Curse of the PTA

by Laura Alden

  Loyalty. It was everywhere, once you started to look for it.

  The bells jingled and Summer and Brett Lang walked in. They, too, were holding hands.

  “Can we talk to you a second?” Summer asked. “Or is this not a good time? I mean, you look kind of busy.”

  “Nah, we’re just here taking up space,” Lou said. “C’mon, honey, I want to show you that catalog of maple syrup candies.”

  But Mary Margaret was ignoring him and introducing herself to Summer and Brett.

  “Lou’s wife?” Summer asked. “Really? I didn’t . . .” She turned a prickly shade of red.

  “Didn’t know he was married, did you?” Mary Margaret jabbed her husband in the ribs. “See what happens when you tell lies? You get caught and look like an idiot.”

  “I didn’t lie to anyone,” he protested. “I maybe didn’t tell the whole truth, is all.”

  Brett grinned. “Big difference,” he said. “Both ways can get you into trouble, though.”

  Lou, Mary Margaret, and Brett launched into a vaguely philosophical discussion about lies and truth, complete with anecdotes and hand gestures. Summer detached herself from her husband and pulled me away.

  “I wanted to apologize,” she said. “For the way I’ve been the last few weeks. No, let me finish, okay? I’ve been a wreck, and it’s all because of that stupid money I won. It was messing me up six ways from Wednesday, and you were right. There’s no way I should have kept any of it a secret from Brett.” She grimaced. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t.”

  I did. What she’d been thinking was that her husband had no right to tell her what to do. Which was both right and wrong at the same time.

  “So, anyway,” she said, sighing, “after we heard on the news about Melody—speaking of which, you getting her arrested must mean that stupid PTA curse is lifted, right?—anyway, that’s when I told him about Destiny and the casino. About everything.”

  I glanced at her husband. “He doesn’t seem too upset.”

  She laughed, an easy run of happiness. “Oh, he was mad. All red-faced and feet stomping at first, but then he got sad.” Her face went quiet. “That was worse, really. I started crying, and he started crying, and oh, geez, don’t tell him I told you that, okay? That’s when I saw what all that lying had done.” She pressed her lips together. “How could I have been so stupid? No weekend with a girlfriend is worth a single lie to my husband. How could I not have known that?”

  “But you do now.” And their marriage would be the stronger for it. Plus I was getting the sense that Destiny wasn’t on Summer’s A-list of friends any longer, and that could only be a good thing.

  “What about the money?” I asked.

  “I gave it to him,” she said simply. “Every penny. I handed it over and told him he could do anything he wanted with it.”

  I stared at her. “Summer, that’s . . . that’s . . .” I hunted for the right thing to say.

  “Brilliant?” she asked, laughing. “The best idea ever?”

  Since I’d been thinking more along the lines of “worst idea ever,” I smiled and didn’t say anything.

  “Know what he’s going to buy?” she asked. “A motorcycle.”

  I took in a quick breath. Two wheels on pavement were not nearly as stable as four wheels. And gravel, rain, bugs—nothing to a car, but all hazards to a motorcycle. “You’re okay with that?”

  “It sounds great to me,” she said, grinning. “As long as I get to ride along.”

  I shook my head. “You’re a braver woman than I am.”

  Summer looked at me, a curious expression on her face. “You really think that?”

  “Well, sure. There’s not enough money in Wisconsin to convince me that getting on a motorcycle would be a good idea.”

  This time it was Summer who laughed. She laughed so hard that I didn’t hear Marina come in the door. She looked at Summer, who was wiping tears from her eyes, then looked at me. “What’s so funny?”

  I shrugged. “No kids this afternoon?”

  Marina dusted off her hands. “Got rid of the last one ten minutes ago. Ran over here right off the bat because I want to commend your genius master plan to hire Flossie. Smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Last week you said teaching Jenna how to launder her hockey uniform was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “And now you’ve topped that. Excellent work.” She clapped me on the shoulder. “Guessing what you’re going to do next is what gets me out of bed in the morning.”

  “And you think I believe that?”

  “Nope.” She gave me a crooked smile. “But maybe you should.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Say,” she said, “you do realize the PTA curse vanished like the mist when Melody was arrested, right?”

  “I’m not overly familiar with the behaviors of curses.”

  “Well, neither am I, but since I started that one, accidentally of course, I decided I can finish it. Soon as I heard about Melody, I started blabbing about the end of the curse on Facebook and Twitter. And you know what Claudia said? She said there’s no such thing as a curse, just runs of bad luck, and that the Tarver PTA will be stronger than ever.”

  Truly, wonders never did cease.

  I introduced Marina to Mary Margaret and saw the instant spark of friendship. Peas in a pod, those two. The only question was, would the similarities bond or repel them from each other? I was smiling, listening to their discussion of the best roller coasters in the country, when the bells on the front door jingled once again.

  “Hi, Mom!” Oliver bounded to my side and wrapped his arms around my middle.

  “Goodness! Hello to you, too.” I held him close and looked through the crowd for Pete. “I hear Mr. Peterson picked you up at Mrs. Neff’s this afternoon.”

