Murder Had a Little Lamb (18 page)

Claude simply raised his eyebrows.

“At least that’s been my impression,” I continued, speaking quickly. “Even though I’ve only been here for a few days, I’m already finding that everyone speaks of him highly. Dr. Goodfellow, for example.”

“Hah!”

I had been expecting agreement, not a reaction like that. In fact, for a second there, I wondered if perhaps some punch had gone down the wrong pipe.

I guess my puzzlement showed, because he volunteered, “I suppose you don’t know, being new and all.”

Once again, I was struck by how little I seemed to know—and how much Claude
did
seem to know.

“Know what?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Dr. Goodfellow has had a crush on him since day one,” he explained with a self-satisfied smile.

“Really?” I said, not letting on that I’d gotten that impression myself. “Are you saying that the two of them were … close?”

He smiled condescendingly. “I said she had a crush on Nathaniel. I never said it was reciprocated.”

“Oh!” I didn’t mean to show how surprised I was, but somehow that single syllable just jumped out.

“Poor Dr. Goodfellow,” I commented, this time speaking in my normal voice. “To have had feelings for someone that weren’t returned.”

“Now, that’s what’s called an understatement.” With a smug look, Claude added, “Nathaniel basically couldn’t stand the woman. Oh, at one point I believe they had a harmless little fling. But it meant nothing to him. He did that kind of thing all the time. He was actually quite the womanizer. But from his perspective, the entire episode wasn’t anything more than an amusing little dalliance.”

Claude’s assessment of Nathaniel’s social life was consistent with what I’d gotten out of Falcone. But rather than letting on, I commented, “I didn’t know him, of course, but I didn’t realize Nathaniel was such a ladies’ man.”

“Oh, yes,” Claude insisted. “Don’t be fooled by those foppish suits he was so fond of. Perhaps he looked like a gentleman, but there was another side to him. A side that was, shall we say, very much the party animal, to use a despicable American expression. And Nathaniel could be quite the charmer, when he wanted to. He was extremely skilled at getting what he wanted.”

Including a “harmless little fling” with Elspeth Goodfellow, I reflected.

Then again, given how smitten she appeared to be, Nathaniel probably hadn’t had a very difficult time arranging a few romantic tête-a-têtes with her. Even if he’d been looking for nothing more than a good time.

But all that assumed that Claude was telling the truth, I realized. Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe Nathaniel and Elspeth really did have feelings for each other and Claude simply didn’t know—or didn’t want to admit it.

The question of which one of them was being honest made me determined to find out more about Elspeth’s true relationship with the murder victim.

I was about to try to pin Claude down, pressing him for more details about his take on their association, when one of the parents tapped Claude on the shoulder. I recognized her as the woman who preferred vacationing on her own private island to mingling with the hoi polloi on that nasty French Riviera.

“You’re Mr. Molter, aren’t you?” she asked in the same high-pitched voice. “I’m Madison’s mother. You know, Madison Fernley? The girl who plays the cello so masterfully?”

I lingered only long enough to watch Claude force a smile, something it turned out he wasn’t very good at. I mouthed a few words at him, something like “I’ll see you later,” then wandered off to see if there were any other brains I could pick.

As I scanned the room, my eyes lit on what appeared to be the only attendee who was sitting all
alone in the back corner of the room. I studied her from where I stood, noticing how her choice to remain isolated wasn’t the only thing that set her apart from all the others. So did her appearance.

Even though she was seated, I could see that she was a large woman, not only full-figured but also unusually tall. She was dressed completely in white, an outfit that served as a striking contrast to her smooth, luminescent skin, which was nearly as dark as all those homemade brownies that scores of housekeepers had labored over. Her jet-black hair was neatly braided into cornrows. Clasped around each of her plump forearms was a row of bracelets similar to the ones Vondra Garcia always wore, except these were made of red and black beads.

Even from halfway across the room, I could see that her facial features bore a striking resemblance to Vondra’s. But even if she hadn’t looked so much like my soft-spoken student, her clothing and her jewelry would have clued me in to the fact that she had to be the girl’s mother.

