by Sara Rosett
I uncurled my legs and went to find the list that Gabrielle had pressed on me. I hadn’t had time to look at that list either and studied it as I walked back to the chair. It was much longer—several pages—but I reached the end of it without seeing the name Alexa Wells there either. I frowned over the list for a while because I knew that Gabrielle would ask me about it the next time I saw her, but I couldn’t for the life of me see how we could use this list of names to figure out who had killed Klea.
Yes, all the people had been at the school that morning, but unless we planned to interview each person and trace their movements around the school—and I knew Gabrielle and I couldn’t do that—it wouldn’t do us much good. No, those were tasks more suited to someone like Detective Waraday. He could interview everyone and plot movements, and I was sure he already had a copy of the list. I turned off the television and gave Rex a rub on his belly before I went to switch off lights around the house. Somehow I doubted Gabrielle would see it the same way.
Organizing Tips for PTA Moms
To keep from getting roped into doing more than you’re able, choose the type of volunteer activities that work best with your schedule. If you are juggling a job outside the home as well as volunteering at school, pick one-time events like a field trip or yearly events like Field Day or holiday parties. If you have the ability to be at the school more often, you could volunteer to help in a certain area on a recurring basis, like in your child’s classroom or in the library.
Chapter Eight
“What are you talking about?” Gabrielle asked the next morning, her eyes wide. “That list is the key.”
A group of second-grade boys walked through the school lobby, their gazes fastened on Gabrielle and me. She rotated her shoulders and lowered her voice. “We have to use it.”
“How?” I asked.
I’d arrived at the school early to help set up food for Teacher Appreciation and had run into Gabrielle on my way into the office to sign in. She was on her way out the door, a stack of papers tucked into her elbow, and had nearly collided with me. I’d sidestepped and managed not to drop the bag of paper cups, the gallon of orange juice, and the platter of breakfast biscuits I’d picked up on the way to school.
“What do you mean, how?” Gabrielle said. “I told you. We ask everyone where they were that morning. If they were in any other hallway besides the blue hallway, then we mark them off the list.”
“And what if they were in several hallways, like me?” I shifted my grip on the cold orange juice container, which was already beaded with condensation. “I visited Nathan and Livvy’s classrooms.”
“Then we’ll put them down for both. We’ll need a spreadsheet. You can take care of that, right? I have a meeting today with the school board to update them on the progress of the implementation.” She smoothed a hand over the lapel of her black suit jacket. With her black skirt and heels, she looked much dressier than most of the teachers and parents at the school.
“And what if they lie?” I asked.
“Lie? Why would they lie?” she asked, her tone indicating I’d suggested something as impossible as snow in Georgia, a very rare occurrence.
“Lots of reasons . . . maybe just to be difficult. But it will only confuse the issue, if we try and do it. It’s something Detective Waraday should do, and I bet he already is. People don’t have to talk to us, but they do have to answer to the police.”
She frowned at me a moment, then said, “Ellie, you are as obstinate as a mule, do you know that? You could argue with a wall and win. Just because this was my idea . . .”
“No, that’s not it, Gabrielle,” I said quickly. “I think we can use our time in a better way.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How?”
“By focusing on the things that Detective Waraday won’t see or overhear. He’ll get the official story, but we’re in the school with the parents and teachers in a way that Detective Waraday can’t be. We’re here every day—or it seems like I’m here every day right now. We listen and pay attention. That’s all we can do.”
“Listen and pay attention,” she said slowly as if those were foreign concepts. “I don’t know. It seems kind of . . . vague.” She pursed her lips to one side, then said, “Okay, I don’t like it, but we can try it—for a bit. If it doesn’t work . . .” She looked at her watch and gave a little shriek. “Oh, I have to get on the road to be at the district office on time.”
