Back To School Murder #4

by Meier, Leslie

  “Ladies, I’m going to ask you to move back, if you don’t mind,” said Officer Barney Culpepper, crossing the grass toward them.

  Barney had been Lucy’s friend ever since they’d worked together on the Cub Scout committee. Over the years Barney had added some weight, and nowadays a sizable belly hung over his heavy police belt. His hair was still thick, but the buzz cut he favored was turning decidedly gray. He planted his feet firmly and hitched up his pants.

  “Hi, Barney. What’s up?” asked Lucy.

  “Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” said Barney, leaning forward conspiratorially, “but they’ve found a device attached to the school clock.”

  “A device?” asked Anne, stepping closer.

  “Like a bomb?” whispered Vicki.

  “That’s what they think,” said Barney, nodding. “They think it’s set to go off when the lunch bell rings. At eleven-thirty.”

  Lucy looked at her watch. “That’s in ten minutes!”

  “Right. That’s why I want you to move back.”

  “No problem.” The women scurried across the green grass and joined the children on the baseball field.

  “There’s Ted,” said Karen, pointing to the driveway where a battered yellow VW was pulling up.

  “It’s about time,” said Lucy. “He almost missed the biggest story in Tinker’s Cove since…I don’t know when.”

  The women watched as Ted made his way over hoses and around squad cars and approached the men in charge: Fire Chief Stan Pulaski and Police Chief Oswald Crowley. Their heads bobbed and hands waved as they conversed, and Lucy wished she could hear what they were saying.

  A sudden commotion among the children drew the women’s attention; kindergarten teacher Lydia Volpe was running through the seated students, her hand at her mouth.

  “Uh-oh,” said Karen.

  The women watched the awkward pantomime as Lydia pointed to the building and then tried to run in, but was restrained by two firefighters.

  “What’s that all about?” asked Vicki.

  “Somebody’s still in there,” said Lucy, who never hesitated to jump to a conclusion.

  “Oh my God,” breathed Anne.

  “Who could it be?” asked Vicki.

  “You know, I didn’t see Tom Spitzer with the rest of the kindergarten kids,” said Anne, whose daughter was in Lydia’s class.

  “You’re right,” said Vicki, scanning the group of kids. “He’s not there.” All the mothers knew Tommy; he had been born with cerebral palsy and was a familiar figure at school gatherings with his aluminum crutches and his brave little grin.

  “Maybe he’s home with a cold or something,” said Karen.

  “I hope so,” said Lucy, glancing at her watch. It read eleven twenty-six. Four minutes.

  “I don’t think he’s home,” said Anne, indicating the front of the school, where two members of the bomb squad were hurriedly pulling on padded suits and helmets. They were just entering the building when they were almost knocked off their feet by a small blond woman in a pink suit. She dashed past them and disappeared into the evacuated building.

  “Who was that?” asked Lucy. “That wasn’t Tommy’s mother.”

  “That was Carol Crane, the new assistant principal,” said Karen. “What time is it?”

  “She’s got three minutes, if my watch is right,” said Lucy.

  “I can’t stand it,” moaned Anne. “What if she doesn’t make it?”

  “How’s she going to find him?” asked Vicki, wringing her hands. “He could be anywhere.”

  Lucy looked down at her watch, holding her breath as the sweep hand lurched from numeral to numeral. The children were unnaturally silent, sitting with their classmates on the lawn. The teachers gathered together in little groups. The rescue workers stood by, manning their stations. Ted fingered his camera. All eyes were fixed on the green double doors of the school.

  The big hand of her watch fell on the six, and Lucy reached out and gripped Karen’s arm. Karen covered Lucy’s hand with her own.

  The doors swung open, and Carol Crane staggered out, followed by the two bomb squad members. She was clutching little Tommy tightly to her chest.

