Consider the Crows (19 page)

“Why didn't you tell me this?”

He took a breath and let it out slowly. “I'm sorry, Susan. I don't know. I went a little nuts. It was embarrassing. If you want to know the truth, it scared me a little. I simply didn't want you to know.”

*   *   *

At her desk, Susan read reports while Parkhurst paced. A fluorescent bulb in the ceiling fixture flickered periodically, driving her nuts. Three calls during the night from an elderly widow reporting suspicious noises. Responding officers found nothing.

A man heard someone in his kitchen and fired a revolver at his teenage son who'd come down in the middle of the night for a snack. Fortunately, the guy was a bad shot. Shit. They better get this cleared up before the next idiot killed his kid.

“Nick is peddling weed.” Parkhurst tapped a knuckle on the desk, paced to the window and rested his rear on the ledge. “I think he has his warehouse out there.”

“Why didn't we find it?”

“Smart kid. Way too smart for dumb cops. The little shit. He has an opportunity, and he's going to blow it. He could have killed Lynnelle because she found out what he was up to.”

“Does Julie know about the drugs?”

“Might not bother her. The old line about it's no worse than alcohol and their elders and betters guzzle that.”

“How does Dr. Kalazar's disappearance fit in?”

“Maybe through daughter Julie,” he said.

A shade reluctantly, Susan told him of Terry Bryant's affair with Keith and Lynnelle seeing them by the creek.

“Either one or both together may have whacked Lynnelle.”

She didn't like that scenario; Jen had enough problems. “Then got rid of Audrey? And did what with the body? And if they'd removed the problem why do anything to Audrey?”

“Leaving the path clear for true love.”

She tensed her shoulders. “I don't know. I keep feeling there's something here we're not seeing.” She scattered through the reports looking for her notebook and flipped pages. “Egersund had an argument with Audrey. Find out what that was about.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ask Egersund what kind of car her son drives.”

Parkhurst raised an eyebrow.

She told him what she'd learned from David.

Parkhurst grinned. “So your friend the attorney has been lying to us.”

15

C
ARENA LOCKED HER
office and left the building with a feeling of relief. One more day of school over, even if it was only Wednesday. Two more days and then a weekend. All this lying and dithering was pulling her deeper in trouble, and making her short-tempered and irritable. At least, she hadn't been arrested yet. Damn it, she looked at problems, figured all the possibilities, then chose what seemed the best solution and tried to carry through as well as she could.

Twenty-one years ago, God help her, she'd tried to do the right thing. Agonized and worried, struggled with the fear and guilt, tried to ease the sense of shame and sin. Once the baby was born and given up for adoption, she'd worked on the theory that it was over, past, and was naive enough to believe the whole thing
was
over, a closed system.

Ha. She should have applied a little math. Godel's theorem. Any closed system, no matter how perfectly closed, always produces facts that are true, yet can't be proven from the elementary propositions of the system.

The wind had a sharp sting and nudged along a cluster of fleecy clouds in a faded blue sky. Briefcase in one hand and the other hand in the pocket of her tweed coat, she headed down a slope toward the parking lot and ran into Julie Kalazar and Edie Vogel on the driveway by the administration building.

Edie, eyes watery and nose red, sneezed into a soggy tissue. “Sorry,” she said and poked the tissue into the pocket of her dark-green coat. “Lousy cold.”

Carena nodded sympathetically and turned to Julie. “Any word about your mother?”

Julie, in jeans and blue down jacket, armload of books clutched to her chest, shook her head miserably. The wind tossed a strand of straight brown hair across her face and she tried to brush it aside with a raised shoulder. “Everything is so awful and now—” The books slipped, she grabbed at them, then dropped them all and burst into tears.

Carena and Edie gathered up the books and stacked them in Julie's arms. Carena patted her shoulder, wishing she had some words of comfort. Julie wandered off.

“I think she had a fight with her boyfriend.” Edie sneezed and scrabbled in her pocket for another tissue. “It's too much on top of Lynnelle and her mother and everything.”