She swept off, her heels clacking over the tile floor. As I walked inside the office and set the food and drink down on the counter to sign in, Marie followed me in, looking a little breathless. “Hi, Ellie,” she said as she hurried around the end of the counter to her desk. She patted her fluffy blond hair into place. “I know better than to wait until after seven-thirty to leave. I just could not get out the door this morning.”
“Hi, Marie,” I said over the clatter of the little printer as it spit out my volunteer sticker, glad to see Marie’s friendly face, which was such a contrast to Peg’s usually sour looks. Abby had told me that Marie’s husband had worked for an accounting firm that went under because of a financial scandal several years ago. He’d had a heart attack shortly after he lost his job, and Marie had found herself on her own without a retirement plan or investments because they’d lost everything when his company shut down, and up to that point she’d been a part-time employee. Abby said Marie had switched to a full-time position the next year, and I admired Marie for always being upbeat, despite having had a rather rough time, and wondered if any of her sunny disposition would ever rub off on Peg.
I peeled the sticker off the paper and attached it to my shirt. “How was your vacation? Did you go to the beach with some friends?”
“No, just me.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised and a little saddened for her.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I shopped a lot and read two novels, and started knitting a new sweater,” she said as she plucked a sticky note off her wooden cube calendar. Still standing, she read the note and looked up at me. “So, no second round of fundraising?”
I paused, the platter of food balanced in one hand and the juice dangling from my other hand. “Oh, right. I’d completely forgotten about that note. I left it for you last week when I found out the second fundraiser was off the table.”
Marie nodded and tossed the note in the trash. “Glad to hear it. There’s enough going on during the final weeks of school. The last thing we need is another fundraiser.” She flipped the wooden blocks around so that the combination of numbers reflected the correct date, then took off her pink cardigan and draped it over her chair. She gave a quick glance around the office, then lowered her voice as she sat down in her rolling chair. “Of course, you didn’t hear that from me.”
I smiled conspiratorially at her. “Hear what?”
Marie shifted her chair closer to the desk and punched her computer to turn it on. “Where’s Peg? I want all the details about what happened to Klea.” We both looked at Peg’s desk, which was cluttered with papers, interoffice envelopes, and a folder. A mug of coffee steamed to one side. “She must be around,” Marie said. “Probably in the workroom, running copies. I swear she spends half her day in the workroom.”
“Really? I never see her in there, and I’m in there a lot.”
Marie raised one eyebrow. “Well, that’s where she tells Mrs. Kirk she is.” Mrs. Kirk’s office light was on, but the room itself was empty. I’d seen Mrs. Kirk a few minutes ago when I dropped the kids off, so I knew she wouldn’t be back until after the tardy bell rang.
Marie waved a plump hand with pink nails. “You’ll have to tell me.” She came around the counter and picked up the juice. “Let me help you with this, and you can fill me in on the way. Teachers’ lounge?”
I nodded, and we headed out of the office, Marie’s pale pink skirt swishing as she walked beside me, her pumps tapping out a sturdy beat as we crossed the lobby, dodging kids streaming in from the drop-off as they hurried to class, their
backpacks thumping against their backs. I was in my usual mom uniform of jeans, a casual T-shirt, and boat shoes. I didn’t make a sound as we walked along.
Once we’d cleared the lobby and the door to the teachers’ lounge swung shut behind us, Marie said, “I heard the news about Klea as soon as I got back in town last night. I couldn’t believe it. Poor Klea. What happened?”
I shrugged. “No one knows. The sheriff’s department is investigating.”
“And she was found during Field Day?”
I nodded as I arranged the paper cups. I summarized what had happened, skipping over Gabrielle’s sighting of the body in the closet, as Marie found paper napkins and set them on the table. I removed the cover from the food, and she shook her head as she picked up one of the biscuits and put it on a napkin. “It’s shocking, that something like that could happen here at the school.” She shook her head again and muttered, “Just shocking,” again before taking a bite. I agreed and wadded up the plastic wrap and dusted a few crumbs from the table.
