Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) (5 page)

I mumbled repeated thanks and followed his advice as quickly as possible. While I still didn’t relish the stares that accompanied my exit, now at least I understood them.

“Please be there, please be there,” I muttered as I dashed down the hall, pressing the bale of napkins to my forehead. Judith Dee, the school nurse, had been working part time ever since a budget cutback three years ago and I didn’t know her schedule.

She was there, but she had purse and coat over her arm and was turning the key in the lock. “Miss Prentice! What’s the matter?” she asked in a husky, Demi Moore contralto. Her voice was where the resemblance ended. Judith was stout and blue haired.

I pulled the napkins from my forehead. “I guess I need a new dressing on this,” I admitted.

“You sure do!” she agreed, turning the key and opening the door. “I heard about what happened. Come on in here and we’ll see if we can’t fix it.”

It was a calming phrase, spoken quietly and implying competence. In many ways, Judith was perfect for her job. I knew from experience how desperately some of the youngsters at school needed mothering, and she seemed to relish the opportunity.

I looked across the room at the bulletin board, layered with hundreds of wallet-sized photos of students past and present. I knew that if I asked her, she could identify almost every one.

“Sounds like you’re over that chest cold,” she remarked pleasantly. “Two weeks ago, I could just hear the phlegm when you talked. Mr. Simons, the math teacher? He’s getting it now. Have you heard him cough? Sounds like a Great Dane barking!”

That was the one thing about Judith. She took a detailed and rather invasive interest in the physical ailments of everyone around her. I sat on the low metal stool she offered and watched her pull on thin rubber gloves.

“It’s the rule these days. No offense.”

“None taken.” I closed my eyes as she gently peeled back the dressing. She smelled of rubbing alcohol and baby powder.

“You’ve got quite a goose egg there.”

“I know. Terrible, isn’t it?”

“Actually, Amelia, it’s a good sign. You want the injury to swell outward, away from the brain, rather than inward, and, well, you see what I mean.”

“I never thought of that.”

“It’s true! This will hurt, dear,” she warned as she removed the last portion of stubbornly clotted gauze, all the while making sympathetic hissing noises through her teeth.

It did. I winced.

“I’m so sorry. This is always the difficult part. I’m going to have to clean the wound a bit, but I’ll be as careful as I can.”

She pulled an extra-long cotton swab from a metal-topped glass jar and dipped it in antiseptic. She used a number of them, dabbing lightly and discarding frequently, as she carried on light conversation, mainly, I suspected, for purposes of diversion.

“I only heard a little about last night. How did you get this?”

I told her.

She clucked sympathetically as she worked. “And it must have been poor Marguerite you tripped over.” She tore the paper wrapper from a gauze pad and applied it delicately to my forehead.

“You know, I didn’t actually see her, but that’s what I’ve been told.”

“And she never called out or told anybody she felt bad?” Judith asked, intently laying adhesive tape over the bandage.

“No. Ouch!” She had pressed too hard.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, stepping back and dropping the roll of tape. “Drat! Where did that go?”

“It rolled under there,” I said, indicating a white metal chest of drawers.

“Never mind. I’ve got lots more.” She pulled another roll from the cupboard and cut off a length of tape. “You know, it’s very tragic and everything, but I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Does it pull here?”

“It’s fine.”

“You’ve got something at home for the pain?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“We can’t give even so much as an aspirin in school, you know,” she pointed out, disposing of my old bandage and putting away her equipment. “It’s the law.”

“What did you mean: you weren’t surprised?”

Though we were alone, Judith lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I thought everybody knew about Marguerite’s, er, problem. Drugs, of course. Her mother was simply desperate about her.”

Frowning, she appraised her handiwork. “All right, you’re done. That wound shouldn’t bleed much more, but be sure to let a doctor take a look at it in a day or so.”

“I will. But, you know, I spoke with Marie a few minutes ago and she insisted Marguerite had nothing to do with drugs.”

Judith shook her head slowly as she gathered up her coat and purse. “Poor Marie. In denial. Very common in situations like this.” She escorted me out the door and locked it. “No wonder she had an ulcer last year. Nerves can do that to you.”

