Address to Die For (19 page)

PTA finances would be kept entirely separate from school or district funds and from the foundations that Tess had told me about. So why had Susan Harrier wanted to scour the PTA treasurer's reports? Compared to all the other pools of funds, the PTA budget was small potatoes. Did she suspect Dennis of fiddling with the books? Or did she just have a special project she wanted to suggest the PTA help finance and was hoping to find an untapped budget category? I didn't know, but I thought it was worth finding out more. Someone who might cut a few corners when it came to PTA bookkeeping might not be scrupulously honest in their other dealings, either. And, if Dennis had done something wrong and someone discovered it, they might be blackmailing him into performing other criminal activities. Or it could be that I'd read too much crime fiction.

I wrote
Call Flora
on my pad. I'd call her while I was waiting for David. If she still didn't have the reports from Dennis, I'd offer to go to his house and pick them up myself. Progress. I had one bullet point. I clicked my pen and made the bullet darker and larger.

I took the pad with me when I drove to the high school so I could take notes as ideas came to me. None did. I phoned Flora, but had to leave a message. When I picked up David, he claimed to be starving and begged me to take him to In-N-Out Burger. Since I'd talked myself out of a slow-cooked meal in favor of a quick stop at the deli, David didn't have to twist my arm very hard.

The line at the drive-through window was enormous, so I parked and walked inside. David stayed in the car to contact a school friend about a homework assignment.

I ordered burgers, including extra for Stephen and for Munchkin.

“Maggie?”

I turned and watched Elaine Cumberfield and her cloud of gorgeous white hair approach me. Elaine eats hamburgers? She gave off such an impression of a magical fairy queen that I found myself surprised she ate at all. If she did eat, surely honeysuckle nectar and bee pollen would be her comfort foods.

“I see I'm not the only one on a quest for an easy meal,” Elaine said. “There's just too much going on to plan and cook, isn't there?”

I agreed and she went on. “I'm going to grab my burger, plop down in front of the TV, and watch
Castle
reruns. They always wrap up the worst murders in less than an hour. I want some of that in my life, don't you?”

I nodded.
Castle
was a favorite of mine too. “Do you know if they've made any progress on Miss Harrier's murder?”

Elaine shook her head. “What do you think happened, Maggie? As an outsider, you can look at events more objectively than the rest of us.”

I laughed. “Jason doesn't feel that way. He's asked me to stay out of the investigation, stop thinking about it, and let the police handle it.”

Elaine frowned. “I'm not sure that's the best approach.” She looked at my face, which must have showed the skepticism I felt. “Really. I think you could offer a lot. Look at everyone, including me. After all, I probably know the school better than anyone, and my house is in a great position for me to know when I could sneak in undetected.”

Elaine placed her order and stood to the side of the front counter, waiting with me. “If we're talking about murder, or even suicide, we're not talking about reasoned behavior, are we? Most rational people will find other solutions to their problems. And we never know what will make an ordinary person snap, do we?”

Elaine was starting to make me nervous. Her comforting cloud of hair was beginning to make her look more like a mad scientist and her voice was growing strident. I'd embraced David's suggestion of an easy meal, thinking it would give me more time to play with my ideas about the cases and discuss some of the possibilities with Stephen. But now, with Elaine exerting pressure to think the worst about the only people I knew in Orchard View, I was increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of digging up motives for murder.

I was relieved when they called my name to pick up my order. I said goodbye to Elaine and tried not to run to the car. David demolished one burger on the way home and another when we sat down to unwrap our dinner.

We ate in the kitchen. Stephen joined us and we had a lively discussion about video games and the one that was everyone's current favorite. I asked the boys to toss their laundry down the chute in the upstairs hall and headed to the basement to start a load of wash. Fall in California, at least until it starts raining, is hot and dusty. With all of us still working on moving chores, and David's long, hot, dusty band practices, I was doing laundry whenever I could squeeze it in.

I'd started upstairs with a basket of clean and folded wash when I heard the sound of breaking glass and a
pop, pop, pop, pop-pop
noise I couldn't identify. It didn't sound good, though. I dashed up the basement steps, skipping several in my hurry to get to the boys.

If you have an organizational system that works for you, don't change it.

 

 

 

 

“B
rian! David!” Stephen called to the boys from the living room.

“Are you okay?”

Both boys answered from their bedrooms upstairs.

“Grab Belle. Move into the hallway.” Stephen shouted orders in a voice that left no doubt he was a Marine. It sounded like a good plan to me. “Close the bedroom doors. Sit on the floor in the hall and stay there.”

By the time I reached the living room, glass from the front windows littered the window seats and carpet. Stephen crouched next to the front door, gun drawn, peering through the sidelights into the darkness beyond.

I hadn't realized Stephen carried a gun, and I wondered if it was a recent addition to our protection detail. I decided it didn't matter. As creepy as I thought guns were, I was glad Stephen had one. I trusted him. If he thought it was needed, it probably was.

