My stomach fell. The three couples sharing the waiting room had focused their attention on the TV, as well. The broadcast changed to show footage from the meeting. The first shot was just as the board left together for their private meeting in the back room, with Sylvia filling her water glass. The officer turned off the set.
If the poison was in her water, the pitcher itself had to be uncontaminated. Maybe Sylvia had been poisoned at dinner.
There was no direct indication that she had been poisoned at the board meeting itself.
Just then, another officer entered the hospital carrying what looked exactly like my father’s jacket over his arm. I had a feeling that they weren’t bringing this out of concern.
“Oh no. Please don’t let there be something in the pocket,” I muttered to myself.
“Pardon?” the officer beside me said.
As a diversion, I showed him the article my magazine happened to be open to. “How ‘bout them Broncos, hey? I used to live in Boulder, Colorado, you know. They’re my team.”
“I’m a Packers fan myself.”
“That’s not very risky. How about rooting for Detroit? There’s a team that could use loyal fans.”
He forced a smile, and I forced myself to stay seated and quiet, all the while with my thoughts in hyper-drive.
A few minutes later, my father looked positively stricken as he emerged from his interview. Tommy lagged a step behind him as they entered the waiting room, and he looked none too happy himself. It was all I could do not to tear into him. I so wanted someone to blame for my father’s obvious downheartedness, as well as for my miserable night.
Tommy’s and my eyes met, and in a radical departure from his usual eagerness to joust with me verbally, he said, “‘Night, Molly. Try to get some sleep.”
“You’re being nice to me.” My pulse started racing. All was not right with the world. “Things are that bad?”
“Huh?”
“It was the coat, wasn’t it? My father’s jacket that the other officer brought in. He’s being framed.”
Tommy crossed his arms on his chest and growled, “For Chris”sake, Molly! Don’t be so quick to read doom ‘n’ gloom into every little nuance.”
“You’re angry with me because I’m right.”
“No, I’m angry because you’re annoying.” He pointed with his chin. “Your dad is waiting for you.”
I whirled on my heel and left without a word. I could feel Tommy’s eyes on me. I had just verified what it was that had thrown me off balance and made Tommy seem so tense: We were adversaries now. He suspected my father of this crime. And he felt sorry for me and my family.
Dad said nothing when I got into the passenger seat. “What went on in there?” I asked. “What were you talking to Tommy about?”
Dad didn’t answer for the longest time. He kept his eyes riveted to the road as he drove. “You’re familiar with the Serenity prayer, Molly,” he answered quietly. “This is one of those times when you’ve got to accept the things you cannot change.”
“What do you mean, Dad? You’re scaring me.”
He pulled up in front of my driveway. I got out and he drove away without another word.
I went upstairs to check on the kids and kiss them good night, even though it was too late for them to hear me. Karen was asleep on her back, her forehead slightly damp, her light brown hair framing her pretty face. Nathan had flopped around on his bed all long limbs at angles, his curly brown hair every which way.
Jim was already in bed. I put on my T-shirt that doubled as a nightgown and got under the covers beside him. Jim stirred a little—when I intentionally jostled the bed. By my book, that was a sign that he was awake enough for me to justify talking to him. “Did you hear what happened at the board meeting?”
He grunted, and I repeated the question. Finally, he woke to answer, “Yeah. Uh. Your mom called. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just tired and discouraged.” Not to mention scared half to death by my father’s sudden fatalistic approach to this.
“Tried to wait up for you.” He yawned. “I’ve got a breakfast meeting in Albany. First thing in the morning. Seven a.m. How’s your dad?”
“I guess he’s all right. My gut instincts are telling me that this is going to be a major problem. One of Sylvia’s last acts was to ask my father to carry her glass into the back room with him. When we were driving home from the hospital, I asked him what went on in his interview with Tommy. He said that I had to accept the things I couldn’t change. I hate to say this, but as much as he keeps denying that he has a deep, dark secret that Sylvia was set to divulge, I’m not convinced. He’s acting so…closed. Secretive, even. What do you think? Has my dad seemed different to you when you’ve been with him?”
Jim’s light snores clued me in that I was talking to myself. I accidentally kicked him with my heel as I pulled the covers up.
In the morning, with Jim long gone for his breakfast meeting, the children were in a whirl getting ready for school. Our cocker spaniel, too, was always full of energy in the morning. Betty Cocker—BC for short—is a beautiful color, all reddish brown fur except for a white blaze on her chest. I dragged myself around the kitchen and made the children’s lunches, but couldn’t get in sync. Finally, I explained, “Karen, Nathan, I have to tell you some really awful news. Last night one of the women on the school board with your Grampa died, and it’s really upset Grampa and me. This is a hard time for both of us right now. I feel so bad having to watch my father go through it.”
Karen nodded solemnly. Nathan said nothing for a moment, then asked, “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did you and Dad get a chance to discuss my allowance yet?”
I gritted my teeth, counted to five, knowing full well I couldn’t make it to ten, then said, “Let’s review, shall we? Just now, while words were coming out of my mouth, were you listening to any of them?”
