Murder as a Second Language: A Claire Malloy Mystery (Claire Malloy Mysteries)

by Hess, Joan

  It was a splendidly melodramatic scene. I replayed it several times as I drove home, chuckling at the images of stunned faces and ungainly poses. Once I was inside my perfect house, however, I dismissed it and curled up with a cookbook. Peter would be home in time for dinner, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  4

  Peter and I had a lovely time Friday evening, despite a small problem with the Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort (my sauce refused to homogenize properly). We dawdled in bed the next morning, and had breakfast on the terrace. Caron had rescheduled her pool party for the afternoon, and shortly after noon a horde of hormonally addled teenagers descended. Peter conveniently remembered that he had paperwork at the PD and deserted me. I spent the rest of the afternoon playing on the rolling ladder in my library, with occasional forays to the pool area to keep an eye out for pot, beer, and/or undue rowdiness. I did not anticipate any problems, since they all knew that Peter was a cop. Later, I was able to assure him that there’d been no felonies committed under my watchful scrutiny. I did not comment on the likelihood of misdemeanors in the demilitarized zone.

  On Sunday morning Peter and I were sharing the newspaper when Caron dragged herself out to the terrace and grabbed a bagel. I handed her the comics. After she’d had time to compose herself, I said, “Everyone seemed to have had a nice time yesterday.”

  “Yes, I know I left a mess in the kitchen. I’ll clean it up, so don’t bother to—”

  “I already took care of it,” Peter said from behind the sports section. “The trash bags are in the trunk of your car. You can put them in the Dumpster behind the PD, unless you want to keep them as souvenirs. There’s a red bikini top on the dryer in the laundry room.”

  Caron frowned. “Red?”

  I did not want to hear any details. “I noticed you didn’t invite Toby Whitbream to your party.”

  “I didn’t invite the French ambassador, either. What’s your point?”

  “You’re volunteering together,” I said. “I ran into him at the Literacy Council Thursday evening.”

  “Toby Whitbream?” She looked so astonished that I might as well have made the same claim about the French ambassador. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Miss Parchester is a tutor?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  I heard muffled laughter from behind the newsprint, but I opted to ignore it. “No, I didn’t ask you if Miss Parchester is a tutor. You didn’t ask me if I encountered Toby Whitbream on Thursday. Let’s think of all the things we didn’t ask each other, shall we? Are those my sandals on your feet? Did you ever repay me for the last advance on your allowance? How long do you plan to go without making your bed? Do you honestly believe that I wouldn’t notice the stain on—”

  “Okay, okay,” Caron said. “I meant to mention it, but I forgot. It’s not like she’s going to cause trouble like she did before. It’s kind of funny. She has two students, one a skinny Chinese girl and the other this six-foot-seven black guy from Africa. She doesn’t come up to his armpit. One day last week he hadn’t done his homework, and she scolded him like he was a little kid. If he wanted to, he could crush her head in one hand. Instead, he got all teary and apologized.” She nibbled on the bagel for a moment. “Toby Whitbream is a tutor?”

  “Not exactly. He cleans the building in the evenings.”

  “The janitor?”

  “I suppose you could call him that. His father’s on the board of directors. Apparently Toby got into trouble with the police and was ordered to do a hundred hours of community service.” I flicked my finger on a photograph of a gentleman in a baseball uniform. “You know anything about that, Sherlock?”

  “Nope.”

  “This is rich,” Caron said as she stood up. “Inez will totally freak when she hears this. Imagine the great Toby Whitbream scrubbing toilets! I Love It! He thinks he’s the meanest dude at school, just because he’s the star quarterback. Rhonda’s been panting after him for three solid years.”

  I waited until she was out of earshot before saying, “Caron seems to have forgotten that she’s been panting herself.”

  “What about that boyfriend of hers? What’s his name? The gawky kid who stutters.”

  “Teenagers are capable of multitasking. Her crush on Toby is an idle fantasy. And by the way, Joel does not stutter. You go out of your way to terrify him.”

