Harvey, who’d always been a patient, humble man when it came to my mother, tossed his napkin on the table and huffed, “Now, Darlene, it was a simple question. I wasn’t trying to—”
My mother stabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t fool me, dear. I know what you’re trying to do, and I’ll not have it—not tonight, and not when we’re trying to get your health back to where it should be.”
“His health?” Paul said. “What about his health?”
“Why don’t we talk about this later?” Phoebe said.
Lark turned to Phoebe and said, “Mommy, what’s wrong with Papa?”
Harvey sighed.
My mother stood up, staring at us like she was about to deliver a sermon. “As some of you know, your stepfather has had problems with his blood pressure in the past few months. He’s been stressed. Too stressed. He’s also having memory problems.” She glanced at Harvey. “I know I said I wasn’t going to discuss it with the kids yet, but if you must know, your health is the reason I’ve asked all of them to come to dinner.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake … you should have said so.” Harvey glanced around the table. “I’m sorry, kids. I’m fine. There’s no reason to be alarmed.”
“Lying to them won’t change anything,” my mother retorted.
“It’s a temporary setback, Darlene. I’ll be all right.”
“You won’t be anything of the kind until you retire.” Hoping we’d back her up, she said, “Kids, I need your support on this. Help me convince Harvey it’s high time he retires and takes it easy, for once.”
“We all want what’s best for Harvey, but you’ve blindsided him, and it isn’t right,” I said. “Harvey can and should make his own decisions.”
“Of course you’d say that. You’re in cahoots.”
“Cahoots doesn’t mean what you think it does, Mom,” I said. “We’re not conspiring to work together in secret for an illegal purpose.”
“Don’t change the subject, Georgiana,” my mother said. “I’m sure the idea of you working for anyone other than your stepfather terrifies you. Go on, admit it.”
“This isn’t about me,” I said.
“You’re right,” she said. “It isn’t.”
Simone kicked Paul under the table, and he said, “Harvey, what did the doctor say the last time you saw him?”
Harvey took a few deep breaths and stood. “It’s been wonderful seeing you all tonight. Thank you for coming to dinner. To be honest, I can’t have this conversation. Not right now.”
Tears pooled in my mother’s eyes. She grabbed Harvey’s hand and said, “Harvey Kennison, you sit back down. We’re not finished yet.”
Harvey opened his mouth to respond and then grabbed his chest. He grunted in pain, reaching for the table’s edge before his body gave way, and he collapsed on the ground, my mother kneeling over him, screaming.
Chapter 31
I woke the next morning having had a mere two hours of sleep. Most of my night had been spent in the hospital, talking to the doctors and nurses on duty about Harvey’s sudden heart attack. My mother had remained by his side, refusing to leave the hospital until they could leave together. She blamed herself for what happened, a fact which had her sobbing for most of the night.
My mother meant well. She always meant well. She just didn’t always know the right way to go about things. In the tact department, she was lacking. But who was I to judge? Weren’t we all?
I called the hospital to check in, and my mother let me know Harvey was doing better, a lot better. It put me at ease as I headed to work. News of Harvey’s health scare had already spread through the police department. Speculation over when he was coming back and what would happen in the meantime was the main topic on everyone’s minds.
I entered the police station and was met with several disgruntled looks and stares. I approached Lilia Hunter’s desk and said, “I feel like I’m missing something. I’m just not sure I want to know what it is.”
“Trust me, you don’t,” she said.
I glanced over her shoulder and noticed movement in the office at the end of the hall. “Who’s in Harvey’s office? No one should be in there without his permission.”
“Oh, yeah. Him. Officer Higgins has given him the nickname ‘Ivan the Terrible.’”
“What’s his actual name? And what’s he doing here?”
“Ivan Blackwell. He’s here to fill in as interim chief of police until Harvey gets back. He was sworn in this morning.”
Ivan Blackwell.
The name sounded familiar, like I’d read it or heard it somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it.
“I take it he’s not the easiest person to get along with so far?” I asked.
“There’s nothing easy about this guy. When’s Harvey going to be back? Please tell me it’s going to be soon.”
“I’m not sure. I’ll stop in to visit with him later today. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good. Tell him we miss him, and we can’t wait until he’s back.”
I left Hunter and made a beeline for my office, switching directions when my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to get a look at Blackwell, and gauge him for myself. I stepped into Harvey’s office and found him standing in front of Harvey’s bookcase, fiddling around with a Raiders football signed by Don Heinrich in 1991. Blackwell was taller than I imagined, early fifties, with black wavy hair and perfect teeth. He was dressed in a pressed gray suit and polished black shoes. He had an air of money, and judging by the Rolex watch on his wrist, he had plenty of it.
“Harvey doesn’t like anyone touching his football,” I said.
Blackwell eyed me for a moment, tossed the football from one of his hands to the other, and said, “And you are?”
“Detective Georgiana Germaine.”
