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

by Leslie O'Kane

He was on the phone when I arrived at his small, cluttered office. He seemed to be in the midst of packing. I had to make my way through an obstacle course of cardboard cartons. He held up his index finger when he saw me out of the corner of his eye, not recognizing me, which was good. I didn’t want him to have the time to formulate precisely what he wanted to say to me before we spoke.

  He hung up, rotated in his swivel-style desk chair, then said, “Sorry about that. Can I help you?”

  I studied him, thinking how far Sam Dunlap was from a Sam Spade type of character. He was quiet and slight, a bookish sort, easily overlooked in crowds. “I’m Molly Masters. We spoke on the phone the other day.”

  “Oh. Yes.” He looked surprised and a bit disconcerted.

  “I’m not sure you understand how serious this situation is. My father has been accused of murder. He’s innocent. His so-called criminal record can be easily explained.”

  “Listen, ma’am. I don’t—”

  “Please don’t call me ma’am. I prefer Molly or Ms. Masters.”

  “What happened to Sylvia Greene had nothing to do with me. And I’m sorry about your father, but I only told Ms. Greene the truth about him.”

  “‘About him,’ you say. What about the background checks you did on the others? Did you tell her the truth about those, too?”

  He grimaced a little, then rotated in his chair and pulled the phone closer as if he was eager to place some calls. “I’m real busy here. Like I said, I’m sorry about your dad, but I was just doing my job. The only reason he was singled out was because I couldn’t uncover anything about any of the others.”

  He was being much gentler than he’d been on the phone. He looked so, nonthreatening that I was having a hard time reconciling the gruff image that he presented on the phone with the genteel one in person.

  “That’s not what Sylvia told my father. She told him that you’d discovered something really ugly regarding someone else, so she was going to ask that person to resign instead,”

  He shook his head. “You’ve been misinformed. There was no information to be had on the other board members. She just wanted me there at the private meeting to make everyone nervous enough to vote her way.”

  “I see,” I said, though I didn’t believe him. He was telling me this just to get me off his back.

  “I told the police that as well,” he continued. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help, but I can’t.”

  “Someone sent me a fax about you.” I rifled through my purse and then showed him the copy of my fax. He furrowed his brow, lowered his glasses on his nose, and read silently over his frames.

  Sam looked up at me. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was faxed anonymously to me.”

  “I have no idea what it means.” He thrust it back to me, rocking on his chair to affect a persona of someone who hadn’t a care in the world. The act was unconvincing.

  I took a deep breath, realizing I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this man unless I went on the offensive. “I think you do. I did some homework. I found out about your sister’s suicide. And her marriage to Sylvia Greene’s ex-husband.”

  I was bluffing, of course. The woman who’d committed suicide bore a different maiden name from Dunlap, and I hadn’t been able to verify that she and Sam had been siblings.

  Sam studied my face for a moment, then looked away, the muscles in his jaw working. “So, then, you also know I’m the last person who would have sent you that fax.”

  “But you’re certainly not the last person who would gain from Sylvia’s death.” He glared at me, and I demanded, “Are you.” A verification, not a question.

  “What’s your point, lady?” His voice was taking on the toughness I’d experienced earlier. “First you suggest I might be next on some…scholastic suburbanite’s hit list. Now you’re telling me you think I killed her?”

  “Did you?”

  “No, and I don’t know who did, either.” His every muscle seemed to be tense, and I was prepared to run for the door if he made one move toward me. “Truth is, much as I tried to dig up dirt on everyone, especially Ms. Greene, the bitch herself, nothing panned out.”

  “How could she hire you, knowing your relationship with her ex-husband’s late wife? She had to know how much you hated her.”

  “She didn’t know I was Mary’s brother. Hell, to know that, she’d have to have come to the funeral. She couldn’t be bothered.”

  “She hired you by pure coincidence?” I asked incredulously.

