Game Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

“It wouldn’t be difficult, except for one thing.”

“What thing?”

“The place is haunted.”

“It’s what?”

“It’s haunted.”

“Who haunts it?”

“Ghosts haunt it. Or at least ghosts are going to be haunting it, when I will be there.”

“Ghosts are not real, Margot.”

“They’re as real as paintings. And if it weren’t for paintings, I wouldn’t have had a career.”

“I suppose there’s a kind of twisted logic there, somewhere.”

“The logic is not twisted. It’s perfectly reasonable, and in line with common sense. Also—there will be other ghosts. The group of people that is going to be there. Several of them will be ghosts.”

“How is that possible?”

“It’s possible because these people were alive to me once, in another life, quite another life entirely—and then they were dead to me, to my existence. And now I’m sure I don’t know which they will be when I see them: dead or alive. So do you want to go?”

“And why do you want me to go?”

“Because of the ghosts. They’re real, and I need protection from them. I’m going to a haunted house, Nina. It’s HAUNTED HAUNTED HAUNTED AND THERE ARE GHOSTS GHOSTS GHOSTS EVERYWHERE AND THEY TERRIFY ME!”

“I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Last night Paul and Macy Cox asked me to come back to the high school and be the new principal.”

“They asked you what?”

“To be the new principal.”

Margot stood up.

“That is absolutely the most ridiculous, fantastic, utterly unbelievable thing I’ve ever heard.”

And, not stubbing out her cigarette, Margot walked out of the garden.

So the plan to discuss, at length, the entire matter with Margot, did not exactly work out.

There was, of course, another option, for Nina had at least one more friend she could confide in.

It thus happened that the following conversation took place along a stretch of beach some half mile distant from her shack, in the early afternoon, with the wintry disc of a washed out sun playing ragtag with the shreds of clouds, and the mournful bray of an oil tanker serving as bass backdrop for the screeching of what seemed an abnormally large number of seagulls.

“I’m not sure what to do about this.”

“So what’s your initial thought?”

“That it’s crazy.”

“Then turn it down.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not that crazy.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because I miss it; I miss school.”

“Why?”

“It’s what I do. Who I am.”

“Do you need the money?”

“Not really. I don’t have much. But I have enough.
 
Retirement pays me enough.”

“Are you miserable in your life, the way it’s going now?”

“Of course not. I like hanging out with Margot, helping at the shop. I go and come as I wish. It’s nice not having to be here or there at a certain time. And all the grading. The hassles with whatever kid is mad or whatever parent has screwed up.”

“You really miss all those things?”

“For a while I tell myself that I don’t; but somehow—somehow, I guess I do.”

“Couldn’t they get somebody else?”

“I’m sure they could. But they asked me. Paul and Macy asked me. And that means a lot. I don’t want to let them down.”

“Are you in good enough health for this? I mean, you’re in your late sixties, you know. Most people your age are retiring.”

“Well, if we want to look at it that way, a lot of people my age are dead. Doesn’t mean I have to be dead. And as for health, I feel better than I used to when I was teaching.”

“That’s because you’re not teaching.”

“Good point.”

“Nina, you’ve been away from the whole thing for almost ten years now. Surely a lot of things have changed.”

“I guess so.”

“There’s testing. From what you can read about in the papers, all the students do these days is take standardized tests. If they don’t do well enough, the teachers get laid off. As principal, you’d be right in the middle of that.”

“I know. But maybe I can make it easier on everybody.”

“How?”

“I’ll figure out a way to cheat.”

“Oh, right, I can see you doing that.”

“If the students like what they’re studying, if it’s genuinely interesting in class—then the test scores will take care of themselves.”

“How many students like what they’re studying?”

“None of them.”

“So that kinds of leaves us where we were, doesn’t it?”

“You’re just being difficult.”

“I’m being a realist. And I’m telling you, Nina:
 
you killed yourself in the educational salt mines for thirty years.
 
You deserve a break now.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“Paul will find somebody else. Somebody younger.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“The school will survive. And you’ll live a lot longer. And a lot happier.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“So you’re going to turn it down, right? You’re going to call Paul Cox this afternoon, after you get back to your shack, and apologize to him, and tell him how gratified you are for the offer, and how you thought about it a long time, but how, after all is said and done, it would be better if you said ‘no.’”

