Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  “Unhappy lady.”

  “It’s an unfortunate situation.”

  “I take it house mothering hasn’t gotten any easier.”

  He smiled wanly. “Chris is volatile and she’s been really shaken up since Missy disappeared. Blames herself. She’s also got Jared churning her into a frenzy every chance he gets. They’re close friends.”

  “Ah, yes, the disgruntled Mr. Phelps,” I said as we headed out toward the campus quadrangle. “Is there a way I can talk with him without compromising you and the school?”

  “No one comes away from a conversation with Jared uncompromised, I’m afraid. But let’s see…this afternoon there’s a girls’ lacrosse game. Karen Seymour, Hope’s daughter, will be playing. If you show up, you’ll most likely find him in action. Jared usually spends the game cruising the sidelines, talking to students, parents, faculty, anyone he can corner. I’d take you, but I have a reception with the high rollers. In fact, I think your dad may be there. You would be more than welcome to come.”

  “No, thanks. Lacrosse sounds like much more fun.”

  “How about dinner? We’re having a small group at the Head’s residence.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass if you don’t mind. My friends are arriving this afternoon and I haven’t seen them for a while. We’re looking forward to catching up.”

  Dinny’s eyes scanned the quad. “Oh, who’s coming?”

  “Lolly Pruit and Katie Briarwood. They’re pretty much the only Whitley people I keep up with.”

  “Terrific. It’ll be nice to see Lola and Kathy again.”

  I refrained from correcting him. “Dinny, is everything all right?”

  He turned, blue eyes studying me. “Yes. No. I’m sorry, Ricky. I’ve got to hand you over to Brooke Richards, the Head of Upper School. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. You must be out straight preparing for the weekend.”

  “What? Yes, I am. That’s right. Out straight.” His eyes darted from me to our surroundings as the quad filled with students changing classes.

  I planted myself in front of him, arms akimbo. “Dinny, what’s wrong? One minute you’re the gracious host with all the time in the world. The next you’re like a caged animal. Did something happen that I should know about?”

  When his eyes met mine, sadness shimmered in their deep blue depths. “Yes, something has happened, and I want to talk to you about it, but not now, not here. Come on.” He took hold of my arm and steered me toward the upper school building.

  I dug in my heels, gripping his forearm. “When?”

  “Let’s just get through today. Look, here’s Brooke now.” He waved as a blond, athletic man in a navy blazer and khaki pants headed our way.

  “Morning.” He waved at a passing student, then turned to us. “Hear you need a tour guide.”

  “Brooke Richards, Ricky Steele. She’s here for her reunion weekend. She’s also the savior who has agreed to fill in at Round House till Carolyn’s replacement arrives.”

  Richards smiled, extending a hand. Firm grip, palms a little sweaty. “Now that’s what I call a loyal alumna. Welcome, Ms. Steele. What’s this, your tenth reunion?”

  I laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Fortieth. It’s only the second time I’ve been back since I graduated.”

  “Well, then, there’s much to show you. Shall we?”

  Dinny bid us a hasty farewell and turned, hurrying off in the direction of his office.

  Richards watched his boss’s retreat, then turned to me. “Hectic time for headmasters. One performance after another.”

  Brooke Richards was about my age, maybe a little younger, and slightly taller at around six feet. As we walked, he told me about himself—tenth year at the school, wife and two kids—and queried me about my life post-Whitley. When he learned I had graduated from Brown, we played the name game for a few minutes, finally determining that I knew none of his friends and vice versa.

  He gave me “the grand tour”—new athletic complex, assembly hall, and library and classroom buildings. As we walked into the Petty Student Union, he stopped to get keys from the security guard. “There probably aren’t many faculty remaining from your Whitley days. Let’s see, there’s Rolly, of course. Do you remember him?”

  “He was my favorite teacher.”

  “Still is for a lot of ‘em. They’re dedicating a small garden and walkway between the library and the classroom building to him Saturday afternoon, in honor of his fiftieth year at Whitley. You’ll have to come. He’ll be so pleased to see you.”

  The keys unlocked a series of music practice rooms, pianos and other musical instruments sitting silent behind closed doors. The building’s lower floor housed computer rooms with at least thirty Macs and PCs in each, a large game room with ping-pong and pool tables, and a room called The Grille. As we proceeded through each room, Richards unlocked and locked them in rapid succession. “We open things up at three, after classes, and everything stays open till midnight. No sense leaving things open when they’re not being used.”

  Or vandalized, I thought, following him up a flight of stairs. As we made our way, a voice called from above. “Brooke, got a minute?”

  A short, serious young man with dark goatee and riveting gaze waited on the landing. He wore a tan linen vest over a blue oxford shirt, matching linen slacks, rag socks and Birkenstocks. Crunchy granola came to mind. “Jonathan, this is Ricky Steele. She’s here for the reunion and she’s agreed to fill in at Round House next week.”

