April Fool Dead (16 page)

A student! Annie was jarred. Mrs. Riley insisted Kay wished to avoid sitting at the usual table with the other teachers. Mrs. Thompson suspected Kay was disturbed by some situation involving a student. Which was correct? Possibly neither. After all, Chief Garrett was at the moment trying to link one of the people impugned in the flyers to Kay's murder. Maybe that still made sense.

“I don't suppose”—Mrs. Thompson's voice was contemplative—“that we'll ever know. Kay was a very discreet woman.”

Discreet and dead.

Annie was ready to give up, consign the search for
Kay's murderer to the police, whose responsibility it was. Responsibility. Laurel. If Pete Garrett was wrong, if Henny was right, Laurel remained in danger. Dammit, why had Laurel been out in the Sound in the middle of the night anyway?

“Discreet.” Annie studied the trim, competent-looking teacher, not a woman who missed much, not a woman who exaggerated or misstated. “I would think you are very discreet, too.”

There was a flash of surprise in Mrs. Thompson's dark eyes. “I suppose that's true. But in this instance, if I had any idea what Kay meant, if indeed she meant anything at all, I would certainly tell you and the authorities as well.”

“Mrs. Thompson, there has been a suggestion that Kay may have written those flyers that have been scattered around the island, the ones accusing some people on the island of crimes.”

“Those scurrilous things?” The teacher stared at Annie in dismay. “That's absurd. Impossible. No, I'm quite certain Kay had nothing to do with them.”

Annie said stubbornly, “Everyone has emphasized how morally upright she was.”

“Morally upright, yes. But Kay was not a vigilante.” Mrs. Thompson was adamant, her voice firm and determined. “I saw those flyers. If Kay had information about any of those incidents, she would have approached the authorities. I've no doubt of that. But to fling accusations about anonymously, to tarnish people's reputations publicly, no. Never. That would not be honorable and Kay was most emphatically an honorable woman.”

“So you believe Kay would definitely have taken
action if she were aware of…” Annie's voice trailed away. Aware of what? Annie turned her hands palms up. “What could Kay have known—especially about a student—that might end in murder?”

Mrs. Thompson rested her fingertips lightly on one smooth cheek. “It seems absurd when put like that. But the fact is, Kay was shot to death last night. If she had known perhaps that a student possessed a gun, brought it to school…No, she would have taken immediate steps. It can't be anything like that. What else could be involved? Drugs? Sexual abuse or misbehavior of some kind? Theft? Intimidation? Oh, we can spin ideas forever. The difficulty is that I don't see how Kay could gain information detrimental to a student unless the student in question informed her or perhaps”—her eyes narrowed—“perhaps another student came to Kay, told her of something dangerous, something illegal…. But we come up against the fact that Kay did not go to the authorities. I assume you asked Dr. Allensworth if he was aware of any problem?”

Annie nodded. “He was very emphatic that he knew of nothing at school that could be connected to her death.”

Mrs. Thompson's eyes narrowed. “Kay always followed procedure. Dr. Allensworth would be the first person to be informed if there were a matter that posed danger to anyone.” The teacher lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. “I don't know what to tell you. She may have been concerned about a particular student that day. If so, I've no idea who that student may be. Kay never spoke of students unless she could speak well.” A sudden smile. “It was a dear trait. She was”—
and her bright eyes glistened with tears—“a dear and kind woman.”

 

Annie looked at the index card in her hand. Mrs. Thompson's printing was as precise as her speech, the small letters perfectly formed:

Annie glanced across the hall at room 202. First come…

 

Henny Brawley slipped the soft gray plastic dust shroud from the computer. A smile tugged at her lips even as she blinked away tears. Kay was the only person she'd ever known who kept her computer covered. All right, all right. No time to grieve now. The police were finally gone and she had permission to clean the foyer where Kay had died in a pool of blood. That would be hideous, but someone must do it. Tomorrow, she'd bring over a grass mat from her own living room to hide the stains that she would not be able to remove. There was much to do before the arrival of the family. Of course, the guild would bring food. Pamela Potts had already called twice. The house, beyond the crime scene, was immaculate. Kay had kept a clean house. But it would take only a minute to check…

Henny perched on the edge of the straight chair, booted up, called up the list of files. Lesson plans, re
search, letters, saved travel pieces—but nothing, not a single scrap of information to link this computer to those awful flyers. Of course, Pete Garrett wouldn't be impressed. He'd simply cite Henny's own discovery of unauthorized entry into the library and use of a computer. But Henny felt better anyway. Dammit, Kay hadn't written those flyers. Henny shut down the program, took a deep breath. She'd put off this moment as long as possible. She walked into the foyer, glanced at her supplies, a bucket with sudsy ammonia, steel wool, rubber gloves…

 

Amy Mendoza beamed at the class, dark eyes glowing, white teeth bright. “Pop quiz.”