“Yeah, Mom. You were talking about that lady, Sylvia Greene. We already saw her die on TV last night.”
“But, Nathan, that was real. It wasn’t just a TV show with actors and actresses playing parts, pretending to die. Sylvia Greene really did die.”
His lightly freckled face was guileless as his dark brown eyes stared straight into mine. “So could you just give me my allowance yourself? Dad doesn’t need to know, right?”
I winced, tempted to bang my head against the nearest wall, but refrained because the only thing that would accomplish would be to give myself a headache.
“Grampa is still going to be on the school board, right, Mom?” Karen asked.
“Yes, he is. Why do you ask?”
“I think it’s cool that he’s kind of famous. His picture is on the front page of the paper.” She showed me the newspaper, which she’d folded on top of her binder. “Can I bring in the article for my current affairs homework?”
“Not till I get the chance to read it myself,” I muttered, scanning the page. The picture showed my father kneeling on the dais, but had been cropped so as not to show Sylvia Greene’s body. At least some editor had a measure of restraint. My vision immediately locked on the phrase, “about to reveal a secret from Peterson’s past…”
“Time for your school buses.”
Nathan glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Mine won’t come for another ten minutes.”
Now that Karen was in junior high, her school day was thirty minutes longer than Nathan’s. “Go early,” I growled, then realized with a start how much the voice coming from my lips resembled my mother’s.
To my surprise, they grabbed their backpacks without complaint and headed out, cheerfully saying goodbye. I was going to have to try to channel Mom more often.
As it seemed I was doing more and more frequently, I sent up a prayer that my current traumas would leave my children unscathed, Karen’s bus came right away, and I kept an eye out the front window until the yellow splotches visible between the budding branches of maple trees lining the str
eet let me know that Nathan’s bus was at the stop. Then I called my parents, but got no answer.
They might well have gotten so many calls throughout the night and early this morning that they’d turned the ringer off. My parents lived on the next cul-de-sac down from me, and it would be better if I just walked over there and spoke with them anyway.
Ignoring BC’s forlorn, take-me-with-you brown eyes, I locked up and headed out, the air brisk on my face. The first fallen leaves were beginning to collect against the various windbreaks. The sky was that shade of gray that doubled as blue for those who’d never had the great fortune of seeing a Colorado sky.
Tommy’s cruiser was still in the driveway next door. He must have come home at some point and was now catching up on his lost sleep.
I caught sight of Lauren in her kitchen window. She held up both palms with spread fingers, then pointed at her floor to indicate I should come over in ten minutes. Tommy must have been awake, but leaving for work soon. I gave her the okay sign, then continued to my parents’ doorstep and rang the doorbell.
Mom answered. She looked as though she hadn’t slept all night. In any case, I decided to attribute her puffy, bloodshot eyes to lack of sleep, rather than to the much more unsettling thought that she’d been crying.
She greeted me with a sigh rather than a smile and stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind her. “Molly, I’m sorry, but your father only just now fell asleep, on the living room couch. We’ve had a rough night. We even had to turn off the phone, because of all the calls we’ve been getting.”
“Curious friends?”
“And nosy reporters.” She clicked her tongue. “Speaking of which…” She gestured with her chin at the car pulling up behind me into the cul-de-sac. “Bet this turns out to be another one.”
Unfortunately, moments later, Mom’s pessimism proved accurate. My least favorite newsman—the short, out-of-shape man I’d chewed out last night for quoting my remarks at a grocery store—emerged from his car. He strode toward us purposefully, then hesitated when he spotted me, and forced a smile. “Morning, Ms. Masters. Mrs. Peterson.”
“No comment,” my mother called to him, then reentered the house.
Watching my mother essentially being chased from her own front porch, I felt a surge of anger and protectiveness. I fisted my hands and glared at the man.
The reporter shook his head in frustration. “I’m only trying to do my job here. I’d rather get direct quotes from your parents before I have to resort to using ‘sources.’”
“Maybe you need to work on your presentation skills. My parents and I are close. They know full well how you quoted me out of context the other day, and aren’t about to talk to you now. And feel free to quote me when I say that.”
He smirked. “This must be very upsetting for you, Ms. Masters. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that your father is the chief suspect in Sylvia Greene’s untimely death.”
“No comment,” I snarled at him through gritted teeth. “Please leave. And tell your coworkers to stay away from my parents’ home, as well.”
He spread his pudgy hands, his expression one of wide-eyed innocence. “Hey, lady, let’s get something straight here. I’m doing you and your dad a favor. I’m trying to give him a chance to respond to a piece we’re set to run in tomorrow’s paper.”
“What does it say?” Though I tried hard to make the question sound casual, the thought of a possible front-page article accusing my father had shaken me.
“Our sources have already informed us exactly what your father’s secret was that the late school board president was about to divulge to the world. But, hey, we’ll run it with or without your father’s response.”
My face felt blazing hot. He grinned at my distress. He reached into a pocket, then held out his business card and sneered at me. “Tell your father that if he wants a chance to be heard, call me before midnight. Otherwise, our article runs as is.”
