A Truth for a Truth (20 page)

Instead, I just answered the question and ignored the juicy details. “It’s locked up in the closet under the parish hall stairs. January will have the key, and he’ll be in this afternoon.”

“A big one? A good one?”

Big yes, good? Evil exists in many guises, including punch bowls.

“A lovely cut-glass bowl,” I said, since every other description makes me sound like a candidate for the loony bin.

“Good. I’ll make the punch myself.”

I had to question the wisdom of this. Not using the punch bowl, although that was always dangerous, but Hildy doing the reception.

“I’m ready for a break,” I lied. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’m fine, but I’ll sit with you a moment.”

I washed my hands, then I flopped down on the sofa, and she joined me. “Who put you in charge of the reception?” I asked.

“When Sally brought me a casserole, she mentioned that the woman in charge had to fly to Minnesota on a family emergency. She was looking for a volunteer, so I told her I would do it.”

I wish Hildy had consulted me, but, of course, that was ridiculous. Hildy doesn’t consult anybody. “You just buried Win yesterday,” I pointed out, as I put my hand on her arm. “Are you sure you want to plunge right in?”

“Somebody needed to do it.”

We have many somebodies in our congregation, and General Sally would have found a willing volunteer, if Hildy hadn’t jumped on it. I wondered how this was going to look to outsiders. Hildy should be playing the grieving widow. Instead she was back to business as usual.

Hildy is not a mind reader, but she answered the question I didn’t ask. “It will give me something to do. I don’t want to just sit around and think about how terrible things are.”

I knew there was more to it, too. Hildy already missed her role as minister’s wife. This was a way to stay connected to the church, a way to remain in charge.

“I have big plans,” she went on. “John Hammond is a lovely man. He and his wife were friends of ours. Of course, she’s gone now, poor thing, but John deserves the best.”

John, the minister right before Ed, was going to be preaching on Sunday as part of our 150th anniversary celebration. He was due in town today, and would be staying with a church family not far away. I wasn’t surprised Hildy knew him. Hildy knew almost everybody in the denomination.

“John will understand if you keep it simple.” I flashed my warmest smile. “Really, Hildy, you don’t want to overdo.”

“I thought tea sandwiches, of course, and vegetables and dip, cut fruit, some really fine cheeses with crackers.” She continued, and by the time she had finished describing a meal that made tea at the Ritz sound like soup kitchen fare, my mouth was hanging open.

“We usually just do cookies and punch,” I said. “Maybe some pound cake, like we did for Win’s Sunday. I think that’s what was planned.”

“Yes, but this is the church anniversary. More should be expected. We need to prepare for the next 150 years, don’t you think?”

Don’t you think? It was a figure of speech, and I knew it. What I thought, what anybody thought, wasn’t going to matter. This was a freight train picking up speed. I hoped it wasn’t also a train wreck about to happen.

“Who’s going to make all the food?” I asked, afraid I knew the answer.

“I have lists. I’ll be sure everyone does their part, and if they don’t, I can make up the difference myself.”

I was trying to figure out how to gently remind her that people had lives and couldn’t actually drop everything to make bite-size crabmeat quiches, when the doorbell rang again. I jumped up to answer it, hoping it might be somebody who could help me nudge some sense into Hildy.

A moment passed before I recognized the man standing on the doorstep.

“John?” I smiled and motioned him in. “We were just talking about you.”

John Hammond stepped inside, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. He’s probably in his early seventies, with sparse white hair in something that approximates a halo around his head, and the kindest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. John is not a fiery preacher, or a Napoleonic administrator. He’s a sage, and well respected in the denomination for it. He’s the kind of man you’d like to sit with in a quiet room just to soak up the goodwill.

“I stopped by the church. I wanted to say hello, and Ed told me that Hildy was visiting you.” John was already looking across the room, and his smile deepened.

“Hildy?”

Hildy was coming toward us, and John opened his arms to enfold her.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wrote you. Did you get my note?”

She stepped away. “I did. I just haven’t had time to reply to any of them.”

“Take care of yourself first.”

I decided this would be the perfect moment to check my floor and let the two old friends discuss Win.

My floor was still there, more’s the pity. I counted tiles for a minute before I returned. “Have you had lunch?” John was asking Hildy. He looked up at me. “And you, Aggie?”

“I’m in the middle of scrubbing a floor. But please take Hildy out and make her eat something, okay?”

“May I?” he asked her.

She looked unsure. “I’m not fit company.”

“That I can decide on my own.”

They said good-bye and I watched them leave together. Hildy needed old friends. I just hoped that after Sunday’s reception, the ones she had left in Emerald Springs were still speaking to her.

I never would have checked out Right in the Middle, but I realized Stephen Collins might be mentioned, and this was a chance to discover something important. If the blog really was an uncensored look at middle school life, maybe there were warnings about teachers.

When Ed came home for lunch, I asked him to find the site and leave it on screen for me. He looked skeptical and asked if I remembered how to use the mouse, but he found it easily. I was pleased to see there were no longer odd intrusions of Polish folk songs and said so.

“We had a virus,” Ed said. “One of the girls probably clicked a link she shouldn’t have in a bogus e-mail. We finally got rid of it.”

“I’m sure you explained the dangers of clicking links,” I said, my gaze sweeping the room for a new place to land.

“
You
know better, don’t you?”

I had been just the tiniest bit suspicious. After all, the IRS should be able to match verbs with nouns and spell more or less correctly, but Ed’s a busy man and doesn’t have time for small talk. I kept details to myself.

I saved wrestling with Right in the Middle for the lull between stripping and rewaxing. While the floor dried, I scanned the site.