“Did you know Lynnelle pretty well?”

“We were good friends. She had troubles and I've got troubles and that made—” Edie crushed the tissue in her hand. “Like a bond.”

“What troubles did Lynnelle have?” Carena shifted the briefcase to her other hand and stuck the cold one in her pocket. She preferred to think Lynnelle had been a longed-for child, cherished and coddled, with a storybook life.

“Sad things, hard things.” Edie patted her nose with the balled up tissue. “Oh, I wish— I just wish—” She blinked pale lashes wet with tears. “Lynnelle wanted something good to happen, But that's life, huh? You hope and you plan and you try and what happens? Like she said, a broken pumpkin.” Edie suddenly looked frightened.

Thinking of her daughter, Carena thought, and sick with worry.

“I'm rambling,” Edie said angrily. “Don't pay any attention.” She sneezed again. “It's just this dumb cold.”

“You shouldn't be standing around out here. You need a comforter and hot tea.”

Edie almost smiled. “You sound just like my mother.”

“We can't help it. Mothers are programmed that way.”

Carena crossed the street and went to the parking lot. A student trudged past with her head down and her shoulders hunched, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Everybody I run into is crying. As Carena got in the old maroon Volvo and turned the ignition, she felt like crying herself. The starter made a slow
ugh, ugh, ugh.
Come on. Don't do this. Please don't die on me.

The motor wheezed, coughed, and she fed it more gas. It caught, faltered and, after she held her breath, decided to run. All right. Good reliable Swedes. Well, except for her ex-husband. She let the motor warm up before she backed out and set off for home.

A black Bronco was parked in front of the house when she got there. Oh no. As she pulled into the driveway, Ben Parkhurst got out of the Bronco. She drove into the garage, cut the motor and, in the rearview mirror, watched his approach. He moved inexorably toward the garage. Like Nemesis. No, that couldn't be right. Nemesis was female. Like Alastor. What would he do if she slammed into reverse and screeched off with a smoke of rubber? Probably set up roadblocks. She opened the car door and slid out. Inside the house, Alexa set off a clamor of welcome barks.

“Dr. Egersund,” Parkhurst said with a nod. “I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

No more questions. Not now. I'm too tired to see the steel traps. “Do I have a choice?” she snapped.

He smiled. “Yes, ma'am.”

By God, the man can smile. She couldn't have been more startled if a stern rock face on Mount Rushmore had cracked a grin.

“There are always choices,” he said. “But some are wrong.”

His light tone confused her. Wrong choices? Story of my life. I schemed and planned to have a baby adopted, married the wrong man, came back to Hampstead, where I spent the first part of my life trying to get away from, withheld information and now I stand here, like “the man in the synagogue with an unclean devil, in front of authority and power who commandeth the unclean spirits to come out.”

A giggle rose in her throat. Oh my God, I probably look an obvious mass of quivering guilt. “What questions?” She raked fingers through her short blond hair and then wished she hadn't. It probably stood on end, making her look like a guilty madwoman.

“Could we go inside?” he asked mildly.

“No.”

Somewhere behind his dark eyes there lurked a detached amusement. She felt foolish, but like a recalcitrant child, having taken a stance was forced to stick with it and shiver in the cold. The dog continued to bark.

Parkhurst leaned against the rear fender of the Volvo, relaxed and apparently unaffected by the cold. “Last Saturday night,” he said. “Your son was here?”

She waited. You're not going to bring Michael into this.

“What time did he arrive?”

“About eleven, I think.”

“You're not sure.”

“About eleven,” she repeated.

“You were at home when he got here?”

“I've already told you.”

“You got home at what time?”

“Close to twelve.”

“Where were you?”

“I already told you that too. Several times. Driving. Just driving.”

He stared at her impassively, reeking disbelief.

“I often do that when I want to think.” Oh hell, stupid thing to say. His intent was to goad her into saying something and she had obliged.

“What were you thinking about?”

When she didn't respond, he said, “Rainy night, cold. The thinking must have been important to keep you out in that kind of weather.”

