Address to Die For (9 page)

When any plan, including a plan to reorder your life, is going badly, it's important to: Identify the problem. Consult someone. Make a plan. Repeat as necessary. Exercise and fresh air often help and seldom hurt.

 

 

 

 

W
ednesday morning, I pulled up in front of the middle school, planning to drop Brian before meeting Tess for our trip to the park. But three police cars with lights flashing were parked in the red zone. More lights flashed near the front office door.

Something was wrong. I parked the car and walked toward the school buildings with Brian. April, dressed all in red today, stood atop a broad concrete bollard. Waving her arms as if she were directing aircraft toward a gate, she instructed students to walk to their classes and asked parents to depart quickly. No one listened. Groups of chattering parents and students pointed toward the office door.

“We might as well join them,” I told Brian. “At least until we figure out what's going on.”

It didn't take long to get the gist. Someone, maybe the same delinquent who'd blown up the portable toilet, had moved beyond malicious mischief. On the wall next to the front door, three squirrel carcasses were nailed in a triangle with their bushy tails hanging down and their heads lolling. My stomach turned. I'm not a squirrel fan, but the scene was gruesome, violent, and held all the horror of a medieval torture chamber.

“Eww,” said Brian, echoing my thoughts. “I'm going to the band room.” I squeezed his shoulder and watched him go.

A uniformed officer removed the bodies from the wall with gloved hands. A jumpsuit-clad tech with what looked like fingerprinting paraphernalia stood by hoping, I assumed, to pick up prints from the wall.
Good luck with that
. When I'd dropped Brian off on the first day, I'd seen a group of kids trying to see how high they could jump and slap that same wall. The surface would be full of fingerprints left by the innocent.

I sighed and walked to the car. Shoving Belle out of the driver's seat, I turned the key and drove to meet Tess.

Tess had pulled a black pickup truck out of the garage for the trip to the park. The dogs climbed into the back of the cab. I sat in the front and fastened my seat belt while Tess told me the plan for the day.

“First, I'm showing you stuff,” she said. “I brought coffee and we'll talk about school while the dogs play. Until then, focus. Here's your intro to Silicon Valley.” She wore black-and-red business wear this morning, which seemed an odd choice for the dog park, but I didn't ask her about it. I had other things on my mind.

Tess drove down Shoreline Boulevard, pointing out the public pool, the train station, and movie theaters where she said we'd spend lots of weekend evenings delivering the boys and their friends to blockbuster films. And then we hit Google and traffic ground to a halt. Crosswalks and sidewalks were filled with casually dressed Googlers, most of whom looked like high-school kids carrying black backpacks. Some walked, but many rode bicycles painted like preschool toys: red, yellow, blue, and green.

“They ride them between buildings,” Tess said. “Leave one in the rack when you go in, pick up another on the way out. There's no mistaking them, so no one steals them. Or maybe Google has enough money to replace them if someone steals them, I'm not sure.”

Tess turned left at the next corner and slowed to turn left again into a drop-off circle. She slowed and pointed to the lawn between her car and the nearest building.

I felt as though I'd fallen into a game of Candy Land. Giant dessert-shaped statues including a cupcake, gingerbread man, and what looked like a bright green robot filled with jelly beans were plopped on the lawn, scattered randomly as though a giant had been bringing treats to a picnic and spilled his lunch. Tourists stood next to the installations, posing for photographs with sugary treats that towered over their heads.

“The statues represent various phases of the Android operating system,” Tess explained. “The jelly-bean robot made big news a while back when its head popped off during a heat wave.”

“I know how he must have felt,” I said, laughing.

Mozart woofed, reminding us to move on to the dog park. Tess drove back to the main road, where we passed buildings belonging to other high-tech icons and a giant tentlike structure that Tess told me was a concert venue.

We passed a kiosk marking the entrance to a park complex that included a golf course, sailing lake, and walking trails.

“It's built on an old garbage dump,” Tess said. “There's a great place to have lunch out there, but we'll do that another time. We can't go any farther with the dogs than the dog park.”

It seemed too bad to me. It looked like a great place for dogs to play. But the dog park was nice too, with dog-height drinking fountains and fences for safety. Inside the fenced area, we let Belle and Mozart off their leashes, and they took off. I sat on a bench while Tess poured us cups of coffee from her thermos.

Mozart and Belle ran from one end of the park to the other sniffing and exploring—checking pee-mail, Max called it.

“What a great day,” I said. “But what a gruesome way to start out. Did you see those squirrels at school?”

“What squirrels?”

I stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. How was it possible that Tess, who was clued into every little thing that happened in Orchard View, hadn't heard about the squirrels?

“What?” she said. “Teddy walks to school. I wasn't there this morning. What happened?”

“Three squirrels, crucified in a triangle on the wall next to the office.” I shuddered. “Gruesome.”

“Were they nailed up alive? That's sick. Really sick.”

“First the portable toilet, now the squirrels . . .” I said, thinking out loud. “And a bunch of vandalism at our house. Are they connected? Is trashing other people's property normal around here?”

“Of course not,” said Tess, sounding offended. “We get kids taking a baseball bat to mailboxes from time to time, some graffiti, but this stuff is . . . bizarre.”

“And what's the story on the funding crisis? Parents were freaking out yesterday. Harrier downplayed it when she announced it, like it was just a small accounting wrinkle that needed to be ironed out. But when Brian and I met her later, she implied that classes might be cut.”

“I've got friends on the board of the foundation—” Tess began.

“Wait, back up. What
is
the foundation?”

Tess sighed and put down her coffee cup.

“Oh, lord,” she said. “California school funding is as complicated as it gets, particularly as it relates to districts like Orchard View. It takes an advanced degree in accounting and probably another in political science to completely understand it, but I can give you a summary.”

