“Catsup ghost.” Fair bit into a succulent egg roll, the tiny shrimp bits assaulting his taste buds.
“What were you doing at St. E’s?”
“Like a fool, I agreed to help Renee Hallvard referee the field hockey games if she can’t find anyone else. She can’t for the next game, so I went over to review the rules. I wish I’d never said yes.”
“I have a hard time saying no, too. The year I agreed to coach Little League I lost twenty pounds”—Fair laughed—“from worrying about the kids, my work, getting to practice on time.”
“Is this a social call, Cynthia? Come on,” Harry teased her.
“Yes and no. The corpse, Winifred Thalman, was a freelance cinematographer. I called April Shively before anyone else—after I stopped at the post office. She says Thalman was the person who shot the little movies the seniors made their first week back at school.”
“Wouldn’t someone have missed her in New York? Family?”
Cooper put down her egg roll. “She was estranged from her only brother. Parents dead. As a cinematographer, her neighbors were accustomed to her being absent for months at a time. No pets. No plants. No relationships. Rick tracked down the super in her building.”
“You didn’t stop at the post office to tell me the news first, did you?” Harry smiled.
“Saw Irene’s car.”
“Ah.”
“Kendrick’s got to be lying. Only reason we can come up with for him to do that is he’s protecting his wife or his daughter.”
“They killed Roscoe and Maury?” Fair was incredulous.
“We think one of them did. Rick’s spent hours going over Kendrick’s books and bank accounts, and there’s just no evidence of any financial misdoing. Even if you buy the sexual jealousy motive, why would he have killed this Thalman woman?”
“Well, why would Irene or Jody have done it?” Harry asked.
“If we knew that, we’d know everything.” Cynthia broke the egg roll in two. “Irene will be at the field hockey game tomorrow. We’ll have her covered by a plainclothesman from Waynesboro’s department. You’ll be on the field. Keep your eyes open.”
“Irene or Jody stabbed Maury? Jeesh,” Fair exclaimed. “Takes a lot of nerve to get that close at a public gathering.”
“Wasn’t that hard to do,” Harry said. “Sometimes the easiest crimes are the ones committed in crowds.”
“The killer confessed twice to Father Michael. Since Kendrick has confessed, Father Michael hasn’t heard a peep. Nothing unusual about that—if you’re a murderer and someone has taken the rap for you. Still, the impulse to confess is curious. Guilt?”
“Pride,” Harry rejoined.
“Irene or Jody … I still can’t get over it.”
“Do you think they know? I mean, does one of them know the other is a killer?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know. But I hope whoever it is gets sloppy or gets rattled.”
“Guess this new murder will be on the eleven o’clock news”— Harry checked the old wall clock—“and in the papers.”
“Whole town will be talking.” Cynthia poured half a carton of noodles on her plate. “Maybe that’ll rattle our killer. I don’t know, she’s been cold as ice.”
“Yeah, well, even ice has a melting point.” Fair tinkled the ice in his water glass.
“Harry, because you’re in the middle of the field, you’re secure. If it is Jody, she can’t stab you or poison you without revealing herself. Are you willing to bait her? If we’re wrong, there will be plenty of time to apologize.”
“I’ll do it.” She nodded her head, “Can you set a trap for Irene?”
“Fair?”
“Oh, hell!” He put down his glass.
72
The colored cars and trucks filling the St. Elizabeth’s back parking lot looked like jelly beans. The St. Elizabeth’s supporters flew pennants off their antennas. So did the Chatham Hall fans. When the wind picked up, it resembled a used-car parking lot. All that was missing were the prices in thick grease crayon on the windshields.
Harry, despite all, read and reread the rule book in the faculty locker room. She knew the hardest part of refereeing would be blowing the whistle. Once she grew confident, she’d overcome that. And she had to establish her authority early on because if the kids thought they could get away with fouling, some would.
Mrs. Murphy sat on the wooden bench next to her. Pewter and Tucker guarded the door. Deputy Cooper waited in the hall.
The noise of a locker being pulled over, followed by shouting, reverberated down the hall.
“What the hell?” Harry ran out the door toward the commotion.
Cooper jerked her head in the direction of the noise. “It’s World War Three in there, and the game hasn’t even started.”
“Well, it is the qualifier for state.” Harry tucked her whistle in the whistle pocket.
Pewter giggled. “She found it.”
The animals ran down the hall. Tucker, losing her hind footing on the slick waxed surface, spun around once. They reached the locker room and crept along the aisle.
“What a dirty trick! I’ll kill whoever did this!” Jody kicked her locker again for good measure. Dead mice, moles, and shrews were scattered over the floor. A bottle of catsup, red stuff oozing out of the bite marks, splattered everywhere. Jody’s stick had catsup on it, too.
“Gross.” Karen Jensen jumped backward as the tiny dead animals spilled everywhere.
“You did this!” Jody lost her composure, accusing the last person who would do such a thing.
“You’re crazy,” Karen shot back.
Jody picked up her hockey stick and swung at Karen’s head. Fortunately, Karen, the best player on the team and blessed with lightning reflexes, ducked. Brooks grabbed Jody from behind, but Jody, six inches taller, was hard to hold.
Coach Hallvard dashed into the room. “Cut it out!” She surveyed the mess. “All right. Out of here. Everyone out of here.”
“Someone filled my locker with dead mice and catsup!” Jody shrieked. “And it’s your fault. You won’t let us keep locks on our lockers anymore!”
“We’ll solve this after the game.” Coach put her hands on her hips. “It could have been someone from Chatham Hall. It certainly would benefit them to rattle one of our best players and set this team fighting among ourselves, wouldn’t it?”
The girls drank in this motivating theory, none of which Hallvard believed. However, it provided a temporary solution. She’d talk to Deputy Cooper after the game. Coach was intelligent enough to know that anything out of the ordinary at St. Elizabeth’s must be treated with the utmost suspicion, and Cynthia had briefed her to be alert. She didn’t identify Jody as a possible suspect.
“You’re right, Coach.” Jensen, the natural leader of the team, finally spoke. “Let’s wipe them off the face of the earth!”
The girls cheered. As they grabbed their sticks and filed out of the room, Brooks noticed Mrs. Murphy.
“Murphy, hi, kitty.”
“Keep your cool, Brooks, this will bea hellof a game.”
When the home team ran across the field to the benches, the home crowd roared.
Fair sat next to Irene, as he promised Cynthia he would. The plainclothes officer from Waynesboro sat behind her, pretending to be a Chatham Hall supporter.
Miranda, also alerted, huddled with Mim in the center of the bleachers.
Cynthia stayed behind the Chatham Hall bench, which gave her a shorter sprint to the gym if need be. She knew Irene was well covered, so she watched Jody.
Herb Jones joined Sandy Brashiers and some of the faculty on the lower bench seats.
Harry met her co-official, Lily Norton, a former All-American, who drove over from Richmond.
“I’m a last minute fill-in, Miss Norton. Bear with me.” Harry shook her hand.
“I was a freshman at Lee High the year you-all won state.” She warmly returned the handshake. “You’ll do fine, and please, call me Lily.”
“Okay.” Harry smiled.
They both synchronized their watches, then Lily put the whistle to her lips, blew, and the two captains trotted out to the center of the field.