Death on a School Board (Book 5 Molly Masters Mysteries)

by Leslie O'Kane

  Straight in one ear and out the other, I thought, but managed to hold my tongue. “I’ll call her after you leave.”

  She reached into her small purse and handed me her business card. I assured her that Id try my best to decipher how Stephanie was going to vote. I’d concluded long ago that Stephanie was a skilled actress, but that she truly didn’t care about anything that wasn’t directly affecting her life at the moment. We exchanged a few pleasantries, then she left.

  What a strange visit. Why wait for me to arrive home for such a simple request? Why not simply call, or enlist my father’s help in asking that I poll Stephanie?

  The moment Carol was out of sight, I went through my desk drawers, searching for anything that might relate to my father or that might be hideously embarrassing, not counting their appalling state of disorder, or something that didn’t belong and which she could have planted. Nothing caught my eye. She’d had the sense not to straighten the papers, if she had indeed gone through them in the first place.

  But why on earth would she go through my papers? It wasn’t as though she could hope to find anything germane to herself or to the school board.

  These days, there always seemed to be more questions than answers. Now I had to contact Stephanie, of all people. I knelt and rubbed my Cocker Spaniel’s tummy. “That’s a good dog, Betty. Yes, that’s right, I’m stalling. I don’t want to be an adult. Too many of us are mean and nasty.” Which was not even the worst of what could be said about Stephanie Saunders. Actually, she was easiest to deal with when she was revealing her nasty side; it was her relentless showboating and surface chumminess that tended to wear me down.

  And yet, considering that Michelle Lacy’s vote was now up for grabs, it probably really would help my father and the pro-arts cause if I could speak to Stephanie and find out how she was inclined to vote. Gag me. I dialed and Stephanie answered.

  “Stephanie, hi. It’s Molly. I was expecting to get your machine.”

  “Molly. How are you? How’s your family holding up?”

  “Oh, we’re all every bit as perky as ever. I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to decide how you feel about the budget allocation.”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Frankly, I’d like to know whether or not you’re supporting arts and music funding in the school district.”

  “Oh, that. I haven’t decided yet. I fail to see why anyone cares much about my position.”

  “It’s the single-most important issue you’ll help to determine while you’re on the board!” I was quoting Carol and probably sounded even more gung-ho than she had, but didn’t care.

  “Molly, please don’t raise your voice. I’m flirting with a headache.”

  Flirting with one? I hoped the headache fell in love with her and married her for life.

  “All I meant,” she went on, “was that my vote won’t matter in the least. Your father, Carol, Stuart, and Michelle are voting to put the money into the arts and music programs, so they have their majority regardless of my vote.”

  “Michelle Lacy indicated yesterday that she might be changing her vote toward funding athletic programs.”

  “Oh. I see.” She sounded surprised. “In that case, I’d better pay a little more attention to this whole thing.” She sighed. “Honestly. You would think with all of the money in this community, we could fund both arts and sports, wouldn’t you?”

  “No kidding. But we can’t, according to the budget analysis that the district spent a small fortune to have done for them.”

  “Well, they’d better shape up if they expect me to let my son attend their school.”

  I rolled my eyes. Her daughter, Tiffany, had attended school in this district for twelve years now. The thought of her not enrolling Michael in kindergarten class was surely going to bring the district to its collective knees, all right. “You’re on the school board now, Stephanie. You’re one of the few people who can actually help improve the school district.”

  “Yes, I am. You’re absolutely right.” Her voice carried enthusiasm. “Enough of playing cheerleader. I’m one of the star players myself now!”

  “Rah.”

  “Thanks, Molly. You’ve put this all into perspective for me.”

  Still needing to give an answer to Carol Barr, I asked, “And how do things look from your perspective?” A frightening question if there ever was one, but I truly wanted to be able to get Carol Barr the answer that she’d seemingly put so much effort into obtaining.