  He shook his head. “I approached her. I’ve been a private investigator for an insurance company in Delaware for years now. I took a leave of absence, then set up shop here under an assumed name so she wouldn’t know who I was. Then I took it upon myself to check the backgrounds of the board members so I’d have some way to lure her in. Told her I’d uncovered something that she’d want to know about her fellow board member.”

  “You made up stories on the other board members and fed them to her.” I was right! I’d have to work an “I told you so” into a future conversation with Jim.

  He rose, his face an angry mask, “I loved my sister. She was one of the finest people anyone would ever want to meet. But she was fragile. Sylvia wouldn’t let her ex-husband have that kind of happiness, so she attacked him at his weak point—his new wife, my sister. Sylvia was relentless. She even accused Mary of breaking up their marriage and claimed that Mary caused their grown daughter’s car accident. Mary hadn’t even met Aaron Greene before the accident. Sylvia knew that, but she didn’t care. She got Mary to question everything about herself, and she just couldn’t take it. She killed herself. But Sylvia might as well have pulled the trigger.”

  “You fabricated stories that discredited her opponents on the board to make Sylvia look like a fool when she falsely accused them.”

  He smirked. “Every time someone was squeaky clean, I doctored a batch of evidence to make it look like the guy was the business equivalent of Charles Manson. If they were corrupt, I told Sylvia that they were Snow White. The only accurate information I gave that bitch was the stuff I had to use to bait her with—your father’s misspent youth. I had to give her something true so she’d believe my lies about the other board members.”

  “So you set out to hurt Sylvia by destroying the lives of other innocent people? And you think your actions are justified?”

  He crossed his arms on his chest and regarded me with a furrowed brow. “Hey, I took that into account. They all would have been fine. I was going to turn the tables on Sylvia the moment she publicly stuck her foot in her mouth. I’d’ve vindicated the party she wrongfully accused and exposed Sylvia as the villainous bitch that she was. I know it would have cost me my own career, but I would gladly have paid that price. Only, she ruined it for me.”

  “How?”

  “By dying.”

  “That was hardly her choice.”

  He lowered himself into his chair with a faraway look in his eyes. “Wasn’t mine, either. If it had been me, she’d have first been hit in the only place where it could have hurt. She’d have been publicly humiliated. And she would have gone with as much anguish as she caused my sister.”

  His rancor seemed to seep into the room and me. I wished I could just beam myself back home where I could curl up in the fetal position underneath my bedcovers.

  “Why did you tell me all this?”

  He scoffed and met my eyes. “What good does knowing any of it do you? If you tell the police, I’ll just deny it. Tell ‘em I was playing a joke on you and you fell for it. I’ve already destroyed any corroborating evidence. Even if they believe you, like I said, I didn’t kill her. All I did was spread some malicious rumors to my client, who’s now deceased.”

  “How can you do this, Mr. Dunlap? How can you treat people this way?”

  “The name’s Jacobsen, as you already figured out.” Through clenched teeth, he stared at me and answered, “I did what I had to do. Sylvia Greene destroyed my sister’s
life. This was the only way I could stop her from doing that to somebody else.”

  As much as I’d grown to dislike Sylvia Greene, Sam Dunlap-cum-Jacobsen’s revenge at any cost—with the price paid by others—was even worse. I leaned on his desk and stared into his face until he met my eyes.

  “Somebody knows about you, Mr. Jacobsen—the person who sent me this fax. I’m pretty sure that she was a good friend of Sylvia Greene’s. That means Sylvia probably also found out about your scam before she died.” I swept my arms back to indicate his office. “You did all of this in vain.”

  He sat there, slack-jawed, and said nothing.

  Chapter 13

  Mom on Megawatts

  To my surprise, my father was waiting by my mailbox when I arrived home after leaving Sam’s office. His hands were sunk deep into the pockets of his tan, zippered jacket, and his features were crestfallen. He was wearing his old fishing hat, which had long since seen better days, but it gave him the appearance of having a full head of hair.