  The students began cheering as Carol ran down the steps, supported by the two helmeted men. A sudden, thunderous boom silenced them, and everyone watched as the first-floor windows ballooned out and shattered. Clouds of thick, dusty smoke billowed out of the empty window frames. Carol was thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, and she fell on top of Tommy, protectively covering his body with her own. The two bomb squad members were also thrown forward onto their knees, but quickly scrambled to their feet. Carol, with Tommy’s small body folded beneath her, lay quite motionless.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The seconds following the explosion were absolutely quiet. No one coughed or moved, not even a bird sang. The children sat in stunned silence on the grass with the sun beating down on them. Everyone stared at the blasted building, waiting for the inevitable collapse. But time ticked on and the school remained standing, a scarred backdrop for the drama unfolding in front of it.

  The paramedics had rushed to aid Carol and Tommy. They carefully rolled Carol onto her back and began to examine her. She appeared to suddenly regain consciousness; her hand flew to her head and in the silence everyone heard her first words.

  “Is Tommy okay?” she asked.

  They were already transferring the little boy to a stretcher, but before they could fasten the straps, he popped up into a sitting position.

  “I was locked in! I couldn’t get out!” he exclaimed, shaking with outrage. Then he burst into tears. A female paramedic hurried to him, patting him on the shoulder and wiping his tears.

  Then, all eyes were drawn to Carol Crane as she awkwardly and painfully got to her feet, assisted by one of the helmeted rescue workers. She staggered a bit, then turned slowly and faced the crowd of students and teachers, who began cheering and applauding.

  Carol stood there for a moment, a tiny fragile figure in pink surrounded by the uniformed paramedics. She gave a little wave and turned to bend solicitously over little Tommy’s stretcher.

  As she watched the drama unfold, Lucy felt tears pricking her eyes and blinked them away.

  “That is one brave lady,” said Karen, fumbling for a tissue and blowing her nose.

  “The whole building could have come down on top of her,” said Anne.

  “She risked her life to save Tommy,” added Vicki.

  As they watched, Tommy was carried to a waiting ambulance and placed inside. Carol climbed in after him, assisted by the paramedics, and the doors closed. Then the ambulance proceeded slowly down the drive.

  “No lights or sirens,” said Karen. “They’re probably just taking them to the Cottage Hospital to make sure they’re okay.” The women nodded, knowing that if they had been seriously injured they would have been rushed to the trauma center in Portland.

  “What a relief,” said Vicki, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and fanning herself with a paperback novel she had been clutching for dear life.

  “What book is that?” asked Lucy.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Vicki. “I was just holding it. I think I wrecked it.” She looked down ruefully at the crumpled romance, whose cover still pictured the busty heroine swooming in her muscle-bound lover’s arms, and giggled.

  The tension that had gripped everyone was suddenly gone. The children were growing restless on the lawn. Some of the younger boys began wrestling, and a few very bold boys began chasing each other. The teachers ignored them, laughing and talking with each other while the rescue workers were congratulating their fellows, shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. Only one person didn’t seem to be sharing in the general mood of celebration.

  Sophie Applebaum, the principal, stood watching as the ambulance came to the end of the driveway and turned onto Oak Street. When she turned to consult with Chief Pulaski, Lucy caught a glimpse of her expression.
She didn’t appear relieved, or grateful; she looked thoroughly disgusted. Then, giving her head an abrupt little shake that made her tightly permed gray curls bounce, she once again raised the megaphone.

  “Attention, students. Attention.”

  She waited and the students gradually fell silent.

  “Today has been a very unusual day and I want to thank you all for your cooperation. I’m going to ask you to be patient just a little bit longer. Chief Pulaski tells me the building may not be safe, so we cannot go back inside. The buses will arrive in a few minutes to take you all home.”

  A few of the older children began cheering, but were quickly silenced with a stern look from Mrs. Applebaum.

  “You will remain with your teachers until school is dismissed. If there is no adult at home, please tell your teacher and we will make special arrangements.”

  She lowered the megaphone with a trembling hand, and Lucy saw the toll the morning’s events had taken on her. Her usually rosy cheeks were pale, and her face seemed flaccid and droopy. The school nurse also noticed the principal’s distress and hurried to her side.

  “There’s no sense making the kids wait for the bus,” said Karen. “Why don’t I take the girls to my house? Are you going back to work?”