“See anything?” I whispered.

“Nothing. Stay away from the windows. If you want to join the boys, take the back stairs.”

I retraced my steps though the kitchen, turning off lights and staying away from the windows. Upstairs, the boys sat in the hallway with Belle, as Stephen had asked, but they sat on the top step of the front stairs, trying to see what was going on outside.

I pulled them both roughly by their shirt collars back to the relative safety of the central hallway. They protested such profound indignity, but I ignored them. Their blue-jeaned–covered bottoms scooted easily on the polished floor.

Pop pop pop-pop pop
came the noise from the front yard, followed by crashing and a clunk as something heavy broke through the window above the front stairs. I hoped it hadn't destroyed the wisteria window that had first endeared me to the house, but then I scolded myself for worrying about something replaceable when we were in danger.

“Have either of you called the police?” The boys shook their heads.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed the buttons. Before the line had time to connect, I heard sirens. Stephen or one of the neighbors must have called.

Munchkin barked and we soon heard the voices of officers calling to one another and talking on their squawking radios as they crept through the bushes and patrolled the rest of the property.

After a very long fifteen minutes, Stephen shouted an all-clear.

“Close Belle in your room, David,” I said. “Put on your shoes. We'll need everyone to help with the glass.”

I crept down the stairs in my sneakers, avoiding as many of the shards as possible. I worried about the cats cutting their feet, but expected that wherever they were, they'd be hiding from the commotion.

I checked in with Stephen to make sure we wouldn't damage any evidence if we began sweeping up the glass. He showed me small rocks that must have been thrown by a slingshot in order to have enough power to break the windows. Small green and white plastic spheres littered the front rooms, creating a tripping hazard that was more dangerous than the broken glass underfoot. Stephen told me the tiny balls were pellets from an airsoft gun, which sounded something like the BB gun one of my brothers had when we were growing up.

Stephen showed me a pale-yellow brick and the note that had been rubber-banded around it:
Go Back To Stockton
.

I was angry. First, I was angry because someone thought they could dictate who was welcome in the neighborhood. Second, that they endangered the stained-glass wisteria window, which had survived, no thanks to them. Third, that the coward wasn't brave enough to show himself. In addition, I thought it was excessive to use three different kinds of weapons—BBs, bricks,
and
slingshots—to attack us.

Of course, my overwhelming fear was for the safety of my family, but that terror was so primal it was beyond words, beyond thoughts. It wasn't so much an emotion as a wash that tinted my entire perception of the world.
This has to stop. And I'm going to have to stop it.

Paolo Bianchi pulled up to the front of the house with several sheets of plywood strapped to the Subaru's roof rack. He and the rest of the officers covered the broken windows before the boys and I had finished sweeping up the glass. I was sure we hadn't found it all and that we'd each probably have to pick a sliver or two out of our bare feet at some point during the next week. For now, we'd done the best we could.

I put hot water on for tea and invited the officers to debrief in the kitchen. I sent the boys to bed, intending to stay and listen to what Stephen and the police had to say. But I couldn't keep my eyes open. The adrenaline rush had worn off. Despite my anxiety and concern for my family and our home, the stress of it all had simply caught up with me. I was exhausted and for the moment, we were safe. I could get the nitty-gritty details from Stephen tomorrow. The predawn marching-band alarms would be going off way too early and I needed sleep if I was going to have any energy at all tomorrow to get to the bottom of what was going on in Orchard View.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometime around two o'clock in the morning, both cats had curled under the covers seeking warmth and security.

By morning, I had to dig myself out of the cocoon of blankets the cats and I had created.

The temperature had dropped considerably overnight and there was a hint of the coming winter in the smell and feel of the air. It wouldn't be long before it started raining and we'd need to turn on the heat. I wrote
Get Furnace Checked
on my pad.

I pulled on my uniform for chilly mornings: jeans, T-shirt, hooded fleece, wool socks, and sneakers. I fed the animals and let Belle out the back door after she'd eaten. Stephen, Munchkin, and a patrol officer were conferring near a police car that was parked next to our driveway near the barn.

I made coffee, heated milk for hot chocolate, and filled our insulated travel mugs. I toasted English muffins, spread them with almond butter, and added thin slices of apple to change things up a bit. We were getting tired of peanut butter on toast.

I pulled premade lunch bags out of the refrigerator. With a quick glance to make sure Brian and David's backpacks and instruments were waiting by the back door, I called the boys. Belle danced eagerly at my heels, but I told her no. I had a number of errands to run, and I didn't want to have to leave her in the car. She slunk to her pouf in the corner of the kitchen, settling in with a heavy sigh—the golden-retriever guilt trip.

I headed to the car to wait for the boys.

My plan was to drop them at their respective schools and then stop at Starbucks to top up my caffeine level and make some phone calls.

School drop-off went without a hitch, and I was quickly on my way. I phoned Tess to see if she wanted to join me for coffee, but my call went to voice mail.