I was about to wander over and strike up a conversation when Dr. Goodfellow clapped her hands.

“Let’s get started, everyone,” she commanded. “Please wrap up the networking session and take a seat. Oh, and we’d all appreciate it if you’d turn off your cellphones, BlackBerries, and other electronics. Except for the surgeons and CEO’s and anyone else who’s on call, of course.”

I thought she was joking. But no one laughed. In fact, I’d estimate that only about half the parents whipped out their electronics and turned them off.

“I’d like to have Reverend Evans begin the meeting tonight,” Dr. Goodfellow continued. “As you all know, the big event we’ve been planning for some time now is only nine days away. And with the date for the school’s first Blessing of the Animals so close, I’m sure you’re as excited about it as I am. I know the girls are. But I’ll let Reverend Evans tell you all about it. Reverend?”

I applauded along with the others as the balding man with the gray fringe and glasses strode across the floor toward the lectern. As usual, he was nicely dressed in a suit and tie.

“First, I’d like to welcome all of you and say thanks for coming out tonight,” Reverend Evans began. “I’ve always thought that one of the great strengths of the Worth School is that the parents of our students recognize how important it is to be as much a part of their daughters’ education as possible. Seeing such a fine turnout reinforces my belief.

“But without further ado, let me bring you up to speed on the school’s first annual Blessing of the Animals, as Dr. Goodfellow requested. Even though the event is still over a week away—next Saturday, in case any of you have yet to enter the date into those electronics of yours—”

He paused for laughter. And wasn’t disappointed.

“We’re far enough along in the planning stages that I’m completely confident that the event will run smoothly,” he continued. “We’ve even enlisted the aid of the Norfolk County Police Department, who have generously offered to lend us a few officers to make sure there are no mishaps. But the main reason I’m so
sure it’s going to be a great success is your daughters’ enthusiasm. They’re all excited, and a lot of our boarders have told me they’ve arranged to bring their pets to campus for the day.

“Even more important, many of the girls have volunteered their time for this special day. We posted sign-up sheets on the main bulletin board, and the girls couldn’t wait to get involved in everything from the Poster Committee to the Refreshments Committee—although I will admit that there are still quite a few blanks on the sheet for the Cleanup Committee.”

More laughter. I was impressed by the way Reverend Evans was working the room. Then again, he had the benefit of an audience who wanted to hear only good things about this school—and especially about their daughters.

“We also have an extra-special bonus this year,” he continued. “Dr. Jessica Popper, who’s a veterinarian, has been teaching some of your daughters about animal care in one of our summer school courses. Dr. Popper has agreed to come to the Blessing of the Animals, just to make sure that medical care is readily on hand for any of the participating animals that experience a problem.

“In fact,” he added with a smile, “she’s agreed to bring one of her own pets. She and I have already talked about setting up a playdate with her Westie and my shih tzu. In the meantime, I hope the fact that she’s bringing one of her own animals to the event will encourage all of you to do the same. Dr. Popper, would you please stand up?”

I stood for a second or two, smiling and giving a little wave. But inwardly, I was groaning. When Reverend Evans had first raised the idea of me bringing Max to the blessing, I’d had my doubts about how my high-strung terrier would to react to being around all those other animals. But it now sounded as if this was one more of the school’s command appearances.

“Thank you, Dr. Popper,” Reverend Evans said. “Now let me tell you a bit more about what we have planned …”

The rapt audience continued to hang on his every word as he spelled out all the details of an event designed to help merge community and school. I had to admit that it really did sound as if it would go smoothly—once they found some volunteers to wield those Hefty bags, that is.

When he was finished, he asked if there were any questions. Immediately a man’s arm shot up into the air.

“My name is Ellsworth Thornton,” he said, rising to his feet and glancing around the room as if he wanted to be sure everyone felt included. “My daughter, Katharine, is a senior. And I just want to commend Reverend Evans for his outstanding work in developing outreach programs throughout the year. He’s done a great job of helping increase the visibility of the Worth School while making sure everyone in the community knows what a good neighbor we can be!”

He began to applaud, with everyone else immediately joining in.