“I know. You’re right.”

Pause pause pause pause––

The waves breaking, the tanker honking, the fish white and jumping in the afternoon tide—

“But then, of course, Nina, there is that thing that you’re always saying. You know the thing I mean.”

“Yes. I know it.”

“How does it go?”

“It goes, ‘If human ignorance is the raw material upon which educators do their work, then no true teacher has any excuse ever—
ever
—to be unemployed.”

“Yeah. That.”

Pause pause pause pause—

“You’re going to take the job aren’t you? You’re going to go back into the schools, and be a principal again.”

“Yes.” “And you always were. You had your mind made up the minute Paul made the offer. We’ve been talking for no reason at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, of course not. We always have a reason to talk. And we always will.”

“Good to hear you say that, Nina. Now—why don’t you go back home, and accept your new job?”

“All right, Frank. And thanks.”

So saying, she turned and went back to her shack.

CHAPTER 3: ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH, DEAR FRIENDS!

Thus it came to be that, slightly more than one month later—she had spent a number of days following Paul around and re-learning the ropes, and a certain amount of time had been needed for contract signing, re-licensure, etc.––she found herself sitting in her shack, preparing to eat dinner, savoring her last night as a civilian.

It was a microwave dinner, but there was nothing wrong with that. There were going to be evenings spent in her office at school, and time for cooking would be less than before.

She walked into her bedroom and opened the closet door.

Three new suits; four pair of new shoes; a new purse.

Had she chosen to open the vanity drawers, she would have found new underwear and new stockings.

Christmas gifts to herself.

No, she was ready to look like a principal again.

So she took the lasagna out of the microwave, set its black plastic tray on the dining room table, stared at Furl, who was staring back at her, and said quietly:

“All right cat. This is it. After this, life changes.”

Then she poured herself a glass of milk—the old Nina would have had a glass of wine, but no more of that in the new life––and gave a toast to her reflection in the glass of the sliding deck door.

“Here’s to tomorrow!”

She had just sipped the first drops when she heard a knock at the front door.

Strange.

Sunday night.

Funny time for visitors.

She rose, apologized to Furl, who hated visitors on any night, and walked across the living room.

She opened the door to reveal Jackson Bennett.

“Nina. Sorry to bother you.”

His huge frame darkened the doorway and blocked the quietly glowing blue porch light.

He glowered down at her.

Few people had the capability to glower.

Nina certainly did not.

She could squint but not glower, and she’d never been tall enough look down at anyone.

“Jackson—come in.”

“I can’t, Nina.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“Nina, I––”

He seemed uncertain, which was strange for Jackson, who was always certain about everything.

“What is it, Jackson?”

“Well, there’s––”

“Come on. Tell me.”

“Something’s come up. Something pretty serious.”

“Is anybody hurt? Has there been an accident?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I think you need to come with me.”

“Come with you? Where, Jackson?”

“Downtown. We need to go downtown.”

“Well, all right. But what’s this about?”

“Why don’t you get a jacket on. It’s chilly. I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

And so she did.

But he did not.

Actually he was silent as a stone during the two mile ride into the center of Bay St. Lucy, nor did he speak while parking the big black limousine he now drove regularly.

Lights in the town hall glowed.

“Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“In a minute, Nina.”

“Is this city business?”

“In a way.”

“You know I’m not on the town council anymore.”

“Yes. I know that.”

“Surely I haven’t done anything wrong as a principal. I haven’t started yet.”

“It’s not that.”

“Is there some last minute objection about my taking the job? I thought we’d gone over all the paperwork, checked my certificate, gotten everything up to date, crossed all the ‘t’s, dotted the––”

“Let’s just go inside.”

He opened the door for her.

The main chamber of the town hall glowed before her like a Christmas tree.

There must have been fifty people inside, all smiling at her, most holding glasses of champagne in their hands, which were stretched upward toward the door.

A huge banner, hanging from the chandeliers, read:

WELCOME BACK, NINA!

She was speechless.