I drove through the parking lot at the local shopping center, watching for cars that might come flying off the expressway and peel into a parking space in front of Starbucks as if there were no one else on the planet. Drivers in Orchard View, I'd learned, are very serious about their coffee.

Once inside the coffee shop, I ordered, grabbed my drink, and found a seat on the outside patio. I rummaged in my backpack for my notepad and my phone. Three sips of my drink and I was ready to dial. Flora first.

“Meadows for Health.”

“Flora? It's Maggie McDonald. I met you at Elaine Cumberfield's house.”

“Of course. Have you learned anything more about Susan Harrier's death?”

“Not yet. That's why I'm calling. Have you been able to get the treasurer reports from Dennis DeSoto? You'd mentioned at the meeting that he was stalling on those?”

“Not really stalling. He's busy.”

I didn't know Flora well enough to know if she earnestly believed that Dennis was busy or whether she was being sarcastic. Either way, I pressed on.

“Would it help if I dropped by his house to pick them up? He lives up the road from me.”

“That would be great. You could drop them at school when you get them. I'm sure there's no rush, though. With Miss Harrier gone, I don't know when our next PTA meeting will be.”

Flora changed the subject and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn't want to say this in front of everyone at Elaine's, but I'm afraid Tess might have had a motive for getting rid of Miss Harrier.”

Tess?
Tess had said she could have killed the woman. At the time, I'd assumed she was exaggerating for effect, since I'd said much the same thing myself. Could I have been wrong? Could Tess have been serious?

“Miss Harrier found out that Tess and her husband were separated, and that Teddy, their son, was spending a lot of time at his dad's apartment in Mountain View, outside our school district,” Flora said.

“Surely that's none of Harrier's business. It's a good thing, isn't it? A boy spending time with his dad?” I was filling space. I hadn't given much thought to Tess's husband or lack thereof, but learning they were separated reminded me how little I knew about anyone. I seemed to be having that thought over and over. I should have it tattooed on my arm:
Things aren't always what they seem and you can't trust anyone
. I shuddered. What a dreadful way to live.

“Maybe,” agreed Flora. “But the problem is the school district's residency requirements. Miss Harrier was hoping to cut costs by kicking out any child who didn't live in the district most of the time. She'd talked to Tess about whether Teddy was spending more time with his dad, and whether he should be going to school in Mountain View instead of Orchard View. Tess was furious and defensive, as if Miss Harrier had questioned her fitness as a mother, her supervision of her son, and her choice of career.”

“If Harrier was on a campaign to reduce costs, she must have been asking other parents similar questions?”

“Yes, but as far as I know, none of them were as angry as Tess. She has a frightful temper.”

I told Flora I would pass the information along to Stephen, but I needed to change the subject. I didn't think Tess was the killer. I was fishing for information, but the problem was I didn't know what I was trying to catch or what to use for bait. I tried a different topic.

“Flora, you know that iPad that Harrier took everywhere with her, slapping it to get people's attention, taking notes, and checking databases?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any idea where it is?”

“Surely the police have it. Maggie, I'm not Miss Harrier's secretary, I'm the secretary for the PTA and a reluctant one at that. Tess twisted my arm and told me it was my duty to volunteer and I'm regretting saying
yes
. I'm a single mom looking after the health of my family and my business. I don't have time to track things down for you or for the police. I'm sorry Susan Harrier's dead, but I really don't know what that has to do with me. If you're able to get the PTA treasurer reports from Dennis, drop them off in the office with April. It was lovely meeting you on Monday.” Flora's voice grew more shrill and her agitation increased with every sentence she uttered.

I started to ask another question before realizing she'd hung up on me. I shrugged. Flora
was
trying to run a business and could have any one of a number of reasons for hanging up so abruptly.

I hadn't teased much information from her, but I had what I needed most: an excuse to press Dennis for the reports. I wasn't sure why I was focused on them, especially now that the police were on the lookout for the iPad. I just had a nagging feeling, an inkling that there was something hidden in the numbers that would give us a hint about what had happened and why. Flora had said Harrier was pressing Dennis for the reports. If she'd wanted them, and Dennis was withholding them, they must mean something. Besides, I neither liked nor trusted Dennis. Not at all.

Next up, I phoned Adelia to ask about window repairs.

Adelia said she was sure her window guys still had the measurements for the windows they'd previously replaced. They'd bring extra glass and cut the panes for the other windows on-site. She'd let them in and didn't need me to be there.

Walking back to my car, I was surprised to see Flora standing in the doorway of one of the other stores in the rustic strip mail, beckoning me in. I'd completely missed her store when I'd walked past it the first time. A carved wood sign over the door spelled out
Meadows for Health
in gold-embossed letters flanked by beautifully rendered California wildflowers. A similar motif was painted on the store's front window, which was filled with artful but natural arrangements of flowers and plants.