  My nervous system instantly went into full alert for fear that he’d come to tell me more bad news. And yet, he never thought to wear a hat without a direct reminder from Mom, so she’d been home when he left the house. Therefore, surely nothing too catastrophic could have occurred to spur his decision to see me.

  Despite my worry, I rolled down the window and smiled. “Hi, Dad. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Just a few minutes. Got to get back home soon, though.” His voice was a little lower and his speech a bit slower than normal. Could Tommy have told him that his arrest was imminent?

  Feigning a lightness I was far from feeling, I asked, “Want to hitch a ride into the garage with me?”

  He shook his head, his eyes slightly averted from mine. “We need to talk. Want to walk me halfway back, by way of the park?”

  “Sure. Let me just put the car away.”

  Dad rarely suggested that we “talk,” so I wasn’t about to stall, but a glance at my watch reminded me that Karen’s middle-school bus would be here in another five or ten minutes, and Nathan’s soon after. The kids would be fine home alone for a few minutes if I didn’t get back before they did.

  The park was a playground in the center of Sherwood Forest, our subdivision. Though both were in the same general direction, the park was actually farther away than my parents’ house, but it was my father’s favorite haunt during times when he was mulling over some big decision.

  We walked side by side for a couple of blocks without speaking. He was deep in concentration, his hands still steadfast in his pockets, shoulders stooped.

  “What’s up, Dad?” I finally prompted.

  “A few grasshoppers. Not much else.”

  His forced attempt at levity was all the more reason for my concern. We headed down the park’s path between two houses. “You wanted to talk?”

  He sighed. “I owe the family an apology. I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation earlier. Once I had a chance to look at it objectively, I realized I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kept your Uncle Ted’s secret. He was still a kid when he died, too immature to realize that hiding from the truth only makes things worse for all concerned. Whereas I’m certainly old enough to know better. I never should have listened to that lawyer and kept quiet about what Sylvia was about to reveal. I never should have lied to you or your mother. I kept hoping I could convince Sylvia not to go forth with her claims against me. Guess it’s true what they say: Be careful what you wish for.”

  “I understand why you felt you needed to keep your promise to your brother.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Don’t make it sound admirable, ‘keeping a promise.’ It made me feel noble, shouldering the blame, even after he was gone. Now I think about you and your sister. I think about what would happen if Bethany asked you to do something like that for her. Or vice versa.”

  He paused reflectively and shook his head as he glanced at the playground equipment, currently deserted. Over the last couple of years, the metal swings and slides and teeter-totters of my childhood had been replaced by the more natural look of weatherproofed logs and railroad ties and recycled-truck tires. “The things we think are so terrible when we’re young, they’re never half as bad as all the damage we do in trying to keep them hidden.”

  “True, but you know, we get a second chance as parents. And you and Mom have been outstanding role models and teachers to your children. Think of how many lives you’ve touched at the university, too. If your brother had lived, he’d have been proud of you.”

  We weren’t an overtly emotional family. Quite the opposite. My father was clearly both surprised and touched by my words. He put his arm around my shoulders, smiled, and said, “Thanks. I’m sure proud of the daughters your mother and I have raised.”

  “Why…that would be me and Bethany, wouldn’t it?” I asked, feigning surprise.

  He smiled, but it faded quickly and his mood darkened as we made our way around the jogging path that circled the playground and basketball courts. “I’ve spent my whole life involved in the field of education, one way or the other. All this has made me realize that I should have quit while I was still under some delusion of being ahead.”

  “You’re not thinking of quitting the school board now, are you?” I asked anxiously.

  “It’s not fair to you and your mother to put you through this kind of public scrutiny. Even once they catch Sylvia’s killer, some folks will still be insisting that I had a hand in it. That’s human nature. It’d be best for all concerned if I got out of the public eye, once and for all.”

