Mother's Day, Muffins, and Murder Read online

  Marie was Peg’s opposite, a sweet, cheerful, and chatty motherly woman with determinedly blond hair fluffing out around her face. She had been at the school since it opened its doors in 1985, and she was retiring at the end of this school year. I’d gotten to know her quite well this year because I had helped coordinate the gift wrap fundraising sale before Christmas.

  A couple of moms on the PTA had argued that we needed to do another fundraiser before the school year ended, but that idea had gone down in flames at the last PTA meeting. Marie had been very interested in whether or not the idea of another fundraiser would go forward. She was the person who handled all the details for the PTA, placing orders, making deposits, following up on deliveries. A second round of fundraising would mean a lot of work for her.

  I should let her know she was off the hook. “I need to leave a message for Marie,” I said as another mom entered the office and headed for the check-in computer.

  Peg tilted her head toward the end of the counter. “There’s a sticky note and pen.”

  I jotted a quick note to Marie with the news that the idea for another fundraiser was a no-go, then pushed through the swinging half door at the end of the counter. “I’ll leave it on her desk,” I said as I stuck it on the one and zero of her block calendar. She’d be sure to see it there. I wasn’t too confident that, if I left it with Peg, it would actually reach Marie.

  Kids and moms were flowing into the lobby as I left the office to hurry down the hallway to Nathan’s room. His teacher, Mr. Spagnatilli, and I quickly set up the muffins, paper plates, and napkins as well as the cartons of juice that he’d brought before the first bell rang, signaling that kids could go to their classrooms. The Muffins with Mom event took place during the twenty-minute window when the kids could arrive and go directly to their classrooms. Nathan arrived, and he and I ate muffins, with me squeezed into a little chair beside his desk. “We’re making something for our moms this week,” Nathan informed me as we munched on our blueberry muffins.

  “Interesting. Should I ask what it is?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his expression somber. “Don’t ask, because I can’t tell.”

  “Okay. I won’t, but I’m looking forward to seeing it . . . whatever it is.” I brushed the crumbs from my lap. “All right, buddy, I have to scoot over to Livvy’s room and have a muffin with her before the last bell. I’ll see you in the pickup line this afternoon.”

  The school was set up with several hallways branching off the central area of the school, which contained the school office, cafeteria, library, and nurse’s office. As I moved through the central lobby area, I passed several moms who, like me, were packing in multiple stops during the short morning so that they could have muffins with all of their kids. Considering the muffins that the kids and I had eaten at home to “test” the recipe, plus the ones I would have this morning, I was glad they were mini-muffins; otherwise, I would have needed to go to the gym next instead of to the organizing appointment that was on my schedule.

  I dropped into Livvy’s classroom, which had a completely different atmosphere from Nathan’s room. The bulletin boards were still covered with decorations and informative charts about reading tips and common spelling mistakes, and the desks were only slightly bigger, but there was a more grown-up ambiance. There were less crafts and more paperwork in these classrooms. The oh-so-sophisticated fifth-graders changed classes for every subject, so their backpacks hung on the back of their chairs. A few students were trying to send texts discreetly, their phones hidden in their laps under their desks. The cell phone thing was a sore spot with Livvy. She wanted one, and we’d decided that there was no need for her to have one until middle school, which was only next year, a fact that amazed me. Where had the grade-school years gone? I pushed that thought away and focused on chatting with Livvy while eating my cranberry muffin. I asked Livvy what book she’d picked up at the library.

  “The Mysterious Benedict Society. I’ve only read the first few pages, and I think it’s going to be good.”

  “Wonderful.” Livvy was happiest when she had a good book. The trouble was keeping her in books. I recently introduced her to Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden. She’d run through all those books in a few weeks. “Oh, there’s the eight-twenty warning bell,” I said. I had five minutes to help clean up in Nathan’s classroom and get off campus before the school day officially began with announcements immediately after the eight-twenty-five bell. I gave Livvy a quick one-armed hug. She glanced around, obviously hoping not too many of her friends had seen the display of affection, but I’d been fast.