The class groaned.

“Now, now.” Her voice was good-humored. “Answer the questions at the end of Chapter Thirteen. Peter”—she nodded toward a blond boy in the first seat—“please take up the papers in fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

The students rustled and squirmed behind long, scarred wooden tables. The classroom smelled of a combination of disinfectant and must. At least, Annie hoped it was must.

Amy Mendoza beckoned to Annie. “We'll visit over here by the door. I can't leave students unsupervised in a lab.” Her royal-blue silk skirt swirling, she swept gracefully past Annie to a corner of the room just past the entrance. A matching silk tank top emphasized her willowy figure. She turned so that her back was to the students. She looked somberly at Annie, her face abruptly bleak and sad. She spoke in a tone too low for
anyone other than Annie to hear. “This is awful. The kids are upset. We're all upset. I can't believe anything like this could happen to someone I know.” Long slender fingers touched her throat. “Do you know what's going to happen at the assembly?” Before Annie could answer, she chattered on. “Oh no, of course you don't. You're here for the family. That's what someone told me. Well, I'll be glad to do anything I can to help.”

“Thank you. We especially hoped you'd be able to come to the house after the service…”

Amy Mendoza was startled. She immediately smoothed out her face, managed a smile. “Oh yes, of course.”

“…since we wanted to honor her friends whom she saw every day. You always lunched together. Kay enjoyed that very much.”

“Oh. Certainly. Lunch. Yes.” Amy nodded energetically, though her eyes were puzzled. “I mean, we all had the same lunch hour.”

Annie ignored the hint that lunchtime companions were a result of the fortuity of scheduling, not choice. “Since you saw her every day, I suppose you noticed that she was upset this past week?”

Amy folded her long thin arms. “Upset? Honestly, I didn't notice. She never had much to say.” A quick smile. “Maureen and George and I are the ones who talk. Lois always has a book. Kay would make an occasional comment. Jack shrugs and looks sleepy. Except when Nita says something.” Her voice was dry. “But this past week?” Her dark brows drew down. “Kay was quiet. What else was new?”

Annie ignored the curious stare of the skinny boy in
the nearest seat. “Was Kay worried about Jud Hamilton coming up to school?”

Amy shivered. “I don't know. But I'm scared. I used to spend a lot of time with Colleen. Jud's mean and they say he's out to get the guy who sent him to jail. We all hope Dr. Allensworth gets some added security for a while.”

“Everybody agreed?” So the topic had been explored at the lunch table. Here was more proof that Kay had the information to write the accusatory flyers, but proof as well that everyone at the table knew about Jud Hamilton.

“Oh yes. Nobody wants to tangle with Jud.” Her eyes were wide.

Everyone at the table…“So you weren't aware of anything that upset Kay this past week?”

“I don't know if something was wrong.” Amy's tone was uncertain. “She was awfully quiet. Even quieter than usual. But I don't know why.”

 

Max paced in his office, head down, face intent.

Barb sat on a straight chair, hand poised above a legal pad.

“Here's what we need to find out.” Max flipped out his fingers one by one, “Do the Littlefields own a motorboat? Where were the members of the Littlefield family last night at midnight?” He glanced at his notes. Ah yes, Least Tern Lane. “Ditto Paul Marlow, Teresa Caldwell, Frank Saulter and Emma Clyde. If no alibi, who had access to a motorboat? Ditto everyone connected with the
Leisure Moment
. Okay, we'll divvy it up….”

 

Square face determined, Emma Clyde stared at the computer screen. All right. She needed to introduce two more characters. Now, why would Marigold need to talk to the druggist? Have to be a good reason. A prescription refill? No, no, that was contrived. All right, how about Marigold sees the pill bottle on the victim's nightstand, writes down the pharmacy name and phone number? Hmm, that might work. Okay, Marigold goes to the pharmacy. It's the old-fashioned kind, has a soda fountain. She decides to get a chocolate soda, definitely with a maraschino cherry, and she asks the kid behind the fountain if he knows Mr. Woolery, the guy who was knifed in his bedroom the night before. Turns out the kid delivers prescriptions. Oh hey, this is good. Emma hitched her chair closer to the keyboard. The kid—make him a skinny blond with a nose ring and a snake tattoo on his forearm—tells Marigold…

Emma stared at the screen where she'd typed: Smoke screen.