  “Dad, if you’re asking my opinion, you should stay and fight this for all you’re worth. You can’t worry about what others might think and say about you. Isn’t that what you’d tell me right now if our positions were reversed?”

  Dad stopped walking and stared at the ground, as if lost in contemplation. He finally nodded. “Yes, it is.” He sighed.

  “Guess this means I’m going to have to stick it out.” He met my eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Molly. You’re going to make yourself one heck of a wise old lady someday.”

  Dad said that he “really should be getting home now,” gave me a quick hug, and we parted ways. I was tickled at the idea of myself as a “wise old lady” someday. I’d often hoped that my current eccentricities would be more excusable when I was much older.

  Karen’s bus pulled away from the stop as I rounded the corner. I hurried my pace. The short period before Nathan got home was one of the few opportunities I got to spend some time alone with Karen. Though we rarely discussed it, I think we’d both accepted the fact that Nathan’s personality was forever going to designate him as the squeaky wheel in the family.

  “Karen!” I called, making a megaphone of my hands.

  She waved and waited for me. In defiance of the cool temperature, her lilac-colored jacket was tucked partway into her backpack, which looked as though it outweighed her—and probably did, she was so petite. She was wearing a maroon, long-sleeved, knit blouse and her skinny-leg jeans. I hate the style so much I’d told her she had to use her own money to buy them, which is exactly what she’d done.

  We went inside the house together and fawned over Betty for a while, who was thrilled to get both of us at once.

  After giving many hugs and kisses to the dog, Karen asked, “Guess what, Mom?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve decided that I’m going to be a veterinarian when I grow up.”

  “That’s great, sweet pea. You’ll be a wonderful veterinarian. Though you might have to teach yourself not to scream and leave the room at the sight of a spider.”

  “Why? It’s not like I’ll have to treat anyone’s pet spider, Mom.”

  “No, but what would you do if someone brought in their pet tarantula?”

  She made a face and shrugged out of her fifty-pound backpack. “I’ d get my assistant to take care of it.”

  “Ah, so you’re going to be not only a fine veterinarian, but a popu
lar boss. ‘Go take the tarantula’s temperature, Jeeves, or you’re fired!’”

  Karen rewarded my silliness with her infectious laughter, then went into the kitchen in search of soda pop and soda crackers.

  “How was school today?” I called after her.

  “Fine.”

  “Did anything interesting happen?”

  “No.”

  Determined at least to get her to listen to the question before firing off a one-word response, I followed her into the kitchen and asked, “Okay, Karen, answer me this. Let’s say you and Rachel are in the cafeteria and there’s a terrible flood. You two are safe on top of a real high cabinet. There’s only room for you to save one more person, and your only choice is one of the boys in your school. Who would you choose?’

  “Ricky Morgan,” she answered immediately, then stuffed a cracker into her mouth.

  This was a name that I didn’t recognize at all. “Why would you save him?’

  With a few cracker crumbs flying from her lips, she answered, “‘Cause he’s the best swimmer in the school, and he can get help so we won’t have to hang out the whole day on top of a cabinet. I’m gonna go call Rachel, okay?”

  So much for our quality mother-daughter time.

  Left to my own thoughts for a couple of minutes, I instantly began to worry about whether or not I’d done the right thing in encouraging Dad to stick with the board. What if he was right and his good name was forever to be sullied by suspicion?

  Nathan barged through the front door, and we went through the same exercise in futility that I’d just experienced with his sister. Karen reappeared; expressly, it seemed to me, so that she and her brother could get into their usual after-school quarrel. Soon they were toe-to-toe on some life-shattering issue regarding the cap on the bottle of ginger ale. I moved to a different room, but they soon followed me, now arguing about who owned a particular pencil. Nathan triumphantly snapped the pencil in two and handed her the shorter, no-eraser piece, which caused Karen to erupt. It occurred to me that what I really needed was a personal microphone hooked up to an enormous amplifier so that I could drown them out when I scolded them.