She glanced from the younger man who looked as if he had played some college football to the older man with a thick salt and pepper mustache who was slight in stature and less intimidating. “Whadaya want?” She gave no indication that she would be inviting them in for coffee and cake.
Undeterred by her abrupt greeting, Bishop gave her a warm smile and re-introduced himself and Ron. They had dropped by to offer their condolences and to offer their help if needed.
“Well, thanks for coming, but I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Look, I’ve got a minor flood in the bedroom. Damn roof leaks every time we get a hard rain from the north.”
Under normal circumstances, Bishop might simply have apologized for the intrusion, reiterated his sorrow for her loss, thanked her for her time, and left. However, these were not normal circumstances. A man had been murdered on the campus of Holy Trinity High School. He didn’t know much about that man and even less about who would want to kill him and why. What he did know was that he wanted answers and that meant asking questions. Before she had a chance to close the door, Bishop pressed on. “It must have been difficult to find out that he had been murdered.”
Amy’s face registered the shock. “Murdered?”
“Yes, that’s what the authorities believe. I’m sorry. I thought that you already knew.”
She leaned the mop against the wall and folded her arms across her chest as if she suddenly felt a chill. “The cops told me it was an accident.”
“That’s what they thought at first.”
Ron merely observed as Bishop continued probing for information. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
She hesitated before answering. “He wasn’t exactly an angel, ya know what I mean?”
“Well, I know that he spent some time in prison,” trying to give the impression that he knew more than he did.
“Yeah, there’s that, and the fact that he pretty much messed up his whole life.” She grabbed the mop again and seemed to be ready to end this conversation.
“Was he in trouble again?”
“Who knows? More’n likely. Listen, I shouldn’t be talking bad about the dead.”
“No, of course not,” he said. He had probably gotten as much from her as he was going to get. He hoped that Lieutenant Hodge would be more successful when he questioned her. He thanked her again for her time and turned to leave. Ron had taken a couple of steps away from the trailer when he looked back to Amy and said in all sincerity, “I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” she smirked. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. I just let him crash here for a while when he got out of jail. He was gonna give me fifty bucks a week for expenses. What a joke! I never saw a stinkin’ dime!” With that, she slammed the door on them since she wouldn’t have a chance to slam the door on Ed.
Ron started the engine, made a u-turn, and drove slowly out of the driveway. The storm clouds had been replaced by large, puffy clouds driven by the wind amidst patches of blue sky. “Tough cookie,” Ron said in reference to Amy.
“Tough life,” Bishop responded. He reflected on how little he had actually learned. Life had taught her to be leery of strangers. About the only thing he knew for sure was that the next time it rained hard from the north, her trailer roof would leak. And she wouldn’t let him try to fix that either.
***
Ron dropped him off at school where his car was one of the few remaining in the lot. Steam was rising from the pavement as the sun beat down on the recently soaked surface. On his way home, Bishop stopped at the supermarket to pick up a few items. He had always relied on his wife to do that unpleasant chore. Since Grace’s passing eight years ago, he had learned to do enough to keep body and soul together. He was never going to enjoy shopping. When he arrived at the store, he usually forgot half of the items that he had intended to buy and walked out with others that he had not.
He carried a hand basket as he wandered up and down the aisles, hoping that when he saw the items on the shelves, he would remember what it was that he needed. He worried that he might be starting to lose his memory. However, the problem only seemed to surface in connection with activities in which he had little interest such as shopping and cooking. He didn’t have any trouble remembering the names of his students although at the end of a class before a long weekend or a vacation, he would often say, “I hope that you enjoy your days off, and I hope that I remember your names when we return.” Many of the students understood that he was kidding, but there were probably a few that worried about the old man losing his memory. The reality was that he often could recall the names of former students, even ones that had graduated many years earlier. As long as memory lapses didn’t extend to his teaching, he felt reassured.
Walking by a display case filled with rows of barbequed chickens slowly rotating under the lights, he was lured in by the familiar aroma. That was certainly the intent of store management. The dilemma of what to have for dinner was at once resolved as he placed the box containing a whole freshly cooked chicken into his basket. This would even solve the dinner question for the next day as there were bound to be leftovers. Satisfied with that decision, he headed straight for the checkout, forgetting that there were other items that he had intended to buy.
He stood in line at what was supposed to be an express lane. In his experience, however, that lane never seemed to live up to its name. Somebody ahead of him was always writing a check or trying to use an expired coupon or both. His mind drifted to other issues as he waited. He was vexed by the possibility that somewhere in Amy’s knowledge of Ed’s past was a detail that might lead to the identity of his killer. How could he acquire that detail if he didn’t know what he was looking for, and she definitely wasn’t inclined to share much of anything on her own? He wanted to talk with Debbie Bates again as well. He still wasn’t clear if Debbie knew about Amy or if Amy knew about Debbie. Could either one, as a jilted lover, have lashed out at Ed? Might Debbie provide a clue that would lead to an understanding of who might have wanted to kill her friend? He also couldn’t let go of the possibility that Jack might have had an argument with Ed. It was obvious that Jack felt that Ed was fairly useless as a worker. Why was Jack so defensive when Ron questioned him about the key to the combination locks in the gym?