She stood as if she thought better on her feet. “Way back when, our schools were well-funded and among the best in the country. In the 1970s, three separate cases based on school financing went to the California Supreme Court. The court ordered changes to create equity among school districts. Local taxes went to the state and were redistributed on a per-student basis. Theoretically, every student and every school received the same funding, no matter where they lived.”

I nodded. “Got it. Stockton gets some extra funding because of at-risk kids, but I'm with you so far.”

“After that, two things happened. First, districts like ours that had previously enjoyed excess funds were alarmed to see world-class science labs, libraries, and arts programs on the chopping block. Second, additional add-on efforts over the years—a Band-Aid approach to increasing funding for needy districts—left us, and districts like us, among the poorest districts in the state. We don't qualify for any of the aid programs that benefit communities like Stockton.”

“But your test scores are through the roof,” I said. “Max and I checked before we decided to move.”

“Part of that is demographics. In affluent areas, you tend to have well-educated parents who work hard to support their kids' education. In poorer districts, where parents are working two or three jobs to keep food on the table, there's no time left for reading aloud or any of the other things that help kids do well in school.”

Tess looked at her watch, scanned the park for the dogs, and pushed her hair from her forehead. She sighed, sat, and continued explaining. “The rest comes down to things like parcel taxes and the foundation. They're politically controversial, because some people see them as ways to circumvent funding laws. In Orchard View, we have voter-approved parcel taxes—extra property taxes—that go directly to our schools. That helps, but not enough to fully fund science and the arts. Back in the 1980s, parents created the Orchard View Education Foundation to augment school funding.”

“And those are the funds that disappeared?”

“No, to make matters even
more
confusing, there are two separate foundations, and most people refer to them both as ‘foundation funds'. As far as I know, the Orchard View Education Foundation is rock-solid. The second one is a private family foundation that donates funds for what used to be part of the standard curriculum, but are now considered ‘enrichment programs.' Courses like theater and music—I think it also pays for a portion of the science program. It's run by the DeSoto family with funds from apartment projects that go back to the postwar building boom.”

“
Dennis
DeSoto?”

“Same family, different brother. It's a big family. Ten kids, I think. Umberto, the oldest, runs the DeSoto Family Foundation. Apparently, a routine audit uncovered discrepancies that triggered further investigations, and the foundation's board froze the funds. There are a bunch of local, state, and federal agencies taking a look, and it's really hard for civilians like us to know exactly what's happening. But, because the DeSoto Foundation annually donates about two million dollars to the schools, the investigation has left the schools with big budget holes.”

“But everyone says the funds disappeared.”

“That may be true. The rumor mill is often surprisingly accurate. But I don't know if we'll ever know exactly what triggered the freeze on the accounts. The bottom line is that, for now, funding has dried up and that means budget cuts. No one knows how much, because the scandal might make people unwilling to donate to the Orchard View Education Foundation or even the PTA.”

“But why? It sounds like all these different funding mechanisms are completely separate.”

“They are, on paper at least. Absolutely. But a lot of people volunteer at more than one and donate to more than one. And, unlike you, most people—even those who've lived here all their lives—won't think to ask the right questions.”

“What a mess.”

Both dogs lay panting in the shade of the park's lone tree—an ancient California oak with spreading branches. I walked to the drinking fountain and pushed the button to let water into the dog-level bowl. Belle and Mozart came running. I raised my voice so Tess could hear me over the sounds of water splashing and dogs slurping.

“Okay, never mind the DeSoto Foundation for now, but would it make sense to get a group of parents together to brainstorm ways to stop the vandalism? Maybe walk our dogs on the grounds in a revolving schedule to patrol the school at night? Compare notes on what our kids have heard?”

“Brilliant,” said Tess, jumping up and brushing off her skirt. My jeans were covered with dust from the park and my sneakers were speckled with mud from the puddles the dogs were making around the water fountain. Tess was spotless.

“I've got to get back for a showing,” she said, gathering up her thermos and our cups. “Let's talk about this in the car.”

Belle and Mozart were reluctant to leave, but jumped into the car, planting their muddy paws on the front seats before curling up quickly in the tiny backseat of Tess's pickup. She grabbed a pile of ragged towels and wiped mud off of her own cushion before passing the towels to me.

Driving back up Shoreline toward home, Tess and I worked out the details. I borrowed her phone and texted everyone she told me to. I was new and didn't have enough social clout to get parents to adjust their schedules to come to an afternoon meeting. But Tess did.

I thought we'd have the meeting at school, but Tess didn't want to risk alienating Harrier before we had a plan. I texted someone named Elaine Cumberfield as Tess dictated a message asking if we could meet at her house across the street from the school. With Elaine's approval, we texted some other people and asked them to attend a two o'clock meeting to discuss strategies for stopping the vandalism. Tess had me text Stephen Laird in case he wanted to attend.

“What about Jason or someone else from the police? Is there a school liaison officer?” I asked.

“Stephen will take care of that.”

“Stephen the police volunteer?” I raised my eyebrows, curious about Stephen's connection to the police department.

“Stephen is everywhere and he's a bit more than a volunteer,” Tess said. “He was with the military police in the Marines, and helps the police in all sorts of ways, particularly in public-liaison roles like this one. It's a bit unusual, I guess, but we're a small town. The police will be fine with this meeting. Trust me.”

Tess winked and I laughed. I had to trust someone. It might as well be her. I wasn't sure about Jason approving our efforts, however. He'd told me to stay out of the investigation into Javier Hernandez's death and the vandalism at our house. Would he consider this meeting part of his investigation? I certainly thought the crimes were connected, but I didn't know what Jason would think.