Her mind scurried around for an apt quotation. Stop it. Pay attention.

“Thinking about Lynnelle? Wondering what to do about her?”

Bang on, she thought and tried to stare just as impassively as he did. “I teach, Lieutenant. Sometimes it's a difficult job.”

“I see. Maybe you were thinking about your argument with Dr. Kalazar.”

That wasn't a question she expected, or even worried about a whole lot. She relaxed a little.

“What was that about?”

“Actually, I'm not quite sure.”

“I see,” he said again and seemed to imply a wealth of seeing.

“It was about Julie.”

“What about her?”

“She's in my calculus class, bright young lady. She started out doing very well. In the last four or five weeks, she's slipped way down.”

“Dr. Kalazar blamed you?”

“I expect she blamed Julie.”

“What was Dr. Kalazar angry about?”

Carena took a breath and let it out slowly. “I've been a teacher for a long time and I know when a student has a problem he or she can't handle. They have a lot of pressure; from peers, from parents, from school, from all sorts of directions. Julie wasn't able to concentrate. I suggested talking with a counselor might help.”

“Dr. Kalazar was upset about that?” he said with skepticism.

“Yes, Lieutenant, she was
upset.
I had no right to interfere. She knew what was best for her daughter. If Julie had a problem Julie could come to her.”

“Dr. Kalazar threatened to have you dismissed.”

“She couldn't. Not for that.”

“What could she have you dismissed for?”

“Nothing,” Carena said.

“You're not worried about your job?”

“No.” Well, maybe a little. She might see to it that I'm not on the staff next year.

“Where did all this driving on Saturday night take you?”

“I don't remember.”

“Out to Lynnelle's house?”

“No.”

“You don't remember where you went, but you remember where you didn't go?”

Her fingers strayed to her temple where a little throb meant the start of a headache. “I didn't go out there. I went— I don't know where I went. I just drove, through town and around the campus and—west. I drove west. In the country. Just around.”

“Did you see anybody?”

“I maybe did. It was late. Nobody I knew. Only another car or two. I wasn't paying attention.” I didn't know I was going to need an alibi.

His flat eyes held hers in a steady gaze. Like jacking a deer, she thought. And I'm just as paralyzed and just as scared.

Parkhurst nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Egersund. You've been very helpful.” He pushed himself away from the fender and drifted toward the driveway, as silent and deadly as a predator.

Have I, indeed, and what does that mean? At least he's leaving.

Just outside the garage, he turned. “Oh yes, one other thing. What kind of a car does your son drive?”

Maternal instincts raised their hackles. “Why?”

“Simple question. If you won't tell me I'll find out another way.”

“An old Mustang. 'Sixty-five. Metallic green.”

“Thank you. Good evening.”

She watched him go down the driveway, get in the Bronco and pull away. Why had he asked about Michael's car?

Alexa kept up her little woo woo woo cries of joy when Carena came into the screened back porch. “Okay, okay, I'm coming.” Juggling purse and briefcase, she found her key and stuck it in the lock. Alexa sniffled and scratched along the inside of the door. As soon as it started to open, the dog plunged out and stood on her hind legs with an elephantine wiggle. Carena knelt and hugged her. “Oh dear, Lexi, it's all getting worse and worse.” The radio clock on the cabinet read four-thirty. She found aspirin and swallowed two and wondered if Michael would be in yet.

She tried his number and was a little surprised when he answered. “Hi, sweetie, this is your momma.”

“Ah.
Guten nachmittag, Mutter.”

“And a good afternoon to you too,
sohn.
How's everything?”

“Gross.”

She laughed. “Is that German or English?”

“Half and half. German is gross. And that's English. You okay, Mom?”

“Oh, fine. What are you up to besides German?”

“Oh, this and that.” There was a pause and then he said, “I'm going to have dinner with Dad.”

“That's nice, honey.” She was sorry she'd asked. Michael always felt uncomfortable mentioning his father and she didn't quite know how to make him feel easy with it, let him know it was fine with her that he loved his father.