  “Pretty shabby, frankly. You know what, Molly? You and I are going to march right into Superintendent Collins’s office right now and demand that he go through this budget and find the necessary funding.”

  “We are?”

  “Absolutely. We can carpool, even though your place is a little out of the way for me. I’ll drive. Your little Toyota is just too small for my taste.”

  “I’m aware that your taste needs a lot of space. But I’m not sure this is such a good idea. Karen and Nathan are getting home from school in two hours and—”

  “As the saying goes, Molly, there’s no time like now. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes. Actually, make that twenty or thirty. I’ve just got to do something about my nails before I appear in public.”

  Apparently the cliché’s disclaimer was: “There’s no time like now…provided one’s nails are properly manicured,” but Stephanie hung up without awaiting further comment from me.

  I glanced at my ever-faithful, ever-present little dog who’d fallen asleep but quickly awoke when I petted her. A trip to the school superintendent’s office with Stephanie Saunders. This was worse than being sent to the principal’s office. I stared into the black pools of my dog’s eyes. “Want to trade places with me, Betty?” I asked.

  That would make it two female dogs going together to the superintendent’s office, I thought.

  Chapter 12

  Beauty and the Mommy-beast

  Half an hour later, which had given me more than enough time for lunch, Stephanie rang my doorbell with one of her nicely painted nails, which I somehow managed to resist envying. She was wearing autumn-like clothing—a suede skirt with matching jacket over her cream-colored silk blouse, and a silk scarf with a pattern of brown-and-yellow-colored leaves.

  “Ready to go, Molly?” she asked, which didn’t seem worth responding to since I’d answered the door with my house keys in hand. I locked up and we headed together down my walkway toward her BMW, which the vanity plates identified as “Steffy.” I’d once remarked what a neat coincidence it was that she and her car had such similar names, but she was not amused.

  “You didn’t have any trouble getting us an appointment with Mr. Collins on such short notice?”

  “An appointment?” she repeated derisively, scanning my face as if she expected me to shrink in embarrassment. “You are so naive, Molly. The reason my interior decorating business was such a success prior to my early retirement, as opposed to how badly your own…” She stopped, no doubt having noticed that my jaw and fists were now clenched. “Well, let’s face it, Molly…‘Molly’s eCards’ is hardly a Fortune Five-hundred Company, now is it? Making advanced appointments allows the other party to gain the upper hand. One should only make appointments if doing so is to one’s own benefit.”

  “And one doesn’t feel that checking to see if Mr. Collins is even going to be in his office before one drags me out of my house would have been to one’s benefit?”

  “He’ll be there. Honestly, Molly, you are such a pessimist.”

  This seemed to have become my personal motif of late—people calling me pessimistic. Hearing it from Stephanie was hard to take, though. I got into the front seat and said hello to little Mike seated behind me, who was his typical happy self. “I got a truck!” he announced and showed me his Matchbox-size blue pickup.

  “Hey, that’s really a nice truck, Mike. It’s missing its wheels, though.”

  “I removed those for his safety,” Stephanie informed me as she faste
ned her seatbelt. “Mikey could have pulled them off and swallowed them.”

  “Bet his truck doesn’t go as fast that way.”

  “Didn’t you pull the tires off of your son’s toy vehicles?”

  “No, but then, Nathan was never much of a swallower. A chew-’em-up-and-spit-’em-outter, maybe.”

  She frowned as she pulled out of my sub-development. “Let’s listen to some music,” Stephanie said and, to my delight, put on the radio too loud for us to have to speak. Normally, I’m not a fan of blaring radios, but then, I’m normally not in the company of someone I dislike.

  The drive to the Education Center was every bit as unpleasant now as the time I’d ridden there with my parents. Stephanie pulled into the handicap space by the front door.

  “You can’t park here. It’s handicap parking, Stephanie.”

  She ignored me and got out, opened the back door, and started to unfasten her son’s car-seat belt.

  “We’re in a handicap space, Steph.”