Dammit, smoke screen had nothing to do with Marigold Rembrandt and
The Case of the Curious Catbird.
Smoke screen, an effort to hide the true facts. Annie might be right. What if someone else did the flyers, left them at Kay's house? What if the objective of the flyers was to provide a convenient list of suspects in Kay's murder? Damn clever, if so. Had anyone thought to check and see whether Kay kept a diary?

Emma blinked irritably. Dammit, she didn't have time to worry about flyers and smoke screens. She had to get Chapter 17 finished. Pronto. But what if…

She whirled her chair around, reached for the phone.

 

Nita Harris fluffed her golden curls with a casual swipe. She exuded energy and restlessness, one foot tapping as she listened to Annie. “Oh, look, I don't do funerals. Sorry. Nice woman and all that, but I just knew her because we both had first-period lunch. Thanks, I'll give it a bye.” A decided nod. “I'll donate to whatever, flowers or a charity. Anyway, thanks for thinking of me.” She backed toward her classroom door.

Annie thought nothing short of a lasso was going to prevent Nita Harris's retreat from the hall. But maybe…“Just one thing more. Who was Mrs. Nevis mad at?”

Nita gripped the door handle. “Oh hey, who not? People who write nasty song lyrics, everybody in Hollywood, the NRA, the Pill.” She gave a whuff of exasperation. “Honestly, did she think the world was better when Hester Prynne wore a scarlet letter? But”—a bemused smile—“she was nice at heart. Took the time to warn me against ‘married men who should know better.' I wasn't sure whether she meant Jack or George, but I told her it was no sweat. My mama told me a married man was like a coon dog on a leash, always lunging, never a threat. But”—her dry tone warmed—“she really meant well. She told me I was a Nice Girl. Made my day.” And with a bright smile she popped into her classroom.

 

The last pail of faintly pink water gurgled down the drain. Henny splashed a half cup of ammonia into the sink. She turned on the faucet, let the cold water pound against the porcelain. The water ran and ran. Finally,
white-faced and trembling, she turned off the water. It was then that she heard a deep voice call.

She swung about, a hand at her heart.

Billy Cameron stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Hey, Henny, it's just me. I didn't mean to scare you. I rang the bell.” He shoved a hand through his thick sandy hair.

Henny peeled off the rubber gloves, looked at them with distaste. She took a step, tossed them into the garbage pail. “I had the water running. That's okay, Billy.”

His big face creased in concern. “You okay? Listen, I can get Mavis to come over.” He looked around. “Where are the ladies from the church?”

Henny smiled at him. “I told them to come tomorrow. They'll bring the food over starting early. Today”—she took a deep breath—“today I had to see to cleaning up.” She nodded toward the front of the house.

He understood. “I could have come. I could have helped.”

“All done, Billy. But thank you.” She smoothed back a lock of hair. “What you are doing is more important.” Her gaze sharpened. “Have you found out anything? Is there any progress on finding the murderer?”

“Not much. That's why I came. See, the chief's not having any luck. He thought it was going to be easy. I mean”—Billy gestured toward the front of the house—“all those flyers. He said no wonder she got killed. She made somebody mad big-time.” His blue eyes were suddenly shrewd. “Or scared the hell out of them. I mean, how would you feel if you ran somebody down or pushed somebody off a boat and suddenly there's a
big hint plastered all over town? But he's been checking everybody out and it looks like most of those folks are in the clear. Most of them weren't even on the island last night. Except maybe one, and the chief's keeping mum about that. But Mrs. Clyde called the chief and all of a sudden she's spouting the stuff you said, that maybe Mrs. Nevis didn't write those flyers, maybe somebody else did. She told the chief to check and see if Mrs. Nevis kept a journal or a daybook, that she was just the kind of woman to write down everything she was thinking about. The chief wanted me to ask you to give us a hand, seeing as how you're handling everything for the family.” He rubbed his nose. “Do you know whether Mrs. Nevis had a journal?”