I grabbed the ball out of his hand and set it back on the shelf where it belonged.
“Ahh, Detective Germaine. I was just in your office. I’ve been briefed on Olivia Spencer’s investigation. Where are your notes regarding the case?”
“My notes?”
“Yes, I’d like to look them over. Where are they?”
I tapped the side of my head with a finger. “They’re all in here.”
“If you mean to say they’re stored in your mind instead of on paper, that’s not good enough.”
“It’s good enough for me. When I solve the case, I’ll be sure to include all the relevant case details in my report.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. You’ll head to your office right now and write them all out for me. I want them on this desk by, oh, let’s say, three o’clock this afternoon. Hear me?”
Oh, I heard.
Loud and far too clear.
I just refused to accommodate his request.
“I have things to do today, people I need to speak to about the investigation,” I said. “I have no time to jot the last five days down on paper.”
“I’ve just given you an order, one I expect you to follow.”
“You are the interim police chief, not the permanent chief of police. If Harvey wants me to submit a bunch of notes, I will. Until then, it’s not going to happen.”
He took a seat at Harvey’s desk and began shuffling through file folders. “Are you always this difficult?”
“Are you? As far as I’m concerned, I still answer to Harvey.”
“Then you’d be wrong.”
“You’ll be in and out of here in a hot minute, just as soon as Harvey returns. I’m not wasting my time filling out paperwork when I have a case to solve.”
I had to admit, I was enjoying the back-and-forth scuffle we were having a lot more than I should have. It was clear he didn’t feel the same way.
I turned and headed for the door.
“I want to know your whereabouts—where you’re going, who you’re talking to. From now on, you’ll need to check in, before and after each stop.”
I ignored the request and kept on walking, smilin
g, and thinking, Yeah, good luck with that.
Chapter 32
Abigail entered the café, acknowledged me with a head nod, walked over to my table, and sat down. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and bit down on her lip. “What do you need to talk to me about?”
“I had a chat with Olivia’s brother yesterday.”
At the mention of David’s name, her eyes lit up. “I wondered if he was home yet. How is he? I’ve been meaning to call him.”
“Why haven’t you called him, then?”
“He’s going through a lot right now … I don’t want to bother him.”
It was obvious Abigail and David’s feelings for each other were mutual. I’d never considered myself a matchmaker, but I figured I’d take a small stab at it while I had the chance. Why not? “You should stop by his house and say hello. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
She nodded and smiled. “You’re right. I will. Maybe I shouldn’t before Olivia’s funeral though.”
“Abigail, you’re overthinking it. Go see him. A familiar face is just what he needs right now.”
“All right. Thanks, I will.”
Matchmaking aside, it was time to get down to the reason for our visit.
“A while back, you told David you thought Olivia’s teacher, Scott Bartlett, had hit on her,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me when we spoke a few days ago?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It all matters. Every detail, no matter how small and insignificant it might seem. Understand?”
She frowned and looked away. “Sorry.”
“I guess I’m trying to figure out why you thought Olivia was being hit on in the first place. Olivia told David it never happened.”
“She never said she was ‘hit on,’ she said someone was pressuring her. I suggested it was Mr. Bartlett. She said Bartlett creeped her out sometimes, so I thought it was him. But after I talked to David, she changed her story.”
“Changed it how?”
“She said it was all a big misunderstanding.”
I didn’t believe there had been a misunderstanding at all, and I wondered the reason for the change in Olivia’s story. There must have been one.
A waitress came to the table. I ordered a mocha. Abigail ordered a coffee. The waitress returned with our beverages a few minutes later along with the bill, which I paid.
“Did you think someone was pressuring Olivia to drop it, or do you think she was making it all up?”
Abigail tapped a red fingernail on the table, thinking. “I’m not sure. When it came to men, she could be a bit presumptuous.”
“Meaning?”
“One night a bunch of us were at the old drive-in movie theater in Paso Robles. Shawn and Olivia were together then, and they were in the back of his truck. It was obvious they were fooling around. At first, she was laughing, having a good time. Next thing I know, she’d jumped over the side of the truck, and ran toward the girl’s bathroom, crying.”
“What happened?”
“When I caught up to her, she said Shawn was pressuring her to have sex in public, except it wasn’t true. He wasn’t.”
“How do you know he wasn’t?”
“I, ahh … I caught glimpses of them from time to time during the movie. I wasn’t being nosy. I swear. She kept laughing, which was obnoxious and annoying. By the look on Shawn’s face, it annoyed him too. He’d been waiting months for the movie to come out, and he kept telling her to quiet down and watch the movie. I think she was crying because she wanted to fool around, and he’d rejected her.”
“Why do you think she lied to you?”
“I don’t know. She was embarrassed to tell me the truth, I guess.”
“Would you say Olivia needed a lot of attention and didn’t handle it well when she didn’t get it?” I asked.