Forty minutes later I was impressed. The student or students who’d put the blog together were clever and resourceful. The content was much more extensive than random editorials. Right in the Middle had surveys, lists of favorite teachers, photographs, places for students to comment, critiques of school policy, and yes, complaints about classes and teachers.

I’d expected rants and lots of complaining. There was certainly some of that, but somebody was struggling to keep the tone even and fair. It was definitely more honest and therefore more controversial than the official school newspaper, which reported on school activities and tried to mention as many students as possible. Some teachers were singled out for unfair grading practices, or an excessive number of detentions. One I’d never heard of was said to be looking for a new job because she didn’t like middle schoolers, a sentiment she’d apparently shared out loud in class.

The only mention of Stephen Collins was as a favorite teacher, and there were lots of comments. From what I could tell, a number of students, mostly girls, thought the man walked on water.

Disappointed I’d learned so little, I exited, but left the computer on, happy to bask in my success without ruining the glow.

By the time the girls got home, the floor was dry. Deena grabbed an apple and told me she was checking e-mail. Teddy and a friend went up to her room to work on a homework assignment about global warming.

Since I’d found fresh tomatillos at the grocery store on Monday, I was making salsa to top black bean enchiladas for the night’s dinner when Deena came into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk.

“Who was looking at Right in the Middle?” she asked.

“How could you tell somebody was?”

“If I showed you, you might screw up something.”

It’s hard to fault a child for being honest. “Shannon’s mom stopped by—”

Deena rummaged for a cookie to go with the milk. “How come?”

“Did you know she’s a caterer now?”

“Is this a contest to see who can ask the most questions without answering any?”

I smiled. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Why did Mrs. Forester come here?”

I sacrificed my chance at first prize. “She catered the party at the Dorchesters’ house the night Reverend Dorchester died.”

“Yeah, Shannon said something about that. Her mom’s like, you know, all whacked out.”

That was another accurate statement. “It wasn’t good for her business, so she came over to see what I knew. And while she was here, she told me about Right in the Middle.”

“How come?”

I certainly wasn’t going to admit I’d been checking up on Stephen Collins. “We were just talking about school. She mentioned the blog. She said it’s a great way to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re doing your homework, brushing your teeth, and dotting your
i
’s.”

Deena looked disgusted. “You’re hilarious.”

I smiled modestly. “You’ve read it, I trust?”

“Duh . . .” Deena finished cookie number one and rummaged for a mate. “Everybody reads it. Nobody knows who’s doing it. It just showed up one day.”

“Whoever’s doing it is keeping the tone on the up-and-up.”

“When you say that, it’s time for a change.”

“I’m kind of surprised nobody at the school’s trying to shut it down.”

“How can they if they don’t know who’s behind it?”

“I can’t believe the school can’t find out. Whoever’s doing it has to get their information somewhere. People would know who was asking questions, right?”

“There’s an e-mail address, and the bloggers ask for comments when they’re putting together a story. Nobody knows who the address belongs to.”

I wondered. I thought somebody could probably trace the address, if they really needed to. As long as the blog remained relatively rant-free, maybe the school thought it was a harmless way to blow off steam. And, of course, there was that pesky First Amendment, too.

“You really don’t know?” I asked.

“Some kids think it’s this group of three guys in Computer Club. Only, I think if it was really them, they’d have a lot more techie stuff. You know, they’d be showing off.”

Ed came home for the afternoon; Deena left for the afternoon; Teddy and her friend transformed Teddy’s room into a South American jungle complete with endangered species, corporate kidnappers bent on destruction, and crusaders trying to save the rain forest while establishing a pedestrian mall.

Ed promised to listen for ransom demands from Teddy’s room and bargain for her release with cookies, and I took a shopping list to the grocery store.

I hadn’t intended to stop by Emerald Eagle, but when I saw Geoff Adler outside examining the sign, I remembered how badly we needed dental floss. After all, we might go through the six packages I had in reserve, then where would we be? I pictured huge dental bills as I braked hard.

Down on my hands and knees doing floor duty, I’d thought about the minutes in Geoff’s home office yesterday. He’d started to say something just as Ed walked in, something about Win not having enough time to write something or other. I had no idea what Win hadn’t had time to do, probably a lot, although sadly it seemed he’d done more than his share of some things during his years on earth. But just in case Geoff’s musings were relevant, I decided to probe a little further.

Inside the store I found the dental floss before I went to look for Geoff. I didn’t want the guy to think I was stalking him. Holding the floss up like a badge, I wandered the store until I saw him behind the pharmacy counter, then I wandered that way.

He saw my approach and came around the far end to greet me.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said, although that had only been true
before
the moment when I’d spotted him outside.

“I drop by all our stores frequently. It keeps staff on their toes, and I can help if the pharmacist on duty gets backed up.”

“How many stores do you have now?”

“Four. We’re hoping to open another next summer. Depends on the economy.”

Geoff had his back to the shelves just below the counter, and I had my back to the aisles behind me. He didn’t appear to feel cornered. My luck was good, since he seemed to be in a chatty mood, and we were far enough off the beaten path that we weren’t in anybody’s way.

“It was really nice of you to host yesterday.” I went on to tell him how much I’d liked his house, etc. I was careful not to lay this on too thick, since these days when I’m too nice, people are generally wary I might be swinging into interrogation mode.

“How’s Hildy doing today?” he asked.

I told him about John Hammond, and he looked pleased. “Old friends will help. Win’s death will leave a large hole in her life.”

That was a great lead-in to my next question. “You knew Win better than most people. And you were at the party the night he died. Can you remember anything that happened that might be suspicious?”

“You mean like somebody pulling out a bottle of pills and dropping them in the shrimp dip?”

“That would be helpful.”

“Except for the unpleasantness between Hildy and Marie? Nothing, and I only heard about that later. I was already gone.”

“I’ve been told Marie had a lot to drink.”