  I hurried back through the hallways, threading through moms and kids doing a good imitation of race-walking as they scurried to their classrooms and tried to beat the last bell. In Nathan’s classroom, I brushed the crumbs into the empty plastic tub, swept up the extra plates and cups, and dumped the empty juice boxes in the trash before waving to Nathan and hurrying down the hallway to the lobby. I didn’t want to get stuck listening to the morning announcements and the pledge of allegiance. It wasn’t that I wasn’t patriotic—Mitch was in the military, after all. Couldn’t get much more patriotic than that. But the timing to get to my organizing appointment was tight, and the announcements often ran long, especially on a day like today when parents were in the building.

  I was scooting along, making great time, when Gabrielle backed out of a doorway and collided with me, sending the plastic container spinning off across the white tile floor.

  “Gabrielle, what on earth—” I broke off as I looked up from retrieving the plastic tub. Her face was a washed-out, pale color, the same tone as the shiny industrial tiles that lined the floor. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s somebody in there. A body.” She pointed at the storage closet door.

  “What? No, you must be mistaken.” It was such a bizarre thing to say that I would have thought she was joking, but her color wasn’t good and, except for the quick glance she’d sent me when we banged into each other, her eyes were wide and fixed on the door.

  I reached for the handle, thinking that it must be a bundle of clothes leftover from some event, but the door wouldn’t budge. The slim bar handle twisted down, but when I pulled, the door didn’t open. “It’s locked.” I looked back at Gabrielle. “Do you have a key?” With all the organizing she’d been doing, it wouldn’t be impossible that she’d have a key to one of the storage closets around the school.

  “No.” She shook her head, her ponytail slapping her shoulders. “It wasn’t completely closed before. There was about an inch gap when I went in. The lights were off, and when I flicked them on . . . I saw her.”

  “Her?” That was pretty specific. “You’re sure it was a woman?”

  Gabrielle’s head bobbed. “Yes. It was a woman.” Gabrielle swallowed. “I could tell from the hand—long, narrow fingers and a ring with a big oval stone. It’s definitely a woman.”

  “That’s all you saw? A hand?” I asked.

  “Yes, sticking up out of a trash can.” She shifted her gaze from the door to my face. “I know what I saw.”

  I looked up and down the hallway, but it was the final moments before the tardy bell, and the hall was deserted.

  “Come on, let’s go to the office.” Gabrielle didn’t move. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and propelled her in the direction of the lobby. “They’ll have a key. I bet it was something else. . . .”

  She stopped walking. “No. Ellie, it was a body. There is a woman in there, and she’s dead; I know it. The skin was so white, it has to be . . .” She shivered and looked like she might be sick.

  Before I could say anything, the tardy bell rang, and then the public address system crackled. Gabrielle started as if someone had given her an electric shock. Mrs. Kirk’s voice came through the speakers, which were positioned in each of the classrooms as well as the hallways.

  “Welcome, mothers, to Muffins with Mom Day. We’re so happy you could join us this morning. We know you do so much
to help your kids succeed, and we wanted to take a little time today to honor you. Students, let’s give a round of applause for your fantastic moms.”

  Mrs. Kirk paused, and little bursts of clapping sounded from the classrooms on either side of the hallway as Gabrielle and I walked on toward the lobby.

  Mrs. Kirk continued, “Moms, thank you for coming today. We’re glad you could start your day with us, but after announcements, students must get to work, so all parents must leave campus after announcements. Today’s lunch menu is a crispy taco, salad, milk, and a pudding cup. Teachers, don’t forget—”

  A high-pitched buzzing sound that hurt my ears cut through Mrs. Kirk’s words. Gabrielle and I paused and looked at each other.

  “That’s not the fire alarm, is it?” I asked.

  Gabrielle nodded. “No. They had a drill when I was here last week. Surely, they wouldn’t have another drill so soon.”

  “And not in the middle of announcements,” I said.

  Mrs. Kirk’s voice resumed, carrying on through the continued siren-like blasts. “Students, teachers, and parents, please exit the building in an orderly fashion.”