  “I guess I should,” said Lucy. “I forgot all about it.”

  “No wonder. We had quite a bit of excitement, didn’t we?”

  “Too much if you ask me. I’ll get Sara and meet you at your car.”

  Lucy hurried across the coarse grass to Sara’s class and got Ms. Kinnear’s permission to take her daughter home.

  “This has been quite a shock for the children,” said the young teacher, nodding wisely. “I’m sure we’ll have counseling available for the students who have trouble dealing with their emotions. If Sara seems upset, or afraid to go to school, I hope you’ll take advantage of it.”

  “I will, thank you,” said Lucy, taking Sara’s hand. She gave it a little squeeze, and impulsively bent down to kiss Sara on the head.

  “Mom, not in front of everybody,” Sara complained.

  “Sorry,” apologized Lucy. “Mrs. Baker has invited you to spend the afternoon with Jenn—how does that sound?”

  “Okay,” answered Sara.

  She seemed less enthusiastic than usual, and Lucy wondered if she had been frightened.

  “What did you think of all this?” asked Lucy. “Were you scared?”

  “I wasn’t scared. It was a rip-off!” announced Sara with a scowl.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought the whole school was going to blow up and then we wouldn’t have to go back for a long time. But look—it’s still right there.” Sara pointed indignantly, one hand cocked on her hip.

  Lucy followed her finger. The school did seem to have survived the explosion with only minor damage. The office windows were blown to bits, but the sturdy brick building appeared otherwise intact. Nevertheless, Tommy had had a close escape. There was no telling what might have happened if Ms. Crane hadn’t saved him.

  “Shame on you!” scolded Lucy, grabbing her by the hand and hurrying her along. “Think of poor Tommy! We’re all very lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  Sara straggled along beside her mother, a stubborn pout on her little round face. Lucy looked down at her precious and adorable little girl and smiled. In her heart, she couldn’t blame her. What normal child wouldn’t miss the freedom of summer vacation, and wish for a reprieve?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bill Stone pulled his pickup truck alongside the mailbox that stood at the end of the driveway and pulled out the day’s assortment of catalogs and bills. Setting it beside him on the seat, he turned smoothly into the driveway and parked in his usual spot by the back porch.

  The house seemed oddly quiet with the kids in school. Through the summer he’d gotten in the habit of coming home for lunch and then taking the kids for a swim at nearby Blueberry Pond. Taking a break in the middle of the day made sense—he found he accomplished more by working in the cool of the evening rather than the heat of the afternoon. It was one of the compensations of the lifestyle he and Lucy had chosen. He knew he could make more money if he worked for a big corporation the way his father did, instead of struggling along on his own as a restoration carpenter and contractor, but then he wouldn’t be able to spend much time with his family.

  He hardly ever saw his father when he was growing up; Dad often worked late and was frequently away on business trips. Bill remembered his father’s look of surprise when he asked him for driving lessons.

  “You’re too young to drive,” his father had said.

  “But Dad, I’m sixteen,” Bill had replied.

  “That’s impossible,” declared his father.

  It wasn’t until he’d checked with Bill’s mother that the senior Mr. Stone accepted the fact that his son was really sixteen. Somehow Bill had grown up without his father even noticing.

  Bill was determined that wouldn’t happen to him. Even so, despite his best efforts, it seemed that the kids were maturing awfully fast. Toby was starting his freshman year in high school, and Elizabeth, now twelve, was already developing ominous curves and bulges. Where had the time gone? Sara was eight, and even little Zoë wasn’t a baby anymore. If he asked her how old she was, she delighted in holding up two chubby fingers.

  Climbing out of the truck and mounting the porch steps, he mopped his brow with a crumpled red bandanna. It was sweltering. He considered going for a quick dip, but abandoned the idea. It wouldn’t be much fun by himself. Instead, he went into the kitchen, sat down at the round oak kitchen table, and leafed through the mail, putting the bills aside for Lucy. A heavy vellum envelope bearing the engraved name of NICHOLS, NICHOLS AND BROWN caught his eye. It was obviously from a law firm, and as a small businessman he knew such letters rarely brought good news.