“It’s your turn,” said the customer behind him as she gently nudged him on the shoulder.
Flustered and embarrassed, Bishop glanced back, and said, “Sorry!” He paid for his purchase as quickly as possible, pocketed his change, grabbed the bag containing his dinner, and headed for the exit. As he did, he looked back at the woman who was next in line. The cashier was scanning and bagging her items as she waited with her charge card in hand. She definitely looked familiar. Walking out to his car, he tried to remember who she was.
Even though he had been teaching at Trinity for many, many years, he didn’t think that she was a former student. He had run into this situation on numerous occasions, and it invariably bothered him until he figured it out. Sometimes, he would run through the alphabet trying to come up with a name. Other times, he would be able to recall random details about the individual, and eventually the name would come to him. Occasionally, he just had to apologize and admit that he didn’t remember the person’s name. Some people changed quite dramatically over the years so that his failure to recognize them was more understandable. Others aged so gracefully that they looked just about the same as they did in their yearbook photo.
This woman wasn’t a former student. Was she a neighbor? He didn’t have too many neighbors out where he lived. Had she been a friend of his late wife? That was a possibility. Grace belonged to several book clubs and movie groups that sometimes met at their home. This woman was not only older; she was not well. Her illness undoubtedly made her appear older than she was. Although he had only glanced at her, he could still visualize her pale, gaunt face and the bony hands and wrists that extended from the sweater that seemed too big for her frame. Just as he started the engine, t
he name came to him. It was Mabel Slater, the wife of the school’s custodian. Although he only saw her a few times a year, he was sure that’s who it was. He should have said something, but it was too late for that now. He knew that Jack’s wife had been ill, but he hadn’t realized just how serious her illness was. Jack always steered the conversation in another direction when he was asked about his wife. Having to deal with such a stressful situation would certainly explain Jack’s occasional flashes of temper at work. How ironic it was that he was thinking of Jack’s strange behavior just as his wife had nudged him out of his reverie. Was that enough to cause him to eliminate Jack from his list of suspects? No, not really.
Chapter Nine
As soon as Bishop got in the house, he removed the chicken from its packaging and put it on a platter. The aroma alone made him hungry. He turned the oven on, and popped his dinner in there to keep warm. Looking in the fridge for something to accompany his main course, he found a container with some leftover carrots. He poured himself a glass of Two-Buck Chuck merlot, carved up the chicken, microwaved the carrots, and turned on the television to catch the evening news. Since he hated eating alone about as much as he hated cooking and shopping, he finished his meal in under five minutes. The leftovers would provide another quick meal.
After cleaning up in the kitchen, he changed into a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. Since the skies had cleared up nicely, he decided to go for a walk. He often did his best thinking while walking. Spring had been slow to arrive in Groveland this year as was usually the case. Grace would never plant the vegetable garden until Memorial Day when the likelihood of a frost had diminished significantly. Now, trees, fully leafed-out swayed in the breeze, dandelions blanketed the fields, and chickadees squawked as he walked by. He remembered lines from a poem by William Wordsworth in which he explained the powerful effect that nature had on him: “And then my heart with pleasure fills,/ And dances with the daffodils.”
He headed up the road toward the house where a colleague had been murdered earlier in the school year. A young couple had bought the place and had already made some much-needed improvements. The cream-colored vinyl siding accented with light green shutters and a maroon front door transformed what had been something of an eyesore into a showplace. That was just one small example of the good that had emerged from that dark chapter in the school’s history. He wondered if the same would one day be said of the school’s current troubles. Could either Jack, or Amy, or Debbie provide a clue that would lead to the perpetrator of the trap door murder of Ed Cooper? Had he not taken the janitorial position at Trinity only a few weeks earlier might he still be alive? Or had he sealed his fate by some previous act? How had the school’s financial condition deteriorated so rapidly? Would the administration implement its plan to cut teachers after exams? How would the rest of the faculty respond? As he turned around and headed back down the hill, Bishop had to believe that no problem was impossible to solve.
***
After he settled in at his desk with a cup of Earl Grey tea and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing in the background, he pulled out several sets of spelling and vocabulary quizzes from his English 9 classes that had to be marked. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that grading papers was the least appealing aspect of teaching although quizzes did not require the same level of concentration as essays or research papers. With June exams rapidly approaching, the steady barrage of essays was easing up. While his Advanced Placement class was working on its group presentation, his freshmen and juniors were primarily in review mode.