  Up and down the hall, teachers emerged from their classrooms, the students following in undulating lines as they marched down the hallway. Gabrielle and I started moving again. When we got to the lobby, I glanced in the office, but it was empty. Mrs. Kirk stood at the doors, watching the children file by and shushing any talking students into silence. Peg stood at Mrs. Kirk’s side, a clipboard and bullhorn tucked into the crook of her elbow.

  I looked toward Gabrielle, but she was still pale and shaken, her gaze darting around the entrance. Where was the take-charge dynamo who was always stampeding forward, snapping up organizing clients and jobs? I steered Gabrielle toward Peg and the principal.

  I had expected Gabrielle to tell Mrs. Kirk what she’d seen, but Gabrielle looked at me with her wide eyes, so I said, “Mrs. Kirk, Gabrielle—”

  Mrs. Kirk held up a hand, palm out. “Ladies, this is not the time. We must make sure all students and staff are out of the building. Please take your place in line over there.” Mrs. Kirk was a sturdy woman in her fifties who liked to joke that she was tougher than Captain Kirk, a comment that went right over the heads of most of her students, but today she was all business.

  I exchanged a look with Gabrielle, then glanced at the lines of kids still filing out of the school. Mrs. Kirk was right. The first priority had to be making sure the kids were safely out of the school, in case there was a fire. And any mention of . . . something . . . possibly a body, might be picked up on by the kids, who somehow always seemed to hear the very things we didn’t want them to hear.

  Mrs. Kirk raised her eyebrows at Gabrielle and me. At her elbow, Peg sent us a disapproving look.

  “Of course, we’ll wait,” I said. “But it is very urgent that we speak to you as soon as possible. Very urgent,” I repeated.

  Mrs. Kirk’s eyebrows came down in a frown as her gaze went from me to Gabrielle. She lingered, looking over Gabrielle for a moment. “Mrs. Matheson, do you need anything? To sit down?”

  Gabrielle blinked, then seemed to pull herself together. “No. No, I’m . . . okay, I guess.”

  Mrs. Kirk gave a slow nod. “All right. I’ll find you as soon as I can. Wait for me there, by the line of kindergartners.”

  “Right.” We moved off through the line of benches that edged the circular car pickup lanes to wait with the smallest kids.

  I turned to Gabrielle and said in a low voice, “Are you sure what you saw was a hand? Could it have been . . . I don’t know . . . maybe a glove—a plastic glove—or something like that?”

  My doubting tone shook Gabrielle out of her daze. “No,” she said in a loud, adamant whisper. “It was a hand. I’m positive.”

  One of the kindergarten teachers frowned at us and made a zipping-her-lips motion. I mouthed, Sorry, and didn’t say anything else.

  We waited there, Gabrielle and I, until the last student had filed out. Occasional whispers, which were quickly silenced, floated on the morning air between pulses of the fire alarm. The wail of a fire engine joined the sound of the alarm, and less than a minute later, a fire truck lumbered up into the car circle pickup lane and came to a halt at the front doors of the school.

  The kids went quiet for a moment—obviously this wasn’t normal fire drill procedure—then there was a fresh burst of talking, which the teachers quickly squashed. The firefighters swung down from their truck, conferred with Mrs. Kirk, then entered the building.

  We waited in the growing warmth of the sun. Eventually, the pulsing fire alarm stopped, and the firefighters emerged from the building and spoke to Mrs. Kirk again. She took the bullhorn from Peg and announced, “Thank you, students and parents, for following directions so well this morning. You may return to your classrooms.” The teachers led their charges back into the school. Now, the kids were chattering and pointing as the fire truck pulled away.

  Mrs. Kirk watched the first classes return to the building, then came over to us. “Now, what can I help you with?”

  Gabrielle shot a look at me out of the corner of her eye, then licked her lips. “There’s a body in the storage closet in the blue hallway.” The hallways were color-coded to help the kids navigate them, which came in handy, especially during the first weeks of the school year. The first-and second-grade classrooms were in the blue hallway.

  Mrs. Kirk’s gaze had been divided between us and the children filing back into the school, but at Gabrielle’s words, her attention snapped to her. “A body?”

