Death of a PTA Goddess (21 page)
Chapter 20
Épée Log
Nathan scored a tenth touch, winning his sparring bout. He shook his opponent’s hand, who, as I learned when the red hair came spilling out from underneath her mask, was Kelly Birch. Nathan yanked off his mask, reached back, and unplugged the wire that enabled his épée to be connected to a scoring device, and came toward me. “Hey, Mom, is it all right if I have dinner at Kelly’s house tonight?”
“It’s okay with me, but first we’ll have to make sure it’s okay with Kelly’s . . . with Amber.”
Kelly overheard and trotted up to us. “I already asked her if Nathan could come over after fencing, and she said it was fine.” She leaned toward Nathan and said into his ear, “She’s making lasagna tonight, and I gotta warn you, she’s not exactly the world’s best cook.”
“That’s okay. Neither’s my mom.”
Putting my hands on my hips, I feigned resentment at his remark. “Actually, Nathan, I
am
, in fact, the World’s Best Cook. I’ve got an apron someplace in the pantry that says so.”
Both kids chuckled.
“Hurry up and get ready, guys. Karen is waiting for us in the car.”
“Why?” Nathan asked.
“She and I are going shopping after I drop you both off.”
I returned to the car to wait with Karen, who immediately said, “Are they coming? We’re supposed to meet Rachie and Lauren at the mall in twenty minutes!”
“Lauren and Rachel will wait for us even if we’re a few minutes late.”
Karen fidgeted with her nails and said nothing. She needed a clutch purse to match her dress for tomorrow night’s festivities. A friend of Adam’s had asked Rachel to the prom, and so the two couples were double-dating. Through some extrapolation of teenage logic, that meant that they absolutely
had
to shop for purses together.
A few minutes later, Kelly and Nathan kept up a steady patter of conversation in the backseat as I drove to Kelly’s home.
Ignoring Karen’s plaintive cries about the time—if she’d had things her way, we’d have pushed her brother and Kelly out the car doors without even coming to a full stop—I accompanied them inside to double-check with Amber. Not only was Nathan invited for dinner, but Amber made my day by saying that, if this recipe proved to be any good, she and Randy would like to have us all over for dinner soon.
I thanked her and returned to the car, keeping my eyes, as always, averted from the house directly across the street. The day would surely come when I would be able to look at that house without getting a lump in my throat, but with just six weeks having passed since the murder, that day had not yet arrived.
Last week, Susan had found the video of Patty spiking her drink and had shown it to me. Everything had taken place precisely as Susan had described, with Patty spiking Susan’s orange juice in what was apparently a desperate attempt to coax information out of Susan that Patty hoped could help her to win back her ex-husband. Nevertheless, Susan had surprised me by saying that her biggest regret was that she hadn’t forgiven Patty sooner— that she’d never told Patty how much her friendship over the years had meant to her.
I, too, missed Patty terribly, despite having learned that she’d been just as far from perfect as everyone else. Maybe we love our friends in part
because
of their flaws and their willingness to reveal them to us.
With my vision still down-turned, I opened my car door, only to find Karen in the driver’s seat.
“Can I drive?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I got into the passenger side. The moment I’d shut my door, Karen put the car in reverse, gunned the engine, and we shot down the driveway. Instead of negotiating the slight curve, she drove us onto the landscaping rocks.
“Karen, turn the wheel!” I cried, grabbing the dashboard for support but looking over my shoulder. She turned, but in exactly the wrong direction. “Left! Not right!” We were now practically on their side lawn. “Stop! You’re going to hit the mailbox!”
Karen hit the brakes. “Well, it’s not my fault!” she cried. “It makes me nervous when you yell at me!”
She’d stopped the car half on the driveway, the other half on the landscaping rocks. She unfastened her seat belt and opened her door.
“Do you want me to drive?”
“Yes. But only when I have to go backward. I can go forward just fine.”
I got out, too, to check for any tire tracks or other damage to Amber and Randy’s property. Everything appeared to be fine, but I intended to tell Amber about this after dinner when I picked up Nathan.
As I returned to the driver’s side, I caught a full view of Patty’s house. The structure and its property were as well maintained and welcoming as ever, despite the for-sale sign in the yard.
Realizing how lucky we were to have so little to yell at each other about, I gave Karen a quick hug, then got into the driver’s seat, put the car in reverse, and backed the car out of the driveway for her.
I put the car in park so that we could switch seats again and said, “Well, my darling daughter, one thing I know for certain: In driving, as in life, learning how and when to go forward is at least nine-tenths of the battle.”
By Leslie O’Kane
DEATH AND FAXES
JUST THE FAX, MA’AM
THE COLD HARD FAX*
THE FAX OF LIFE*
WHEN THE FAX LADY SINGS*
DEATH OF A PTA GODDESS*
PLAY DEAD*
RUFF WAY TO GO*
GIVE THE DOG A BONE*
*Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1–800–733–3000.
A Fawcett Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2002 by Leslie O’Kane
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Fawcett is a registered trademark and the Fawcett colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-307-41498-4
v3.0