She accompanied me down the hall, donning her coat as she went. “You know, I was driving by the library last night and saw the ambulance and all and wondered what it was. Marguerite LeBow, just imagine.” She patted me on the shoulder and headed for the stairwell. “Well, take care of that head, now.”

The class bell rang just above my head, making me jump. What was I doing here? There wasn’t an inch on me now that wasn’t stiff and sore.

Swallowing my pride, I threw myself on the mercy of Gerard Berghauser, who, while not actually speaking the words, “I told you so,” allowed his mustache to twitch smugly as he called in the assistant coach to take over the remainder of my classes. It would mean an afternoon of unsnarling my roll book, but it was worth it. I dialed LaBombard Taxi and wondered absently if there wasn’t a lint-covered aspirin lurking somewhere in the bottom of my purse.

“Boy, what a small world,” said Vern Thomas as I climbed into his cab. “This must be fate.”

“What it is, Vern, is a small town,” I groaned, leaning back and closing my eyes. “Home, James.”

“Home it is.”

He pulled up smoothly in front of my house in a matter of minutes. I paid him and was halfway up the walk when he called out, “Hey, you don’t look so good. You want a little help?”

I was in the process of politely declining when I stepped off the sidewalk onto the leaf-covered ground and staggered slightly, prompting Vern to come running chivalrously to my aid.

“Whoa, now! Can’t have the vapors right here on the sidewalk, can we?”

“Where did you ever hear about vapors?” I grumbled to hide my embarrassment.

“I don’t know, British lit, maybe? Lord Tennyson, Jane Austen, or somebody. Ever hear of those guys?”

“Somewhere in the dim recesses of my memory. I believe I studied all that around the turn of the century,” I said, mounting the steps slowly so as to not jar my head. “What kind of grad student are you? I mean, are you any good?”

“I’m gifted. All A’s. Never study. Do all my papers at the last minute. It infuriates Gil. He says I’m arrogant. Think so?” He leaned against the doorjamb as I fished for my keys.

I paused and regarded him carefully. “I suppose it’s a matter of semantics. I might call you naively impudent, perhaps, softened by just a soupçon of boyish charm, but not precisely arrogant.”

He smiled. “You make me sound like a wine.”

“
In vino veritas
,” I murmured , turning the key in the lock. After a brief joggling of the handle, the door swung open.

He leaned forward, peering into my foyer. “It’s a little dark in there. Wouldn’t you like me to go in ahead of you and poke around for the boogieman?”

I sighed. He sounded like Officer Perkins. “It’s good of you, Vern, but I just had the exorcist in last week and he says everything’s clean. Thanks so much.” I began to close the door.

He grinned down at me. “Now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

Vern was already galloping down the steps. He called over his shoulder, “Why Gil has never gotten over you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Waving half-heartedly, I closed the door. All at once, it seemed there was nothing in the world but my headache. I trudged upstairs and found some leftover painkiller of Mother’s, containing codeine. Against all rules of caution, I took a half dose and proceeded to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

It was later, as I sat at the kitchen table sipping my tea, swimming peacefully in a happy codeine haze, that Vern’s parting comment came back to me. I shook my head, but gently.

Vern couldn’t possibly understand about Gil and me.
I
didn’t understand about Gil and me.

Vern was a nice boy, but he was, as I’d told him, a bit naive. If he’d witnessed the arguments, heard the angry words, well, he wouldn’t have said what he did. Not for a minute. It was nice of him, though. He had his mother’s kind heart.

On the floor nearby, Sam was bathing himself in that revolting way cats have. “You know, Sam,” I told him, “you’re rather supple for a fur-bearing bag of lard.”

Hearing his name, he purred proudly and preened his whiskers, a much more attractive procedure.

Someone knocked on the door, long and hard. Sam disappeared. The knots in my shoulders that had begun to loosen immediately retied themselves, but my headache was gone. A slight, cheerful giddiness had replaced it.

“Oh, thank heaven! You’re here. The doorbell must not be working,” cried Dorothy O’Brien as she rushed past me, five-year-old Meaghan following close behind. “We’ve been worried sick about you. You are all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m just fine.”

Dorothy turned to face me. We had been friends a long time, sharing a love of history and the stories of PG Wodehouse. Her hazel eyes examined my face shrewdly. “Yes, I believe you are.” She stepped behind Meaghan and put her hands on the little shoulders. “In that case, we have a tremendous favor to ask of you.”