  “Do not.”

  I flicked the paper once more, then picked up the other half of Caron’s bagel and settled back with the editorial section of the paper. I was gritting my teeth over a particularly absurd column when I heard shrill giggles from Caron’s bedroom.

  Juicy gossip travels at the speed of light, and then some.

  * * *

  Monday evening arrived, to my regret. The parking lot at the Literacy Council was nearly full. I deftly maneuvered into a narrow space. I assumed the students taking classes after work were likely to be unfamiliar to me, but I was wrong. Miao was there, as were Yelena, Ludmila, and Inez’s Egyptian student. I recognized several other faces. I smiled and nodded as I made my way to the classroom at the back, where Frances North was making notes and Sonya was distributing papers in front of each chair. Willie was seated at the end on one table, dozing. I sat down and pretended to be engrossed in what proved to be a monthly financial report. After all, what can be more intriguing than utility bills, office expenditures, insurance payments, and the ever so fascinating cost of paper towels?

  “Thank you for coming, Claire,” Frances said. “This shouldn’t take too long. There’s a copy of the agenda among those papers. Old business, committee reports, new business, and then we can all go home. Isn’t that right, Willie?”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Sonya came up behind me and patted my shoulder. “We’re so grateful, Claire. You must be very busy solving crimes, and it’s so wonderful of you to take the time to serve on the board.”

  Frances gave me a sharp look. “Crimes?”

  “The only crimes I’m aware of are happening in my own kitchen, and I’m the perpetrator. Ask my husband.”

  “Claire’s husband is the deputy chief at the Farberville Police Department,” Sonya explained to Frances, who seemed unsettled. “Claire has helped them solve all sorts of murders.”

  Frances’s eyes narrowed. “Murders?”

  I was relieved when Rick and Austin came into the room. Austin was carrying bottles of gin, vodka, and vermouth. Rick had a silver cocktail shaker, an ice bucket, and a stack of plastic cups. “No wine,” Austin announced as he set the bottles down on the counter. “We wouldn’t want to upset the Muslim students, would we?”

  “That is not what I meant!” Frances forgot about me as she pointed her finger at the miscreants. “Rick, I thought you had a smidgen of common sense.”

  “I do,” he murmured, “but no olives. Would you prefer a gin or vodka martini, Your Honor?”

  Willie was wide-awake. “Gin, thank you, and go easy on the vermouth.”

  Sonya wiggled her fingers. “Me, too.”

  I admitted a preference for vodka. Frances continued to mutter under her breath as Austin mixed martinis and Rick delivered them. When Drake arrived, he chose gin. I decided I could survive the meeting.

  The minutes were approved without comment. An addendum acknowledged my election to the board. Nobody bothered to vote. The old business included the dismal attendance at the last open house, the inconclusive results of a student poll on night classes, and generalized rumbling from those present. I was toying with the idea of a refill when Keiko and Gregory came into the room. Keiko twinkled as best she could as she rattled off the numbers concerning students, tutors, volunteers, and recent library acquisitions. When no one had any questions, she left the room with an audible sigh.

  Gregory smiled broadly, but his face was flushed. “I spoke to a Rotary Club last week and came away with checks totaling three hundred dollars and change. The United Way is demanding more paperwork before they
decide on the grant. The Otto Foundation will give us another eight thousand dollars, but money has to be used for an in-school program for non-English-speaking mothers of elementary school children. Leslie says she doesn’t have time. None of our tutors are certified to teach ESL.”

  “What did we do last year with their money?” asked Rick.

  “We did our best to comply.”

  Sonya was flipping through the financial report. “I don’t see how we’re going to stay open this summer. If anything breaks—the air conditioner, the hot water heater, the vacuum cleaner—we’re broke, too. I don’t understand, Gregory. Money is evaporating. When we set the budget at the first of the year, we had all the anticipated expenses covered.”