“I bet it was her ex.” Marie pointed the half-eaten biscuit at me to emphasize her point.
“Her ex?” I asked. “Why do you say that? I thought she was in the process of getting a divorce.”
Marie waved floury fingertips. “All but done. Only a few more days and the papers would have been filed. I heard her telling Mrs. Kirk in the office the other day. Klea was already calling him her ex even though it wasn’t official yet. He is apparently quite a character. In fact, you probably know him—or would recognize him. You’ve heard of Ace Burris Auto Sales?”
“You mean Screaming Ace? That guy that runs commercials on the local channels?”
Marie nodded as she polished off the last bite, then mimicked the announcer’s voice, but in a quieter tone than the one I’d heard on the commercials, “Get a screaming good deal from Burris Auto!” Marie’s voice returned to normal. “Yep, that’s Klea’s ex. Or was her soon-to-be ex.”
“Really?” I asked, amazed. “I never would have pictured them together. Klea was so quiet and reserved.” At the end of every commercial, “Screaming Ace” gave a loud “yee-haw” before his signature pitch line.
“It just goes to show, doesn’t it? I don’t know the whole story—Klea was a very private person—but I do know that she had a restraining order on him. He wasn’t allowed on school property at all.”
“Wow. That’s kind of scary. I wonder what he’d done.”
Marie glanced quickly at the door. “I think—I don’t know this for sure—but I think he beat her up.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
Marie nodded as she wiped her fingers on the napkin. “It was. Klea came in to work one day, and she was moving stiffly. Mrs. Kirk noticed. You know what Mrs. Kirk is like when she focuses on something. Mrs. Kirk must have suspected something because she had Klea in her office with the door closed as soon as the announcements were over. Klea came out, her eyes all red, and Mrs. Kirk said she’d be out of the office for a few hours. She bundled Klea into her car. Klea took some vacation days, and I didn’t think anything else about it until a parent, Mrs. Hudson— she had a daughter in fourth grade at that time, I think—she came in a couple of days later for something at the office, and she asked how Klea’s ribs were doing. She’s a nurse at the urgent-care walk-in clinic over on Tyler Avenue. Mrs. Kirk came flying out of her office and got Mrs. Hudson out of the office quick as a duck on a June bug. Nothing else was said, but about a week later, I heard that Klea had moved into an apartment. It was right after that happened that Mrs. Kirk told me and Peg that Mr. Burris was not allowed on school grounds, and if we saw him we should call the school district’s resource officer.”
“When was this?” I asked. No wonder Klea had sturdy locks all over her house and Detective Waraday said the investigation would focus on off-campus issues.
“Let’s see, she put that offer in on that cute little house across the street a few months ago, so I think this was about six months before that. Last fall sometime, anyway. There’s the second bell. I have to get back. Let me know if you hear anything else, will you?”
Peg opened the door and held it so another mom could walk in with a plastic container of fruit salad. Another mom followed her in with a breakfast casserole. Marie and I moved to the door as I said in a quiet voice, “I’m sure the sheriff’s office will keep Mrs. Kirk updated. You’ll probably hear any news before me.”
She patted my arm. “But you somehow always manage to find things out. It must be your knack for organizing that lets you put it all together. Keep me in the loop.”
Abby came through the door, spotted the food, and said, “Oh, isn’t this sweet? I love Teacher Appreciation Week. So thoughtful of everyone.” Her smile included me and the other moms who had put out food. A group of teachers arrived and picked up paper plates, commenting on how good everything looked. The word was out that the food was here, and I knew the room would be busy until the eight-twenty-five bell, with teachers slipping down for a quick bite to eat.
Abby filled her plate and came back to stand by me on the side of the room. “So how are things in the classroom? Are the kids worried or scared?” I asked.
“They are doing okay for the most part. I’ve had a few kids who have been more clingy than usual, but that’s all I’ve noticed.”
“What about the teachers?”