“Yes and no. She used to be the most confident person I’d ever met. Then, in our junior year of high school, she started doubting herself, being overly sensitive, and a little jumpy.”
“Define jumpy.”
“Looking over her shoulder like she thought someone was there, even when we were alone. It was weird. I tried talking to her about it a couple of times, and she just clammed up.”
In her junior year, Olivia would have been around sixteen years old. A pattern was developing, which seemed to center around that time in her life.
“Why did you guess that it was Mr. Bartlett who was pressuring her?” I asked.
“Because he’s flirted with other students before.”
“Other students, meaning you?”
She took a sip of her coffee and sat back, staring out the window. “He never … nothing physical happened between us, okay? He just complimented me a lot. My hair, the shirt I was wearing, that kind of thing. It wasn’t what he said. It was how he said it and how close he got to me—too close. He’d whisper compliments into my ear so no one else could hear them. It freaked me out.”
“Did you ever tell anyone about it?”
She stared down at her hands, giving me my answer.
I took a sip of my mocha and said, “When Olivia said someone was pressuring her, you thought it was Mr. Bartlett because in some passive/aggressive way, he was pressuring you with his unwanted compliments and inappropriate behavior.”
“I ignored everything he said to me, acted like I didn’t hear it. And then I thought, if he was doing it to me, he must have been doing the same thing to other girls. I may have been able to do something to stop it, and I did nothing. What kind of person am I for keeping quiet? And what kind of friend to Olivia? A horrible one.”
She wiped her damp eyes, and I reached over, giving her arm a squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re talking about it now. And even though you may not feel like it, you’re brave for telling me the truth. What Bartlett’s done … it stops today.”
Chapter 33
Leslie Bartlett was sitting at her desk, marking up a paper with a red pen when I entered her classroom. She looked up at me, her face a mixture of shock and concern to see I had returned for another round of questioning.
“Detective Germaine, you’re back,” she said.
“I am.”
“What can I do for you this time?”
“This time, you can tell me the truth about your husband and his inappropriate behavior toward his female students.”
She bolted out of her chair, speed-walked over to the classroom door, and closed it. “What are you talking about? Scott has never been accused of inappropriate conduct with any of the girls at this school.”
Over the last two hours I’d done some digging into Scott’s past.
It was, let’s say … enlightening.
“Scott’s never been accused of any misconduct at this school yet, you’re right. What about Abernathy High School in Florida?”
She shrugged. “Never heard of it.”
“Are you sure? Your husband taught mathematics there. He was fired for kissing an eighteen-year-old student.”
Leslie returned to her desk and slumped down in the chair, folding her hands into her lap so I wouldn’t see them trembling. “I swear to you, I know nothing about what happened in Florida. I didn’t even know he taught in Florida. It must have been before we met.”
“I assume he lied on his resume when he applied for a teaching position at this school. I’ve spoken to the principal at Abernathy High. He said he has never been contacted by anyone about Scott’s time there. If he had, he would not have given him a good recommendation.”
“I … don’t know what to say. I’m in shock.”
Something told me she was telling the truth.
“If what you’re saying is true, and you’re not aware of his past, I wonder what else your husband has been keeping from you. How long have you known each other?”
“Six years. We’ve been married for two.”
“Where is he, right now?”
She glanced at the time. “On his lunch break. I’d guess he’s in the
teacher’s lounge.”
I walked out of the classroom and headed toward the lounge. Leslie followed close behind. Inside the lounge, six teachers were huddled around a circular table, snacking on cheese and crackers while playing cards.
“Which one of you is Scott?” I asked.
Scott lifted a finger into the air. “I am. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is not okay. For starters, you have no business teaching at this school.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were fired from Abernathy High School for kissing a female student.” I allowed the gasps in the room to die down before adding, “It is true, isn’t it?”
“It’s … yes, but you don’t understand. I was young, twenty-two at the time, and she was eighteen. We were both adults.”
“Were you or were you not her teacher?”
“I didn’t come on to her. She came on to me. Next thing I know, I’m getting fired because her rich father threw an enormous fit, and the school was forced to do something about it.”
“Did you discuss what happened at the previous school you worked for when you were interviewed for this job?”
To my surprise, he nodded. “Ask Principal Warner. I told him what happened, just like I’m telling you now, and he believed me. He empathized with me and even said he had something similar happen to him at the beginning of his career.”
Unbelievable.
From the sound of things, we were dealing with a classic case of bros before hoes.
Leslie crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head. “Why did you tell Principal Warner about your past and not me? I’m your wife. We’re supposed to talk about everything, Scott.”
Scott seemed unsure how to respond to his wife’s question. Instead, he glanced around the room and said, “Guys, we’re going to need a minute if you don’t mind.”
The group—who had continued to snack while hanging on to every word like the conversation was the highlight of their school career—was hesitant to make a move. One by one, they rose, filing out of the lounge until Scott, Leslie, and I were the only ones left. Once they’d gone, I pressed Scott for more information.
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