But the centerpiece of the graduation night festivities was the casino. Real casino equipment, slot machines, roulette wheels, and all the other appurtenances were rented and set up along the main hallways. But instead of actual money, the kids were issued a set amount of fake money with which to play.
During the year the PTA's primary activity was soliciting prizes to be given by drawing or purchased with fake gambling proceeds. A strict and highly complex computerized system had been developed and honed to make sure that every student got one and only one prize, but some of them were doozies. This year there were five televisions, two computer-printer combinations and a laptop, a half dozen airline vouchers, numerous fancy telephones, little dorm room — sized refrigerators, CD players, wireless speakers and headphones, concert tickets, camping gear, exercise equipment, and clothing. In addition, there were hundreds of gift certificates for gasoline,dress shops, office supply stores, restaurants, music stores, and software stores. Students' names were entered only for those prizes they were interested in, so everybody was sure to end up with something he or she wanted.
Jane, as the mother of three kids in the school district, wasn't expected to take a big role in the process for the first child. The PTA philosophy was that if you worked first-timers to death, you'd never get them back. So her assignment was to help with the decorating of the casino/hallways. She'd also have to stay up all night as a door guard to keep the kids from wandering off. That was the part she was dreading, not having actually stayed up all night since the night Todd was born — and not by choice then. The nurses had claimed she was the only maternity patient they'd ever had who thought sleeping through labor was an achievable goal.
When Jane arrived at the school, a few minutes after nine, it appeared to be a madhouse. The building swarmed with parents; a caravan of large trucks was unloading tables, chairs, and sound system gear. The one person who didn't seem to be frantic was Patsy Mallett, the amazing woman who oversaw the whole operation. Jane caught sight of her, sailing serenely through the chaos.
Jane reported to the head of the casino committee and was given a stepladder and a trolley that was stacked high with dark fabric, tacks, a hammer, and a box full of large cardboard-and-glitter stars and moons.
“Start to the south of the main door, overlap the fabric exactly two inches along the ceiling molding, and put two stars and moon on each section," were the curt orders she was given by a woman so over organized, she made Shelley seem like an aimless slob.
Jane did as she was told, and was just ready to climb down from her ladder and admire her first section of work, when she looked down and recognized the top of Mel's head. He stood just inside the door, notebook in hand.
“Mel, we have to stop meeting this way," she said.
6
"This is taking the prize for my most tedious investigation," Mel complained two hours later. He'd been roaming around the school, trying to locate and interview a number of the many people who'd been at the deli opening. Not only was it hard to find them, but getting them to stop their work and talk to him was nearly impossible.
But Jane did notice that a number of women took the time to look him over pretty carefully. Too bad he wasn't smiling — that dimple when he smiled would have made them topple off their ladders. At least it always made Jane feel as if she were toppling off something.
“I've heard of nine-day wonders, but this is hardly a nine-hour wonder," he said to Jane, who was taking a short break from her job. "Nobody seems to care that this guy died in their midst."
“It's not that they don't care — well, that's part of it — but they're busy, Mel," Jane explained. "There's so much to be done here and a very short time to do it. Most of these people have been planning this for a year, and now it's show time at last. They're like a great big Olympic team that's been training forever and now they're down to the wire. The woman in charge of this hallway stuff I'm doing had actually practiced and timed putting the stuff up."
“So how come you get to come sit outside? Aren't you wrecking the schedule?" he said grumpily.
Jane ignored his bad temper. He was often this way at the beginning of an investigation. As he started accumulating information, he'd cheer up. "Oh, she built in a break, efficient woman that she is," Jane said with a laugh. "Besides, there was a glitch and I'm missing a box of glittery stars."
“What a weird world you live in," he said.
“Not really. You just haven't done a lot of volunteer work, Mel. It has to be treated like a real job to be effective."
“Well, I'm not being very effective at my real job," he said.
“As far as nobody caring — he not only wasn't very well-liked, but they don't have kids in the school district," Jane said.
“What have kids got to do with it?"
“A lot. Most of the people I know well, for example, are either fairly close neighbors," she said, ticking the categories off on her fingers, "or people I do business with, or people I know through the kids and their activities. Not just school stuff specifically, but car pools, sports teams, lessons, recitals, stuff like that. The Stoneciphers were neighbors and some people had business dealings with him, but without kids, they're out of a big part of the loop. Actually, I think they have a daughter, but she's older and must not live at home with them. At least, I've never met her. Of course, his wife was involved in some civic stuff. In fact, she's a born organizer. And he involved himself in lots of things, but his chosen role was always antagonistic to somebody. Or a lot of somebodies. So if people seem to be callous about his death, those are a couple of the reasons."
“It's not just that they're callous," Mel said. "That's okay. A lot of people who get themselves killed aren't terribly well-liked. And I've investigated cases where nobody even knew the victim, they just happened to be witnesses. No, it's that there were such a mob of people at the deli and nobody seems to be able to pinpoint where anybody was at any given time. I can't even begin to get a fix on where anybody was when the rack was pushed over. Like you, a lot of them know where they were at the time they heard the crash, but unless they were actually speaking to someone at the time, they can't say where anybody else was."
“It was a social thing, Mel. Nobody knew they needed to pay any attention."
“I know. I know. But it's making me crazy anyhow. So far all I've got is a milling crowd and nobody who admits to being first on the scene or can tell me who else was. And I'm not even sure it matters."
“What do you mean?"
“Just that there's a second door to that storeroom. Somebody could have pushed over the rack, dodged out the door, come back in another door and acted surprised with the rest of the mob."
“But I thought I heard voices outside. Did anyone see someone come out the door?”
Mel shook his head. "Nope. But the door leads to a covered passage where they store trash containers."
“Oh, right. The trellis thing with the honeysuckle growing on it. I remember seeing that. And there are two doors opening onto it?"
“Right. One from the storeroom and one opening onto the kitchen. You could go out one and in the other without being noticed unless you crashed into the trash and drew attention to yourself."
“Mrs. Jeffry?" a voice called shrilly.
“Oops, I have to get back to work," Janesaid, getting up hurriedly. "Mel, you're not going to poop out on chaperoning with me tonight, are you?"