It took all of Anne’s formidable self-control to reply calmly that she herself did not understand what was happening, and that she sincerely hoped that these pranks were at an end.
But they weren’t. When Anne got to school the next morning, there was a banner hanging over the front door. It read, “Anne, I love you. Your Booboo.”
Anne called the janitor. He was very lucky he had clocked in on time. Ten minutes later, he had removed the sign and was burning it in the school incinerator. But not before a few early students had taken pictures and sent them to forty of their best friends.
Anne immediately reviewed the security footage from the night before. It showed a figure in sweatpants and a hoodie hanging the banner with the help of a stepladder. There was a knit balaclava further obscuring the person’s head and face. “It’s not even possible to tell if it’s a man or a woman,” she said disgustedly.
Holt watched the few minutes of footage again. “I think it’s a woman,” he said. “There’s something about the way she goes up the ladder that makes me think so.”
“This has to come to an end,” Anne said.
“You’re right.” Holt was as serious as Anne. “We have to figure out who wants to discredit you.”
Anne nodded somberly.
But life didn’t stand still so they could concentrate on the problem. It was baseball season, and Holt was busy until late every afternoon and on some weekends.
Anne used her free time to do some spring cleaning (including her weapons safe: the school board would have been very surprised if they could see inside that) and finally turned her efforts to culling her wardrobe. That didn’t require intensive focus, so her mind ranged free while she sorted and tossed.
This campaign of ridicule was clearly personal. Anne tried to think of anyone local who could take offense at something she’d done; someone so angry they would resort to spending money, time, and thought to playing these elaborate pranks.
She couldn’t imagine what she could have done to bring this sly retribution down on herself. If she enlarged the circle to include people who hated her because of incidents in her life as Twyla Burnside, there were any number of people who qualified as candidates. But it was clear that this campaign was against Anne DeWitt.
Then Anne caught at an elusive thought, a shining fish in the water. She stood absolutely still until she grasped the fish and looked at it. She stared into the middle distance, a peach silk blouse clutched in her hands.
What if it’s not me?
What if… “What if it’s for Holt?” she said out loud. She was not just a principal. She was Holt Halsey’s “girlfriend.” Though that bashful word hardly covered their relationship… which was very adult.
“Him, not me,” Anne said, the revelation striking her, giving off the ring of truth. She sat on the edge of the bed, the blouse forgotten in her hands, and examined this new idea. After looking at it from all sides, Anne felt certain she was right.
Holt had come to work at the high school a year after Anne, but he’d only revealed that he knew who she was much later. Holt could have done a lot of things before they’d become lovers. Something stirred in Anne, an alien feeling. She’d never thought about Holt’s previous amours.
She was going to have to pry.
Holt would be tired after the long afternoon practice, and the Panthers had a game the next day. She could tell Holt was surprised when she insisted that he stop by before he went home. But she told him she’d cook dinner, and a balanced meal during the season was irresistible.
Anne had prepared lemon chicken, rice, and asparagus. Holt was tired, hungry, and preoccupied with his best catcher’s bad knee, so they ate in near-silence. Anne didn’t mind: she understood being absorbed in a job.
Holt roused himself after he’d cleaned his plate. “What’s the occasion?” he said. He was rough hewn and large, but he was also clever and ruthless. Abruptly, Anne realized she was fond of him.
“Holt,” Anne said. “I had an idea today about this… series of ludicrous events.”
“What was it?” he said, looking more interested.
“Who would be angry that you were unavailable?” Anne said, her eyes intent on his face.
Anne had seldom taken Holt by surprise. She had this time.
“Ohhh,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You mean, because I’m seeing you? Someone I had a relationship with before you?” He had to think about it. “Carrie Ambrose,” he said after a long moment. Carrie was a divorced biology teacher. “And Lois, the nurse.”
Anne held herself still with an effort. Anne wouldn’t have thought Carrie would appeal to Holt, since she was what Anne thought of as “fluffy.” But she’d been wrong, obviously. And Lois… that was really unexpected. “Anyone else?” she said quite calmly.
“Melayna Tate,” he said. An emotion passed over his face quickly, too quickly for Anne to read it.
“You had some kind of relationship with these three women?”
“No,” he said. “We had sex.”
Anne knew Lois best of the three. And she felt that if Lois was dreaming up this elaborate plan against her, Lois was deeper than she’d ever given her credit for being. But the nurse was an intelligent woman. It was possible. Carrie Ambrose had been dating a man in Travis for a while, at least as long as Anne could remember. Melayna Tate was the girls’ basketball coach. Anne did not know Melayna very welclass="underline" Melayna’s team won often enough, the parents seemed content, so Anne had had no reason to observe the coach closely.
“The person in the security footage could be Melayna or Lois,” Anne said. “I think they’re more likely than Carrie. Whoever hung the sign, she swarmed up that ladder. Carrie isn’t muscular, and she’s heavier. Tell me about Melayna and Lois.” She waited, her hands folded.
“You’re too smart to be sensitive about Melayna or Lois.” Holt sounded doubtful.
Anne said, “Yes, I am.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you quit having sex with them.”
Holt tried smiling back. “Lois is smart, and she has a good sense of humor, but I was not what she was looking for. I think she knew that too. She quit calling. Melayna was wild. And emotional. I had the feeling she was thinking of names for our children. She mentioned moving in with me after two dates.”
Anne didn’t comment on that. “So Lois and Melayna seem possible, but I should check out Carrie Ambrose,” she said. “Whoever it is, she wants to discredit me. Apparently, she feels I took you away from her.”
Holt looked embarrassed. “They should know better,” he said.
“Whoever. We need to shut her down,” Anne said. “Because the superintendent is asking pointed questions. The teachers and the kids are laughing at me. It’s going to take me a long time to rebuild my standing.”
“If we expose her,” Holt said, “that would clarify the blame.”
“Principal, coach, and another school employee, caught in a love triangle? Not good.”
“This has to stop, and it should be explained somehow. What if… what if you weren’t the only person she was trying to smear?”
“That would dilute the situation,” Anne said slowly. “And take the spotlight away from me.”
“So, who’s our choice?”
“Let’s make it a man.” Anne smiled. “What about Ross Montgomery? The middle school principal? He’s a douche.”
“Ross? Perfect.” Holt looked happier by the second. “How can I help? My game and practice schedule right now…”
“I understand,” Anne said calmly. “You can leave it to me.”
Ross Montgomery had a hell of a week. He’d been the middle school principal in Travis for fifteen years, and he planned to die in harness there. He’d gotten things just the way he liked them, as he told everyone who would listen. His assistant did most of the work, Ross could bully his secretary (which made him feel important), and the kids weren’t too bad since most of them were small enough to be cowed.