Chapter 4
My Toilet Runneth Over
I snatched the card from him, barely able to control my rage. “You’re bluffing, Mister…,” I glanced at the business card, “Johnson, and I’m not going to fall for it.”
“Am I?” He gave me a know-it-all look and shook his head. “All I can say to that, Ms. Masters, is apparently your family isn’t as ‘close’ as you seem to think it is. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you. And may you get exactly what you deserve from yours.”
He strutted back to his car, probably unaware that he resembled a sack of mashed potatoes with legs. Watching him, I pictured myself ripping the bumper off his car and beating him over the head with it. I had to hold my tongue or risk having a slew of ugly words quoted in tomorrow’s paper. For all I knew, he could have a camera at the ready in his car. I merely watched him drive away.
Once his car was out of sight, I did my best to calm myself, then knocked softly on my parents’ door. Dad would be sleeping right near the sounding device for the doorbell, and I didn’t want to wake him. My mother opened the door and stepped out beside me, once again taking care to close the door behind her.
“Did you overhear any of that?” I asked.
“You know what a nut your father’s always been about weatherproofing the house. It keeps the place fairly soundproof as well.” Suddenly, her eyes widened. She seemed to somehow rise up an inch or two, despite her already ramrod-straight posture. “Oh, Molly! You didn’t get into an argument with the reporter, did you?”
“I…didn’t say anything that will show up in the papers, if that’s what you mean. But he told me some pretty alarming things.”
“What did he tell you?” she asked in a half whisper.
“That he needed Dad’s reaction to the story he was going to run in the morning, which is going to reveal his big secret.”
Mom’s features clouded with anger. “He’s made it clear that he doesn’t have a secret. You heard him say so yourself last night.”
“Yeah, I know. The reporter’s probably bluffing. But he gave me his business card and told me to have Dad call him by midnight if he wants his denial to accompany the story.”
Mom took the card from me. “Okay. I doubt it’ll do much good, but I’ll give this to your father when he wakes up. I’d better try to get some rest myself. I’ll see you later.”
There was something in her facial expression that scared the living daylights out of me. Perhaps it was her reluctance to meet my eyes, as if the truth might be written in hers. Her earlier wording now struck me as a demurral. She hadn’t said that Dad didn’t have a secret, but rather that he’d made it clear that he didn’t.
She started to open the door, but froze when I asked, “Mom, did Dad tell you what Sylvia was planning to reveal about him?”
“Why do you ask?” She didn’t turn around to face me. “You doubt your own father?”
When you come straight down to it, yes. But I didn’t want to say so. I muttered noncommittally, “I’m just trying to help.”
She went inside and only then turned to face me. The tears she was trying so hard to keep inside were now welling in her eyes. The sight made my insides knot. “Then go home, Molly.”
She shut the door on me.
On the verge of tears myself, I went next door to Lauren and Tommy’s, even though Tommy’s cruiser was still parked in the driveway, which meant that Lauren and I wouldn’t be able to speak freely just yet. I wondered if he’d witnessed any of my confrontation with the reporter, though I would have liked to believe that, if so, Tommy would have come out and helped me encourage him to leave.
Tommy, dressed in his uniform, opened the door just as I reached for the doorbell and seemed a bit surprised to see me.
“Molly. Mornin’. How’s your dad?”
I couldn’t help but notice that he looked past my shoulder in the direction of my parents’ house as he spoke.
“I don’t know. He’s sleeping late. I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to him this morning
.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, a speech affectation of his that only annoys me whenever we happen to be at odds. Though he’d done nothing yet to earn my wrath, his response had set my teeth on edge. He stepped aside to allow me to come inside his house.
Lauren must have heard my voice, for she rushed into the hallway, not even noticing that a couple of drops of coffee from her cup had sloshed onto the carpet in the process.
“Molly, hi. Tommy was just about to leave for work. Would you like—”
“Tommy, you know my father didn’t do this,” I interrupted. Though I knew it was rude of me to ignore Lauren, there was a strange vibration that I was picking up, one which refused to let me simply allow Tommy to leave. I was getting the feeling that the two of them had already discussed my father’s troubles and that Lauren was trying to run interference for me. “He would never commit a crime of any sort, and certainly not one of violence. You do realize that, don’t you?”
He raised his palms in a placating gesture that had the opposite effect on me. “Molly, I can’t discuss your father’s role in what happened last night. You know how it goes. Nobody ever wants to accept the possibility that someone in one’s own family could—”
“Tommy, I don’t believe it!” I was literally hopping as I yelled at him. “You live next door to the man! You can’t honestly think for one minute that he would do something like this! Obviously, someone is framing him!”
“Didn’t I just get through sayin’ I couldn’t talk to you? That is, not unless you have some pertinent information ‘n’ you want to come down to the station house with me.”
“Molly, Tommy, let’s just—”
Once again I ignored Lauren. “That’s just great. My own father is being set up to take the rap on a murder charge, and I’m just supposed to do nothing.”
Death on a School Board (Book 5 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 4