  “I’m pushing forty and have a rambunctious four-year-old. What’s your point?”

  “That you still have feet and legs that work! That if you don’t move this car, I’ll borrow the receptionist’s phone and call the parking authorities myself and have you ticketed and towed!” You toad! I silently added.

  Stephanie lowered her sunglasses enough to shoot me a glare over the top of the frames, but then smiled at her son.

  “Mikey? Take my grouchy friend’s hand and wait for me while I move the car.”

  Too indignant to feel any sense of glory over my minor victory, I got out of the car and took Mike’s very sticky hand. He never could have swallowed anything coming from these fingers, anyway. Those little toy wheels that had been so carefully removed would have just stuck to his skin. We waited on the sidewalk and watched as Stephanie all but burned rubber as she backed up and pulled into a different space.

  Uncomfortable at harboring so much resentment toward the mother of my sticky-handed little friend, I smiled at him and asked, “How’s preschool going for you?”

  “Good.”

  “Do you like your teachers?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound just like my children. They give one-word answers, too, when I ask them about school.”

  “Oh.”

  As Stephanie made her way across the asphalt toward us, the slight breeze ruffled the ends of her scarf and her long blond hair. She pushed it back behind her ear and smiled winningly at her son. She truly was a gorgeous woman, and I’d have been much more appreciative if only I’d been granted the opportunity to worship her strictly from afar.

  She rummaged through her purse, saying, “Well, Molly, now that we’re politically correct, let’s go see what Superintendent Collins has to say for himself.” She spread a tissue across her palm, then said, “Take Mommy’s hand, Mikey.” With the tissue forming a buffer between their hands—and her pretty nails—she led the way into the lobby.

  We quickly spotted a sign that directed us to the superintendent’s office and entered his private waiting room. There sat Agnes Rockwell, who looked surprised to see us. She appeared to stiffen a little as she looked at Stephanie, who was currently occupied as she picked tissue lint from her son’s fingers. Agnes was no doubt quite familiar with Stephanie from her former post as PTA president for life, as well as her new role as board member.

  We walked up to her desk. “Agnes, hi,” I said. “I’m surprised to see you here. I assumed you had your own office as secretary for the school board.”

  “That’s correct. Normally I’m in the office next door. Just filling in for someone who’s home sick today.” I glanced at the second doorway she’d indicated, wondering if there was any evidence in that room regarding the identity of mystery faxer, though I still strongly suspected one and the same was sitting right in front of me. Agnes pressed a couple of keys and glanced at her computer screen. “You aren’t here to see Mr. Collins, are you? There’s no mention of his having an appointment with you today. Or with you, either, Ms. Saunders.”

  “That is so typical,” Stephanie said, deserting Mike’s messy hand to put her own hands on her hips in mock disgust. “I must have set this appointment two weeks ago!”

  Agnes gave up scanning the computer screen and pulled out the center drawer in the desk and paged through an appointment book. “I’m sorry, Ms. Saunders, but there’s just nothing here, and Superintendent Collins is completely booked today.”

  “That is just not acceptable. Let me remind you that I’m on the school board. If Reggie has any interest in keeping his job, I suggest he find five minutes to speak with us.”

  Agnes narrowed her eyes and set her chin. “Mr. Collins does wish to keep his job. He might accommodate your ploy of pretending you had an appointment today, which you, in fact, didn’t have the common courtesy to make. I, however, am retiring in a few months. You have no power over me, Ms. Saunders.”

  My opinion of Agnes instantly skyrocketed. Stephanie crossed her arms and fixed a long stare at her. “Would you please tell Reggie that I’m here?”

  Agnes crossed her own arms, pursed her lips, and said, “Today I work for Superintendent Collins and not for you. If you wish to see him, you’ll have to wait until he happens to come out here.”

  Stephanie smirked at her, then grabbed her son’s fuzzy hand. “Come on, Mikey. We need to take matters into our own hands.” She headed toward the door of the superintendent’s office and opened it.

