Mim stared sternly at Karen, Jody, Brooks, and Roger. “Why aren’t you in school?”
Karen answered for all of them. “Which school? We want to go back to St. Elizabeth’s. Our parents won’t let us.”
“Then what are you doing here?” She pounded them like a schoolmarm.
“The post office is where everything happens, sort of,” Brooks replied.
“Smart kid,” Mrs. Murphy said.
Irene called out, “Marilyn, can you guarantee my child’s safety?”
“Irene, no school can do that anymore, but within reason, yes.” Marilyn Sanburne felt she spoke for the board.
Harry leaned across the counter. “Guys, I don’t mind that you all meet here, but if someone comes in to get their mail, you have to clear a path for them. This is a federal building.”
“The hell with Washington,” Market Shiflett brazenly called out. “We had the right idea in 1861.”
Cheers rose from many throats. Miranda laughed as did Harry. Those transplanted Yankees in the crowd would find this charming, anachronistic proof that Southerners are not only backward but incapable of forgetting the war.
What Southerners knew in their souls was that given half the chance, they’d leave the oppressive Union in a skinny minute. Let the Yankees tax themselves to death. Southerners had better things to do with their time and money, although it is doubtful those “better things” would be productive.
“Now we must remain calm, provoking as these hideous events have been.” Mini turned to Harry. “Why don’t you call Rick Shaw? He ought to be here.”
“No.” Herbie gently contradicted her. “If you’ll forgive me, madam”—he often called Mini “madam”—“I think we’ll all be more forthcoming without the law here.”
“Yes.” Other voices agreed.
Mim cast her flashing blue gaze over the crowd. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why it’s going on, but I think we must assume we know the person or persons responsible for Roscoe’s demise as well as Maury’s bizarre death. This community must organize to protect itself.”
“How do we know the killer isn’t in this room?” Dr. Larry Johnson asked.
Father Michael replied, “We don’t.”
“Well, Kendrick was found bending over Maury. Sorry, Irene, but it’s true,” Market said.
“Then we’re telling the killer or killers our plans. How can we protect ourselves?” Lucinda Payne Coles, her brow furrowed, echoed what many others felt as well.
Harry raised her hand, a gesture left over from school.
“Harry.” Mim nodded toward her.
“The question is not if the killer or killers could be in this room. The question is, why are people being killed? We’ll worry ourselves into a fit if we think each of us is vulnerable.”
“But we are!” Market exclaimed. “Two people are dead—and one seventeen-year-old boy who admitted planting the first obituary is in the hospital. Who or what next?”
Harry replied evenly, “Marilyn, I know you don’t want to hear this, but everything points to St. Elizabeth’s.”
“Does that mean we’re suspects?” Jody Miller joked.
Irene put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “No one is suspecting students, dear.” She cast a knowing look at Larry Johnson. She needed to talk to him. Jody was in the first trimester of her pregnancy. A major decision had to be made. On the other hand, she watched Father Michael and thought maybe she should talk to him. It didn’t occur to her that Jody was the one who needed to do the talking.
Neither Sandy Brashiers nor any faculty members from the school were there to defend themselves or the institution. They were holding back a tidal wave of questions, recriminations, and fear at their own faculty meeting. The reporters, like jackals, camped at the door.
“You must put aside April’s absurd accusations,” Marilyn said nervously, “and we will audit the books this week to lay her accusations to rest. She’s only trying to divert our attention.”
“It’s true,” Roger said in his quiet voice. “The problem is at St. E’s.”
Mim asked, “Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what is going on at your school? Is there a drug problem?”
“Mrs. Sanburne, drugs are everywhere. Not just at St. E’s,” Karen said solemnly.
“But you’re rich kids. If you get in trouble, Daddy can bail you out.” Samson Coles bluntly added his two cents even though many people shunned him.
“That’s neither here nor there,” Market said impatiently. “What are we going to do?”
“Can we afford more protection? A private police force?” Fair was pretty sure they couldn’t.
“No.” Jim, towering over everyone but Fair, answered that query. “We’re on a shoestring.”
“The rescue squad and other groups like the Firehouse gang could pitch in.” Larry, getting warm, removed his glen plaid porkpie hat.
“Good idea, Larry.” Mim turned to her husband. “Can we do that? Of course we can. You’re the mayor.”
“I’ll put them on patrol. We can set up a cruise pattern. It’s a start.”
Mini went on. “While they’re doing that, the rest of us can go over our contacts with Roscoe, April, Maury, and Sean. There may be a telling clue, something you know that seems unimportant but is really significant, the missing link, so to speak.”
“Like, who gave Roscoe Fletcher candy at the car wash?” Miranda said innocently. “Harry thinks the killer was right there and gave him the poisoned candy right under everyone’s nose.”
“She just let the cat out of the bag.” Murphy’s eyes widened.
“What can we do?” Tucker cried.
“Pray the killer’s not in this room,” Mrs. Murphy said, knowing in her bones that the killer was looking her right in the face.
“But Rick Shaw and Cynthia must have figured out the same thing.” Pewter tried to allay their fears.
“Of course they have, but until this moment the person who wiped out Roscoe didn’t realize Mom had figured out most people were approaching Roscoe’s murder backward. Now they’ll wonder what else she’s figured out.”
“It’s Kendrick Miller.” Pewter licked her paw, rubbing her ear with it.
“If he is the one, he can get at Mom easily,” Tucker responded. “At least he’s not here.”
“Don’t worry, Irene will repeat every syllable of this meeting.” Murphy’s tail tip swayed back and forth, a sign of light agitation.
“We need to ask Fair to stay with Mom.” Tucker rightly assumed that would help protect her.
“Fat chance.” Murphy stood up, stretched, and called to her friends, “Come on out back with me. Humans need to huff and puff. We’ve got work to do.”
Tucker resisted. “We ought to stay here and observe.”
“The damage is done. We need to hotfoot it. Come on.”
Tucker threaded her way through the many feet and dashed through the animal door. Once outside she said, “Where are we going?”
“St. Elizabeth’s.”
“Murphy, that’s too far.” Pewter envisioned the trek.
“Do you want to help, or do you want to be a wuss?”
“I’m not a wuss.” Pewter defiantly swatted at the tiger cat.
“Then let’s go.”
Within forty-five minutes they reached the football and soccer fields. Tired, they sat down for a minute.
“Stick together. We’re going to work room to room.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure yet. If April took other books, they’re truly cooked now. But none of these people thought they were going to be killed. They must have left unfinished business somewhere, and if the offices are cleanas awhistle, then it means April knows the story—the whole story, doesn’t it?”
49
Eerie quiet greeted the animals as they padded down the hallway of the Old Main Building, the administration building. The faculty meeting was heating up in the auditorium across the quad. Not one soul was in Old Main, not even a receptionist.