Alanna Delafosse stood beneath one of the great windows, a street light shining through the half-closed blinds and making her face a caramel glow; John Giusti stood beside her, his wife Helen, late of the Broadway stage, standing only a few feet away. Even Tom Broussard, was there, standing in a far corner.
And there, bringing him a cup of something, ostensibly coffee, more probably bourbon or some unknown brew even stronger, was his wife of not quite a year, Penelope Royale.

Penelope had recognized that, as the town’s most obscene speaker—she spoke only in obscenities––she shared kinship with Tom, the town’s most successful dirty novelist, and the two had married.

Before the marriage, each had lived the most disreputable lifestyle imaginable. Penelope had a small living space down by the boat docks, and apparently, as far as anyone could tell, survived by eating bait. Tom’s place was worse, and no one knew how he survived.
 

After the marriage, nothing apparently changed for either of them.

They each lived precisely as they had before.

Penelope kept her shack; Tom kept his.

And now they were here like everyone else.

Honoring her.

Penelope stepped forward and announced:

“Nina, we––––––but––––––if we don’t––––––and you––––––deserve it!”

Laughter, applause—

And then they were upon her.

The party lasted until well after midnight, and involved the consumption on Nina’s part of at least two glasses of champagne.

Perhaps three.

At any rate, too many for a hard working woman on the eve of a scary day.

It did end, though, as all deliciously evil things must, and slightly before one AM, she found herself in yet another car, being taken home, not by Jackson Bennett, who had been forced to leave early, but by Paul Cox.

His car meandered through the deserted streets, and his aquiline, almost birdlike, face reflected in the glow of the dashboard.

“Well, this is it.”

“This was wonderful, Paul. I can’t tell you how thrilled it made me feel. Thank you for organizing it.”

“I didn’t organize it. Your friends did. And you have a lot of them.”

“I know. I’m lucky.”

He nodded and slowed the car, as they turned onto Beachfront Boulevard, which would lead down to the sea and her shack.

“We’re the ones who are lucky. The whole town.”

“I hope I’ll do okay.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“There are so many things to remember, so many things that come up every day.”

“Just trust the people working around you. And trust your judgment.”

He was silent for a time.

The orange-lighted square windows of her shack loomed up before them.

The car stopped. Even though the windows of Paul’s van were tightly closed, she could still hear the roar of the surf.

And there was Furl, outlined in the window, looking down.

“Nina…”

“Yes, Paul?”

“There is one more thing I need to tell you.”

She stared at him across the seat.

“What is it?”

“Something I just learned today. We all just learned it today.”

“All right. Go on.”

“Well––”

“Let me have it. Get it over with.”

“I’d heard that something like this might happen. Politics being the way politics always are. And of course, it’s all politics.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nina, there’s been a new appointee.”

“What kind of an appointee?”

He shook his head.

“You know that the world in Jackson—like pretty much the whole country—is divided in its way of looking at things.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Well, my appointment as educational consultant to the governor reflects one of those ways of seeing the world. I’m viewed as a reformer.”
 

“Who is the appointee?”

“A woman I don’t really know, and haven’t met. She’s to be the new ‘Commissioner of Educational Excellence for Southwest Louisiana,’ based in Hattiesburg. She has broad ranging powers.”

“Over me?”

“Over pretty much everybody. She answers to people who oppose the governor. But those people have a lot of power—and so does she.”

“Power to achieve what goal?”

“Get the test scores up.”

“Oh God.”

“Yes. And keep the schools running like—well, like these people want the schools to run.”

“Oh God.”

“There’s still time to quit.”

She felt herself laughing softly as she thought of the party tonight, and of the huge banner, and of Penelope’s obscene and wonderful speech.

She looked up at bedroom window. Furl was laughing too.

“No. No, Paul, it’s a little too late for that. So. What’s this woman’s name?”

“Dr. April van Osdale.”

“What?”

“I said her name is Dr. April van Osdale. Apparently she’s from…”

“I know where she’s from.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I know her from The University of Mississippi. About fifteen years ago, I’m sure you know, I went back there one summer to do the course work I needed to become principal. April and I had several education classes together, and we worked on group projects. She was in her early twenties and I in my mid-forties. I haven’t seen her in years. But, yes, I know her.”

“Well. I had no idea. That’s good then. You have a history together. Maybe that will be easier for you to work together.”

“Maybe.”

She opened her car door and stepped outside.