­den Scho­ol. Fa­ir Ha­ven's pre­ci­o­us re­pu­ta­ti­on me­ant not­hing to me.

  And I wan­ted to tell the world abo­ut Fran­ci Hol­lis, who la­ug­hed so of­ten and told pe­op­le ni­ce things and lo­ved to pa­int. I wan­ted to gi­ve the Hol­li­ses a happy por­t­ra­it to re­mem­ber, as I re­mem­ber my san­dy-ha­ired Bobby. The sum of the­ir li­ves is mo­re, much mo­re, than a truck ca­re­ening out of con­t­rol or cold, un­for­gi­ving wa­ter.

  I wan­ted to re­mind all of us that when we see a child- or adult-wit­h­d­raw and the­re are only te­ars, no mo­re la­ug­h­ter, we can't simply ho­pe it will go away. We must re­cog­ni­ze dep­res­si­on for what it is. We ha­ve to know that help must be gi­ven.

  As so­on as the spring se­mes­ter en­ded, I set to work. It to­ok most of the sum­mer. I put down the truth abo­ut Patty Kay Mat­thews and Fran­ci Hol­lis and Dan For­rest and Bro­oke For­rest and what hap­pe­ned at Wal­den Scho­ol.

  In one res­pect, my bo­ok dif­fers from most bo­oks abo­ut true cri­me. The­re are no pho­tog­raphs of Patty Kay de­ad in the play­ho­use. The por­t­ra­it of Patty Kay pla­ying ten­nis is on the co­ver. The bo­ok has a gre­at many pho­tos of Patty Kay and Cra­ig and Bri­git in hap­pi­er days.

  One pho­tog­raph is my fa­vo­ri­te-a sum­mer shot of a vib­rant Patty Kay with an arm aro­und Fran­ci Hol­lis, both happy and smi­ling at the ca­me­ra.

  It is my first true cri­me bo­ok and I'm pro­ud of the story it tells, the story of a wo­man who wo­uld not be swa­yed by po­wer or pri­vi­le­ge, a wo­man who did what she felt she must do.

  The story of Patty Kay Pren­tiss Pi­er­ce Mat­thews.

  I fe­el she de­ser­ves no less.

  Oh, the tit­le?

  Scan­dal in Fa­ir Ha­ven.

  This file was created with BookDesigner program

  [email protected]

  5/15/2009

 

 

 


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