  Grunting, he slid his callused thumb under the flap and withdrew a word-processed letter. Randy N. Wiggins, whose round signature made Bill suspect he was a rather junior member of the firm, regretted to inform him that his client, Nelson Widemeyer, was filing for protection from his creditors under the provisions of the bankruptcy act. Needless to say, both Mr. Wiggins and Mr. Widemeyer regretted the necessity of this action.

  Bill sighed and tossed the letter aside. He regretted it, too, especially since Ned Widemeyer owed him a final payment of $15,000 for converting an old one-room schoolhouse into a summer home. This wasn’t going to do Bill’s credit any good—he himself owed a good portion of that money to the local lumberyard and hardware store.

  Placing his hands on the table, Bill pushed himself to his feet and opened the refrigerator door. A tall, green bottle of beer caught his eye. What the hell. He knew he shouldn’t drink so early in the day, but who could blame him? He twisted the cap off, chugged most of the contents, and yanked open the meat drawer.

  He must have pulled harder than he’d intended, because the drawer flew out of its shelf and fell, spilling slices of plastic-wrapped cheese all over the floor.

  “Shit,” he said, stooping to pick up the mess. After he was finished, he made himself a ham and cheese sandwich, topped it with a handful of chips, and grabbed another beer. Then he went out to the porch and sat down on the creaky old glider. That’s where Lucy and Zoë found him, snoring loudly, when they arrived home a few hours later.

  “Daddy!” exclaimed Zoë, as Lucy boosted her up the porch steps.

  “Shhh, you’ll wake him up,” cautioned Lucy, but not meaning it. She wanted him to wake up. She was furious that he was sleeping, obviously ignorant of the explosion.

  “Unh,” mumbled Bill, then he lurched upright.

  “Don’t mind us,” said Lucy, with an edge to her voice. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It’s the heat,” said Bill. “I must have dropped off.”

  “I guess you didn’t hear the news,” said Lucy, glancing pointedly at the beer bottle on the floor. The gesture was lost on Bill.

  �
�What news?” he asked, still groggy as he got to his feet.

  “Somebody blew up the elementary school.” Lucy tossed off the sentence, pulling open the screen door and disappearing inside.

  “You’re kidding, right?” asked Bill, following her.

  “No, it’s true,” said Lucy, opening the refrigerator and pouring a glass of juice for Zoë. She set it on the table and lifted Zoë into the high chair. “I was there when it went off. Thank God it didn’t do much damage.”

  Bill scratched his chin. He was having trouble absorbing this. “Was anybody hurt?” he finally asked.

  “No. They evacuated the building. Tommy Spitzer, you know him, the little boy with crutches, got trapped inside somehow. Carol Crane, the new assistant principal, rescued him just in time.” Lucy began to sniffle, and reached for a tissue. “I was so afraid. What if…?” She left the sentence unsaid, unwilling to voice her worst fears, and dissolved into tears.

  Bill wrapped his arms around her. “This is incredible.”

  “It was horrible,” Lucy cried. “I couldn’t believe it was happening, but it did.”

  Bill pulled away. “A bomb! Here in Tinker’s Cove!” he exploded, pounding a fist on the kitchen counter and staring out the window over the sink. “I’d like to get my hands on the maniac who did this…”

  In imitation, Zoë pounded her fist, making the juice glass jump.

  “What good would that do?” asked Lucy, picking her up and sitting down at the kitchen table, setting the baby on her lap. “Don’t you think there’s been enough violence already?”

  “Who’s in charge over there, anyway? How could they let something like this happen?”

  “You make it sound like it’s the school’s fault there was a bomb.”

  Zoë was tired. She gave a big sigh and relaxed against her mother. Lucy wiped her juicy mouth with a napkin.

  “Well, maybe it is. They sure managed to get somebody pretty mad. Mad enough to blow the place up.” Bill sat down heavily at the table and flapped the envelope. “You know what this is? Widemeyer declared bankruptcy.”