Abby sipped some juice, her face thoughtful. “Well, it’s certainly a topic of conversation, but no one seems to know anything specific about what happened. I have heard a few. . . I don’t know what you’d call them . . . insinuations, I guess, that Klea was probably poking her nose in where she shouldn’t have.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard that. Only that she was very private.”
Abby popped a grape in her mouth and chewed while a group of teachers passed us. When they were clear, she said, “Klea did keep to herself, but there was once that I came back to the school for something I’d left here—a jacket or something like that—and when I walked into my classroom she was at my desk and jumped. She said I’d startled her, and I apologized. We had a laugh, but”—Abby paused, her forehead crinkling into a frown—“I had the impression that she was closing one of my desk drawers when I came through the door.”
She took a bite of a biscuit and shook her head as she chewed. “I could be totally wrong. That’s why I didn’t say anything, but I made sure I didn’t leave anything on my desk—or in it—that I didn’t mind anyone seeing. I’ve gotten the impression from a few other teachers that they were . . . let’s say, a little wary of her.” Abby frowned again. “Or someone. There’s a definite atmosphere lately of tension.”
“That’s understandable with the circumstances.”
Abby tossed her empty plate in a trash can as she said, “No, it’s more than just generally being worried. Something is up—and it has been for a while. Klea’s death has magnified it—or perhaps given it a focus, would be a better way to say it. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is, but there’s definitely an uneasy atmosphere around here.” Abby glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to get back. Thanks for breakfast,” she said, and turned to leave.
“Oh, Abby, wait. Do you know Alexa Wells?”
I probably wouldn’t have noticed Mrs. Harris, except she was standing directly behind Abby in my line of sight. When I said the name Alexa Wells, Mrs. Harris’s whole body went completely still. She had been leaning over the table, scooping a spoonful of the fruit salad onto her plate. But at my words, she froze, the spoon suspended in the air.
Abby’s face split into a grin. “I don’t know her, but I know of her.”
Her words broke the spell around Mrs. Harris, and she glanced around with the same expression I’d seen on Nathan’s face when I mentioned Rex had suddenly taken to digging holes in the backyard. I hadn’t thought the divots in the grass were Rex’s doing, but Nathan had confessed that he and Charlie had been pretending they were pirates. Mrs. Harris’s face had that same guilty c
ast to it for a few seconds; then she dumped the fruit on her plate and moved to stand close to us. She kept her gaze focused on the windows, but I had the feeling she was listening intently to every word we said.
“So Alexa Wells doesn’t work at the school?” I asked. “Her name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”
“Because we talked about reading her book for the book club,” Abby said.
“Oh, right,” I said as the light bulb went on. “Alexa Wells, the author. Super steamy.”
Abby cocked an eyebrow. “More than that. Erotica, actually.”
“Oh, is that what she writes? I got a phone call when we were discussing which book to read next at the book club and missed the discussion.” I’d returned from my phone call to find that the Alexa Wells title was off the table and the group had agreed on the evocative and haunting women’s fiction book that I’d tried to read last night.
“Are you thinking about picking up a copy?” Abby asked. “If you do, I’d keep it out of Livvy’s sight. I know what a voracious reader she is. You might not want to have to explain some of the things in there to Livvy.”
“No, it’s not that. I saw the name on a list that Klea had written.” I didn’t mention where I’d seen it. I thought it would be better to keep my visit to Klea’s house quiet. “The weird thing is that the rest of the list was names of teachers and staff from the school.”
Mrs. Harris was standing just behind Abby’s shoulder, facing slightly away from me. She had been eating chopped fruit with mechanical movements, but she suddenly sprang to life, tossing her plate that was still half-filled with food into the trash can and striding out of the room. Another teacher was on the way inside and backed out of the doorway as Mrs. Harris motored through.
Abby hadn’t noticed Mrs. Harris’s abrupt exit.
“Well, maybe Klea wanted to read one of her books and jotted the name down,” Abby said.