  Agnes started to push her chair back from her desk as if to block Stephanie’s path, but then must have seen the futility and, instead, shot an accusing glare at me.

  “Coming here wasn’t my idea. I assumed she’d made an appointment.”

  “Sorry to barge in on you, gentlemen, ladies,” Stephanie was saying as she entered the other room. “If I could just trouble you for two minutes of your time, Mr. Collins, I’d be forever grateful. I can speak to you in your lobby, if that would be convenient.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute or two,” came a deep voice.

  “Thank you so much,” Stephanie cooed.

  Agnes, her red face providing a strong contrast with her white hair, put both hands on her desktop and rose from her chair. “Pardon me, Ms. Masters,” she said evenly. “I’m going to find a plant or two to water someplace else in the building. It was good to see you again.”

  Agnes stormed out of the lobby, while a triumphant-looking Stephanie returned and took a seat, pulling Mike onto her lap. “You see that, Molly? What it takes to succeed in the business world is self-confidence and a willingness to walk through whatever obstacles are put in front of you.”

  “Maybe so, Stephanie, but do you like yourself?”

  She didn’t answer. After a short, uncomfortable silence, Reginald Collins emerged from his office, looking rather rumpled in his rolled-up shirtsleeves and with his tie askew. He was a tall, pudgy, bespectacled man who seemed to sport a five-o’clock shadow at all hours. He gave Stephanie a toothy smile and held out his hand, as if to shake hers. She gave a little wave, indicating with her eyes how very full her hands were with Mike sitting peacefully on her lap.

  “Ms. Saunders. I’m glad you stopped by. I only wish I had more time.”

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Collins. This is Molly Masters, whose father is on the school board.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand, then bent down and offered his hand to Mike. “Good to meet you too, sir. You and your mom are very important people.”

  Mike gave him his solemn attention. “I’m four years old.”

  “That’s a good age to be.” He straightened and said, “What can I do for you, Ms. Saunders?”

  “You need to find enough money in the budget to fully fund both the sports and the fine arts programs.”

  “Nothing would please me more than to do just that, but it’s simply not possible. We’ve squeezed all the blood from this turnip of a budget, and until voters can approve a bond issue in the nex
t election, some serious cuts have to be made.”

  While he spoke, Stephanie calmly took out her wallet and grabbed a business card from an inner compartment. She handed the card to him, then rose, setting Mike on his feet. “This is the name of my accountant. He’s very familiar with school budgets, and even used to do contract work for this district until a few years ago. Give him a call and have him set up an appointment to look at this bloodless budget of yours. Tell him that I will pay for his time while he assists you. He’s the very best that there is. If he tells me that there is no money in the budget, I will support you at the school board in whatever course of action you deem appropriate. Until then, I intend to stonewall and block you at every turn. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Collins. I’ll let you get back to your little meeting now.”

  Taking Mike with her, she left without a backward glance. I could feel my own cheeks growing warm, and Mr. Collins had a splotch of color that was rising from his neck as he watched Stephanie leave. For the sake of the school budget, I was thrilled that Stephanie was not only sharing the name of her crack accountant, but paying for his services. On the other hand, I was appalled at her tactics and embarrassed on the superintendent’s behalf. I cleared my throat and muttered, “I’m really not a friend of hers.”

  Mr. Collins said under his breath, “I miss Sylvia Greene. Never thought I’d say that.”

  Stephanie was apparently feeling as frosty toward me. We drove back to my house in silence. She dropped me off at the head of the driveway and continued on her way.

  I still had almost an hour until my children’s bus would arrive. I decided to pay a visit to Sam Dunlap and address the business mentioned in this morning’s fax head-on. Though, ironically, this meant employing Stephanie’s methods in arriving with no appointment. I had butterflies in my stomach as I drove out to his office. If he had truly done what I’d suspected—lied about the board member’s backgrounds just to set Sylvia up for a fall—he was unfathomably ruthless.