  Frances nodded. “I’d like an explanation.”

  “This happened last year,” Gregory said. “A lot of our grants come in the fall, along with our annual fund-raiser. Summers have been a problem since I started here. We’ll survive the next ten weeks.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Rick said.

  Willie rapped on the table with her knuckles. “He said that we did our best. That’s all we can do, unless you’d like to get certified to teach ESL.”

  He held up his hands, feigning contrition, but his voice was chilly. “I’m just saying that if we accept money from this foundation, we have to comply with their restrictions.”

  “Hey, I don’t want them breathing down my neck,” Austin said. “My karma’s shaky enough already on account of the untimely demise of one of the flying sheep in that furniture store commercial. Dumb creature ran bleating into the street.”

  Rick refused to be distracted. “So we’re going to take their money under false pretenses? What are you going to do if a representative from the foundation wants to observe a nonexistent class?”

  At that point, everyone except me felt the need to voice an opinion loudly and adamantly. Even Drake joined in, banging his fist on the table. Gregory rose to his feet, as did Rick and Austin. Sonya shrieked at them to behave. Frances shrieked at Sonya to stop shrieking. Willie demanded order in the court. Rick and Gregory were almost nose to nose, their hands clenched. I watched in awe. I’d expected a lot of polite dissension, not a vociferous uprising. Several Latino students came to the doorway, their eyes wide as they took in what might evolve into a bullfight. Olé!

  Frances was literally hopping as she howled for order. After another basically incoherent exchange involving improbable lineage, Rick and Gregory backed away from each other. Austin hastily began to make another round of martinis. Sonya took out a compact and checked her lipstick. Willie grimaced before downing her last few drops. Drake’s arms were crossed as he watched Gregory leave. I felt sorry for the amigos in the doorway, who’d had such high hopes.

  Frances found her voice. “The executive committee will meet Thursday at five o’clock at my house, when we will delve into these matters more thoroughly. Austin, I suggest you recruit Claire for the fund-raising committee. Any new business?” Rick waved his arm, but she ignored him. “If not, we’re adjourned. Please excuse me, but I’ve developed a dreadful headache and I cannot stay here another minute. Our next meeting is … hell, I don’t know. Ask Keiko.” She gathered up her things and marched out the door.

  Sonya fanned herself with the sheaf of papers. “You must think we’re terrible, Claire. Our meetings are usually short and boring. The financial situation has everyone on edge, I suppose. Gregory’s doing his best.”

  “You’re defending him?” Rick asked. “Did corporate suck out your brains today as part of a new restructuring plan?”

  She quivered with anger. “You’re a damn bully, that’s what you are! Willie, don’t you agree that Gregory’s doing his best?”

  “Whatever.” Willie arose and picked up her purse. “This nonsense is too much for my aged bladder.”

  She left the room. Drake followed her, his expression rigid. I grabbed my purse, but before I could bolt, Sonya snagged me. “Please don’t resign, Claire. This won’t happen again, I promise. We all care about the Farberville Literacy Council, maybe too much, and so do the students. We can’t let them down.”

  I removed her hand. “I’ve been in faculty meetings where certain professors were threatened with defenestration. This was mild in comparison.”

  Austin’s laugh sounded like a bray. “From the top floor of the ivy tower?”

  “Academians make a very fine splat, or so I’ve been told.” I escaped and went into the main room. In one of the classrooms, an elderly man was talking to a dozen students about bank deposit slips. Several of the cubicles were occupied by tutors and their students, while other students in the lounge cribbed off each other’s workbooks. Keiko was in her office, conversing with a man in a dashiki. Drake stood in the corner, still grim. Sonya and Frances were talking together in the lounge area. As I paused, Willie came out of the ladies’ room and, with a bewildered expression, went into the classroom. If Gregory had the slightest sense, he was either holed up in his office or long gone.

  I chose to be long gone.