  “Yeah. When we were cleaning his garage last Saturday, remember I went over there? Well, he said I could call him anytime. He even gave me his card and wrote his cell phone number on it.” Oliver’s voice was full of awe. “No one ever gave me a business card before.”

  Bless Pete. “So you called him this afternoon?”

  “Uh-huh. At school, Mrs. Jefferson said it’s important to talk about stuff that bothers us, and that a . . . a trusted family friend can sometimes be the best person of all.”

  And bless Millie. Tomorrow morning I’d send her a thank-you note. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. “That sounds like very good advice,” I said.

  “Yeah.” He gave me one last squeeze. “So I called Mr. Peterson and told him about . . . about . . .” He swallowed.

  Gus appeared at Oliver’s side as Pete came out of the crowd and stood at Oliver’s other side. Both men put a hand on one of my son’s shoulders, giving him strength, rooting him in honesty and goodwill.

  “It’s okay, Oliver,” Gus said. “You can tell her.”

  “I’ll help you start, if you want.” Pete said. “It’ll be easy once you get going. Ready? One Saturday, a little after school started, I rode my bike downtown. . . .”

  Oliver’s thin shoulders curved forward. “Do I have to?” he asked.

  “The sooner you tell it,” Gus said, “the sooner it’s over.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I rode my bike downtown. I know I wasn’t supposed to without permission, but, I don’t know, I was just out riding around the block and then, like, I was downtown all of a sudden.”

  I bit back the words I wanted to say so badly. “And then what?”

  He kicked at the carpet. “And then I went into the gas station, you know, the one Mr. Jarvis owns? And I . . .” His voice dropped low. “And I took a candy bar.”

  “Took? You mean you didn’t pay for it?”

  His head hung low. “I . . . stole it.”

  I stared at my son. Where was the mother manual when you needed it? I supposed at some point I’d be grateful that the theft of a simple candy bar could have caused him such mental trauma
, but that point wasn’t even visible from the current point, which was me being appalled.

  “Well,” I said, then didn’t know what to say next.

  Gus stirred. “Oliver, why don’t you go in the back with your sister while I talk to your mom a minute?”

  I nodded, and Oliver scampered off.

  “When I was ten,” Pete said, “I stole a soda and a bag of potato chips.”

  Gus chuckled. “I took a pack of gum.”

  I looked from Rynwood’s police chief to the forensic cleaner and back again. “He shoplifted! Don’t tell me you’re condoning this.”

  “Of course we’re not,” Gus said, unperturbed by my outburst. “But before you decide on a punishment, hear us out.”

  Pete put his hands in his pockets. “When Oliver called, he was crying. Said he didn’t want to be a thief anymore, that he wouldn’t ever eat candy again. Took me a while to get the whole story out of him. When he finally did, I said we’d have to go to the police.” He smiled. “Thought I’d lost him for a minute there, but he bucked up and said okay.”

  Gus picked up the story. “They came into the station a little while ago, and I’ve never seen such a long face on a youngster. Oliver told me what he’d done, and I told him he’d have to confess to Mr. Jarvis.” He laughed. “His face went even longer. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  The poor boy. “What did Randy say?”

  Gus smiled. “I called Randy when these two were walking over. Told him what was going on and asked him to take it seriously, to give the boy a little lesson.”

  “So when we showed up,” Pete said, “Randy played like he was sad and angry at the same time. Oliver was shaking so hard, I thought he was going to fall down, but he stepped up and said he’d pay him back as soon as he got his allowance. Then he asked if he’d go to jail. Randy told him no, not if he came in and swept the floor on Saturday. Then you know what Oliver did? He pulled a crumpled, beat-up Snickers bar out of his coat pocket and put it on the counter.”

  “He never even ate it,” I whispered.

  Pete shook his head. “Too guilty. You’ve got a good kid there, Beth.”

  His smile warmed my heart. “He’s not bad,” I said. “Thanks, Pete. You’re the best. I’m not sure what I would have done without you.” As he made a mild protest, I peered at him. Was he blushing? No, why would he? It must be the heat in the room, that’s all, gone up from so many people in the store.

  “Hey, Mom, look at what I drew!” Oliver ran up and thrust a piece of paper at me.

  On it was a picture of what I assumed was our house. Next to it, standing approximately fifteen feet tall if the house was drawn to scale, was an assortment of people and animals. There was George, looking like a black meat loaf. There was Spot, floppy ears and all. There was Oliver, there was Jenna in her hockey gear, there was me with books in my arms, and standing next to me was . . .

  I pointed. “Who’s that? Your dad?”

  Oliver smiled. His real smile, the one that had been hidden for weeks, the one I’d longed to see, the great big contagious smile that lit the world. “It’s Mr. Peterson. It’s okay that I drew him in with us, isn’t it?”

  I looked at Pete. His gaze met mine, and the intensity in his eyes went deep down inside me, down into a quiet space I’d never even known was there. Then I blinked, he turned away, and the connection was gone.

  “Mom?” Oliver tugged at my elbow. “It’s okay, right?”

  “Of course it is,” I said vaguely.

  And wondered how I could have been so blind.

  Also Available from Laura Alden

  Plotting at the PTA

  Murder at the PTA

  Foul Play at the PTA