Spelling and vocabulary lists were not the ideal way to improve in those areas. Obviously, the best way to develop those skills was through reading. And for many of his students, that was the problem. They simply didn’t read more than what was assigned, and sometimes, didn’t read what was assigned either. He recalled one class in which a number of students had unfortunately resorted to online summaries of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. As their rather tortured discussion of the novel came to a close, he looked at the class and said as he suppressed a smile, “You know, this really is a wonderful novel. You ought to consider reading it someday.” He waited for a reaction, and slowly, he saw the grins on their faces as they glanced at each other and then looked at him, now smiling broadly. He had made his point without making a scene.
As he worked his way through the second set of spelling quizzes, he took note of the few students who still misspelled “business” by writing “buisness” despite the mnemonic device he had given them that the word “bus” was in the word “business.” Over the past forty-five years, he had probably graded over a million spelling words, but these errors still made him cringe. There were times when he saw the same word misspelled so often that he was almost convinced that it was correct. That’s when he knew he needed to take a break from grading.
Just as he was about to raid the kitchen in search of a snack, his cell phone rang. It was Frank Wilson who taught history at Trinity. “Sorry to bother you at home, Mike. Are you busy?”
“No. I should thank you for rescuing me from some quizzes. What’s up?”
“Listen, far be it from me to keep you from those quizzes, so I’ll make this brief. There are rumors going around that the administration is planning to give some of us a pink slip at the end of the year. Do you know anything about this?” His voice clearly reflected a mixture of anger and anxiety.
Sister Ann had put Bishop in a difficult situation. From his conversation with her at the end of the school day, he did know that cuts were in the offing. However, he had definitively refused to assist her in carrying out that plan unless the departure of Sister Pat was part of the deal. Since he knew that hell would freeze over before the principal would agree to that, he had effectively eliminated himself from any role in the planned cuts. He couldn’t share that exchange with Frank, so he decided to answer his question with one of his own. “Who’s spreading these rumors?”
“Sarah Humphries, for one. She’s already planning next year’s master schedule. Apparently, Sister Pat told her to wait a few more weeks before starting that process because, to use Pat’s words, ‘We’re going to be dropping some of the dead weight around here.’”
Bishop wanted to say that if anyone fit the description of “dead weight” at Holy Trinity it was Sister Pat herself. Instead, he replied, “Frank, you know as well as I do that Sister Pat sometimes speaks before she thinks.”
“Yeah, I know that. But in this case, she might be right. It would be typical of Sister Ann to wait until after exams to fire some people. We don’t have a union, but we ought to do something.”
“What do you have in mind?” He hoped that Frank wasn’t going to suggest that he talk to the principal. He had already done that, without success.
“A few of us were discussing this after school today. We were thinking of refusing to grade final exams unless we had assurances that no faculty members would be let go.”
Bishop immediately thought that this was a bad idea. Based on his many years of observing the principal, he knew that she didn’t respond well to threats. In fact, if anything, any hint of a rebellion would more firmly entrench her in her decision. He had to make Frank see his proposal as a tactical failure.
“I understand your frustration, but I don’t think that you would achieve the desired result. If only a few teachers felt strongly enough about this to make such a threat, they would risk making themselves targets. Refusing to grade the exams would give the administration reason for dismissal.”
“What if we got most, if not all, of the teachers to join us?” asked Frank in desperation.
“That just wouldn’t happen. Some members of the faculty would likely refuse out of fear of retaliation. In addition, you have to consider the students. They are the reason that we’re here in the first place. How would such a work stoppage affect them? Refusing to grade the finals would be extremely detrimental to them, especially to the seniors whose college plans might
be put in jeopardy.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted a dejected Frank. “Well, maybe someone will come up with a better idea.”
“Exams are still a couple of weeks away. Who knows? A lot could change between now and then.” Bishop didn’t express that view with much conviction. It was more wishful thinking than anything else, but it was all that he could offer Frank at the moment.
He finished the stack of quizzes on his desk and entered the grades in his laptop. He went into the sunroom and spent a few moments watching the rising moon as a CD of Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune played in the background. In a few days it would be a full moon. Many believed that there was a connection between the full moon and human behavior. Law enforcement officials often reported a spike in criminal activity during that time. As a teacher, Bishop could attest to a definite increase in the decibel level in the cafeteria. Holy Trinity had already had its share of strange occurrences, large and small, in the last couple of days. He had an uneasy feeling that there was more to come.
As if a light switch had been turned on, he almost jumped out of his comfortable chair and headed straight for his clothes hamper. Tossing aside some dirty shirts and socks, he found the light grey trousers that he had worn to school on Monday. He reached into the pocket on the right side and found what he was looking for. As a concession to his advancing age, he had begun to rely less on mental notes in favor of making notes on little slips of paper. That new approach also had its limitations. He had to remember where he put the piece of paper, and he had to remember what the notation meant. When he left Amy’s trailer yesterday, he had jotted down something and then forgot about it. Until now. On the crumpled sheet, he had written, SL8996. He knew exactly what that was and decided to call Lieutenant Hodge before he forgot. He would worry about the increasing memory lapses later. If he remembered.
Schooled in Deception: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 7