  “Yes,” Gabrielle said firmly. “I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw.”

  “You saw this . . . when?”

  “Right before the fire alarm went off. The door wasn’t closed. I went in, turned on the light, and saw . . . her.”

  Mrs. Kirk looked to me. “You saw it, too?”

  “No, the door closed and locked when Gabrielle came out.”

  Mrs. Kirk’s gaze shifted from Gabrielle to me for a moment. Then she said, “Very well, come into the office while we check it out.”

  We followed her into the office, where she motioned for us to have a seat on the bench that ran along the wall opposite the tall counter, saying she would check the storage closet herself. “Best if you wait here. I don’t want to draw too much attention to . . . this situation until we know what is going on, and having several parents in the hallway will do that.”

  I knew it was silly, but as I sat down on the smooth wood, I couldn’t help but feel that I was back in grade school and had been called to the principal’s office for some infraction.

  Peg went behind the counter, stowed the bullhorn in a cabinet at the back of the room in the little nook that contained a bar sink and a coffee machine, then sat down at her desk without a look in our direction.

  It was probably less than a minute before Mrs. Kirk returned, a concerned look on her face. She sat down beside Gabrielle on the bench. “Mrs. Matheson, there is nothing in the storage closet except cleaning supplies and extra paper.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabrielle’s spine straightened. “What are you talking about? Of course, there’s a body there. I saw it.” She surged up from the bench and strode out the door.

  Mrs. Kirk shot an exasperated look at me, then hurried after her. After a beat, I hopped up and strode down the hallway, too, stepping through the last group of the moms who had walked their kids back to class and were now leaving the campus.

  Gabrielle was tugging at the storage room door as Mrs. Kirk arrived with me on her heels. Mrs. Kirk had a set of keys in her hand. “Here, let me show you.”

  Gabrielle stepped back, her arms crossed and a determined look on her face. “I don’t know how you could have overlooked it.”

  The shell-shocked look had worn off, and in a strange way, I was glad to see the old assertive—or perhaps aggressive was a better word—Gabrielle that I knew.

  With a jangle of the keys, Mrs.
Kirk unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  “It’s right there—”

  Gabrielle stared inside the storage room for a second, then marched into the tiny room, flicking on the lights. “It’s impossible. It’s got to be here.” She turned in a circle, her gaze raking every inch of the small closet, but there was nowhere for a body to be hidden.

  The small square of space contained two sets of metal shelves, which were filled with cleaning supplies and paper products. Two tables with the legs folded leaned against the far wall and kid-sized chairs were stacked next to them.

  Mrs. Kirk gazed at Gabrielle, a concerned look on her face. “It must have been a shadow or a trick of the light . . . or something.” She half stepped into the closet and put a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder. “Let me make you a cup of coffee,” Mrs. Kirk said as she drew Gabrielle out of the closet.

  “I know what I saw.” Gabrielle allowed herself to be maneuvered out of the closet, but shrugged her shoulder so that Mrs. Kirk’s hand dropped away.

  “Was the light on when you looked inside the closet?” I asked. If Gabrielle had only opened the door an inch and it had been dark in the room . . .

  A boy I recognized from Nathan’s class came down the hallway, carrying a piece of paper. His steps slowed as he reached us.

  “No,” Gabrielle snapped. “The light was off, but I could see the arm sticking up out of the trash can just fine. It had to be a body. It couldn’t be anything else.”

  Mrs. Kirk smiled at the boy. “Hurry along, Ned. No dawdling.” He picked up his pace, but snuck several glances at us over his shoulder.

  Mrs. Kirk turned off the light. I’d been holding the closet door open, looking at every inch of the room, hoping to see something odd—a dropped rubber glove or piece of cloth that might have resembled a hand in a poorly lit space, but that didn’t seem to be a possibility. Not even a bit of dust or scrap of paper marred the spick-and-span floor. I released the door and it sighed on its pneumatic hinge as it closed slowly.

  “Wait.” Gabrielle stuck out a hand, halting the door. “Where is the trash can?”