“Tree-mendous!” repeated Meaghan, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be glad to do whatever I can,” I said cautiously.

“Well, you see,” began Dorothy, “I’m a docent—”

“That’s a guide!” her daughter interrupted proudly.

“I’m a volunteer at the Whaley-Stott House Museum.” It was one of our more obscure, authentic tourist attractions.

“An’ a pipe busted!” Meaghan announced.

“Quiet, honey. Look, Miss Prentice. A pipe burst in the basement at St. Anthony’s Academy. There’s water everywhere downstairs, but no pressure for the, um, toilets and things, so school let out early today. Sister called me just as I was going out the door. I’d cancel, but I’m supposed take around a bunch of bigwigs from the State Historical Society.”

“And you want Meaghan to stay here,” I finished for her.

“Yes, could she? You’re absolutely the only human being home at this hour of the afternoon.” She frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”

“Of course! And even if I weren’t, Meaghan could be my nurse, couldn’t you, dear?”

Meaghan nodded vigorously.

“Oh, Miss Prentice, you’re an angel! I’ll be back just as soon as I can. I’ll talk fast and run their legs off.” She held up a large, lumpy canvas sack adorned with a cartoon turtle. “Here’s her toy bag. I’ll never forget you for this!”

She glanced at her watch, pulled out her car keys, kissed her daughter, and was gone.

“Well, now,” I said. I looked down at the little girl uncertainly.

Like her father had been, Meaghan O’Brien was a trifle tall for her age, with long, thin arms and legs, but her red hair and confident friendliness were her mother’s. I had known Meaghan all her short life and liked to think we shared a mutual respect, but this would be the longest time we had ever spent together. How on earth did one entertain a five-year-old?

Meaghan regarded my bandage with frank interest. “Does that hurt?” she asked, pointing with a touchingly tiny index finger.

“Not right now.”

“Can I look at it?”

“You mean under the bandage?”

She nodded.

“I’m afraid not.”

Meaghan shrugged philosophically. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s play.” With great self-assurance, she led me by the hand to the front parlor and bade me sit on the floor before her.

After arranging my legs in a semi-comfortable position, I watched with interest as she rummaged in her bag.

“Turn around,” she ordered. I obeyed and she began gently combing my hair.

“Meaghan, what are we playing?”

“I’m Miss Gladys and you’re my customer.”

I chuckled. Gladys’s Glamour Spot was a popular beauty shop.

“My, my, my,” she said, quoting a famous Gladys-ism as she circled me, “You’re late for a trim, all right!” Her voice had just the right bright, brittle tone. “Wouldn’t you say so?” she added, bringing her face nose to nose with mine.

Her tongue was purple and her breath smelled of grapes. Bubble gum would have been my guess. Or Kool-aid.

“Oh, yes, Miss Gladys,” I answered, getting into the spirit of the thing.

But when she reached in her bag for a bright pink pair of blunt kindergarten scissors, I had some delicate negotiating to do. We settled on a simple wash and blow dry, without the scissors, and pantomimed the washing, rinsing, and drying with enthusiasm.

I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Entertaining Meaghan was turning out to be much easier than I’d expected.

“That was fun, dear,” I said, looking around for a chair arm upon which to hoist myself.

“But I gotta style it now,” Meaghan insisted.

I settled back down.

Very delicately, with intense concentration, she combed the short waves from around my face down over my forehead. “Now you can’t see your Band-Aid so much,” she declared, and handed me a two-inch hand mirror to survey the effect.

“Oh, Miss Gladys,” I gushed theatrically, “it’s just lovely! I’m going to pay you lots and lots of money for the good job you’ve done!” I squinted into the mirror again, then pulled myself to my feet to get a better look in the beveled glass above the fireplace.

I did look nice. I had worn the same hairdo for years, short and layered, parted on the left and combed straight back away from my face. With the bangs, I looked more up to date. And they did help to hide my bandage.

I smiled at my reflection. “It’s an improvement,” I told it.

“Miss Prentice,” said Meaghan, pulling reproachfully on my skirt, “we’re not finished yet.”