  * * *

  Peter had slipped away when I woke up the next morning. The previous night we’d had a very pleasant marital interlude that had almost erased the ugly scene at the board meeting, and I was feeling chipper as I fixed a bowl of cereal. Before I could pick up a spoon, the telephone rang. I thought of a long list of people with whom I had no desire to speak, so I opted to let the answering machine deal with it. I’d managed one bite when Peter’s voice said, “Claire, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Call me back as soon as you can, okay?”

  I snatched up the receiver. “What’s so urgent?”

  “There’s been a death at the Literacy Council. I’m surrounded by people speaking so many languages I might as well be in the United Nations cafeteria. The person in charge is in her office, sobbing—I think in Japanese, but it could be Korean. The director’s not here.”

  “Who’s dead?” I demanded.

  “One of the students. Will you please get here as quickly as you can?”

  I felt a tingle of self-satisfaction. In every case I’d been involved in, Peter had done everything within his power to keep me out of it. He’d had my car towed. He’d put me under house arrest (or so he’d thought). He’d threatened and cajoled in a most endearing fashion. Now he was begging for my help. I deigned to be magnanimous.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said sweetly.

  My smugness faded as I went out to my car. The death of a student was tragic, no matter who it was. The ones I’d encountered were good people, struggling to fit into their adopted country. I recalled the terror of my French classes in high school, where I’d crouched behind my textbook and prayed that I wouldn’t be called on to read or recite. I’d been obliged to take a foreign language, but the students at the Literacy Council did so voluntarily.

  The parking lot was jammed with civilian and police vehicles. An ambulance blocked the entrance. I parked across the street and was approaching the door when two paramedics wheeled out a gurney. The body was in a black bag, but from the bulge, I had an idea who it might be. A uniformed officer lifted the yellow crime scene tape and waved me in. Forty or so students were milling about in Leslie’s classroom. I knew that some of them had come from countries with oppressive governments and brutal police forces. I hoped Peter had been gentle with them.

  Lieutenant Jorgeson joined me. “Good morning, Ms. Malloy. I understand that you were invited to the crime scene.”

  “For once,” I said, finishing his unspoken sentiment. “What happened?”

  “A woman’s body was discovered in a storage room in the back. It looks as if she fell against the copy machine and cracked her skull. The medical examiner concurs. The girl in the office is trying to contact the woman’s next of kin, but she’s … upset. Do you think you can calm her down?”

  “I’ll try after you explain why this is being treated like a homicide. If the woman fell against the machine, why isn’
t it an accident?”

  “It may have been an accident, but someone dragged the body into a corner and tried to conceal it. The medical examiner said that the woman would have been incapable of crawling.”

  “We’re talking about a Polish woman, right?”

  Jorgeson opened his notebook. “Ludmila Grabowski. Her grandson is—”

  “A professor at the college,” I said. “I met her Friday morning. She wasn’t what I’d describe as likable. She may have made some enemies.”

  Jorgeson gave me a glum look that I’d seen numerous times in the past. “Would you please do something about the girl in the office, Ms. Malloy?”

  I dutifully went to the office. Keiko was no longer hysterical, but her face was streaked with mascara. She was clutching a tissue to her nose and hiccupping with such force that her whole body shuddered. “Ms. Marroy,” she said, “this is so very dreadful! What should I do? I try to call Gregory, but he no answer. How do I call college? How do I find Grabowski-san? Tetsudatte kuremasuka?”

  Her English was slipping away like an elusive tide. I went around her desk, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her. She began to sob. I tried not to wince as my shoulder became increasingly clammy. After several minutes, she calmed down, and I released her cautiously. “Do you have a file for Ludmila? That’s likely to have her grandson’s contact information.”

  She opened a drawer and extracted a manila folder. I scanned the pages until I found her grandson’s name and telephone number. Since Keiko was in no shape to talk on the phone, I dialed the number. I was immediately informed that Bartek Grabowski was unable to take my call. I left a message with my name, the number of the Literacy Council, and a vague reference to an accident involving his grandmother.