No lack of school spirit here, I thought, looking
around at the parents’ rapt expressions. In fact, why bother to hold pep rallies when there’s already enough pep in this room to fuel five schools?

After the parents raised a few questions about the logistics of the big event, Reverend Evans took his seat. Dr. Goodfellow returned to the front of the room, this time bearing a clipboard.

“Now that Reverend Evans has brought us all up to speed about next weekend, I’d like to move on to this year’s tour of Europe’s great cities …”

For the next half hour I didn’t pay much attention to the meeting. Most of the business discussed had nothing to do with me—or with Nathaniel. Certainly not the burning issue of whether or not additional squash courts were needed or whether the dining hall should move to one hundred percent organic produce.

Besides, I was busy scanning the audience. What I was looking for, I couldn’t say.

At least until I spotted a man sitting two rows behind me. At first glance, he looked like just another successful businessman, one with the means to have his suits custom-made.

But then I zeroed in on his name tag. Leighton Atwater.

The fact that he was Campbell Atwater’s father instantly pegged him as someone I’d like to get to know better. Not only had his daughter taken Nathaniel’s class, but according to Beanie, Campbell had been crazy about her art history teacher.

“Let’s take a short break,” Dr. Goodfellow finally suggested. As members of the audience began standing up and moving around, she added, “Please help yourselves
to some more refreshments! Some of you might also want to use this time to view the student art exhibit out in the hallway.”

She paused before going on. “The artwork on display was done by the girls who took Nathaniel Stibbins’s Creative Expression through Multiple Media class in the spring.” Her voice thickened as she added, “In a way, this exhibit is a tribute to a man who was both an exceptionally talented artist and a dedicated educator—a rare combination, indeed. So I encourage you to take some time this evening to honor this remarkable individual by enjoying the creativity of the young women he inspired.”

Checking out the projects the girls had worked on while taking Nathaniel’s art class definitely sounded worth doing. But at the moment, I had a much more important mission to accomplish.

I headed back to the refreshment table, meanwhile keeping an eye on Leighton Atwater. As I watched him move to another part of the room, I noticed that the exotically dressed woman I thought was Vondra’s mother was slipping out the door.

After grabbing another cup of punch, I sidled over to him, doing my best to look as if I just happened to be wandering in that direction.

“Oh!” I cried when I was next to him. “You’re Campbell’s dad!” Smiling warmly, I extended my hand. “I’m Jessica Popper. Campbell is in my animal care class.”

“Ms. Popper,” he said in a deep voice that oozed confidence and control. I noticed that as he shook my
hand, he didn’t return my smile. “Or is it Dr. Popper, as Reverend Evans referred to you?”

“I answer to either,” I replied cheerfully, “just as long as you don’t call me Dr. Pepper. That happens more often than you can imagine.”

I did better this time, at least eliciting a wan smile.

“So,” I said conversationally, “this blessing of the animals sounds like a nice way of involving the school in the community, don’t you think?”

“Hmph,” he replied. “Frankly, I think almost everything this school does borders on ridiculous.”

“Really?” Not exactly the response I was expecting.

“In my day,” he continued sternly, “students learned Latin and math and how to write a cohesive essay, not how to play the drums or—or how to decipher the poetry of a man who didn’t even know enough to capitalize letters!”

“Still, you have to admit that teaching the students something about culture isn’t a bad thing,” I said. Casually, I added, “Take art history, for example. I’ve always believed that it’s critical for any well-rounded person to understand art. And Dr. Goodfellow certainly seems to feel that the school’s art teacher, Nathaniel Stibbins, was an asset to the school. Campbell thought so, too.”

“If you ask me, the man was an appalling influence on his students,” Mr. Atwater growled. “He shouldn’t have been allowed to get anywhere near children.”

Immediately the image of the pale blue tank top I’d
found tossed in with Nathaniel’s boxer shorts flitted through my brain.

Still, I reasoned, if Nathaniel had had unseemly dealings with his students and one of the girls’ fathers was aware of it, I had a feeling the father in question would be doing a lot more than muttering complaints to strangers he met at PTA meetings. Especially if he happened to be someone as powerful as Leighton Atwater.