  “Lucky you.” He smiled, shaking my hand. “Jonathan Kroll, head of the religion department. Welcome.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded.

  “Ms. Steele.”

  “Ricky, please.”

  “Of course, Ricky. Could I steal Brooke for just a moment? I have some concerns that need immediate attention.”

  “Of course. I’ll just wander outside and wait in the sun.”

  Richards was clearly annoyed, but trying hard not to show it. He nodded at me, then led Kroll away. As I stepped outside, I glanced back to see him unlocking one of the practice rooms. The two men disappeared inside.

  CHAPTER 6

  Richards rejoined me five minutes later, apologizing for the interruption. He now looked as distracted as Dinny and I wondered if a new crisis had arisen.

  “I’m afraid I can’t take you through all the dorms, but we can scoot down for a quick peek at Round House, okay?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what was wrong, but once again, I remembered I was an alumna, not a detective, and smiled demurely. “If you’re sure you have time.”

  “Dinny no doubt has filled you in about Carolyn. It’s been very hard on everyone, especially the girls. Then with Missy running off… We’ll need you to really keep your ears open, see if the kids’ll let on where she is.”

  With double crises hitting the Round House dorm, I wondered why they were trusting a total stranger to hold down the fort. Reading my mind, Richards said, “I wanted to put Jean Bellows in there. She’s our school psychologist, but Dinny insisted upon calling you. You must be very special. I hope you can help us.”

  “Do you have any idea where Missy might have gone?”

  “No, but I’m sure her friends know. Kathy MacGregor, Diana Trelawn and Maisie Grant. They’re thick as thieves. I’ll bet a month’s salary they know where she is, but they’ve circled the wagons. Aren’t breathin’ a word. I’ve had them in. Dinny’s grilled them. The school psychologist even had a go, but not a peep. There’s also Rafe Langdon, another friend, sort of a boyfriend of Missy’s. He knows where she is. I’m certain of it.”

  “Do they all live in Round House?”

  “All but Rafe. He’s in Cresta, one of the new dorms just over the hill on West Campus.”

  “Such a shame about Ms. Santos. She sounded like a popular teacher.”

  “The students loved her. A great role model. Smart, athletic, civic-minded and drop-dead gorgeous. Have you seen a picture of her?�
��

  I shook my head.

  “Well, she was something. We all miss her.”

  I wondered if Richards’s feelings for Carolyn Santos had been more than professional. “Who were her close friends on the faculty?”

  “Excuse me?” He gave me a quizzical look. Once again, I had crossed the line.

  “What I meant was, they must be devastated. I just wondered if they’re getting support.”

  “Of course.” He smiled, ushering me through the front door of Round House. “The school psychologist has been wonderful. Carolyn had many friends, so Jean’s been quite busy. Here we are. This is your apartment.” He indicated a closed door on the right inside the vestibule, then stepped up and knocked. “Just as I suspected. Christine’s at class. Don’t want to barge in, so you’ll have to wait till Sunday to see your quarters.”

  “Fine with me.” I took a deep breath, stepping back to visualize the house as it had been forty years ago when I had lived there. The familiar smells lingered—mustiness, a trace of stale perfume, leftover cooking odors and the ever-present eau de locker room.

  He pointed to a parlor on the left with sofas, bookshelves and a television. “This is the Common Room.” It looked the same, except for new upholstered furniture, and a later model television replacing the red console with a two-inch screen that we’d watched in our day. “Back of the house is a small kitchen. Doesn’t get a lot of use except for late-night snacks. Students are required to be at all three meals. Your apartment has a kitchen, sitting room, bedroom and bath. We ask our house parents to be at meals, too, if that’s okay, except on your day off.”

  I nodded, following him onto a back porch. We descended a steep flight of steps to a small enclosed backyard littered with lawn chairs, a few Frisbees and assorted tables, benches and stools.

  “Geez, this area needs a cleanup, doesn’t it? I’ll get maintenance down here right away. Can’t have alumni trippin’ over rusty old lawn furniture.”

  To the right of the house sat a two-car garage, recently reshingled by the look of it. “Is that where Ms. Santos…?”

  “Yes,” he said, directing me to the path that led up the hill to the quad. “Thank God the police removed the crime scene tape in time for the weekend.”

  As we strolled the tree-shrouded walkway, my companion lapsed into silence, affording me time to think back to the days when I had followed the same path on my way to class or meals, usually in the company of Lolly or Katie. My junior and senior years living at Round House had been happier than my first years at Whitley. By then, I had good friends and had learned to work the system. We could escape when we needed to, hiding in the back rooms of several downtown bars or guzzling warm beer in the back seats of cars belonging to guys from Ashton, the boys’ day school one town over. I still kept up with one of those “boys,” Phil Rubin, a running buddy who, like me, lived and worked in the Fall River area.

  “Ricky, I have to leave you for a few minutes, okay? But I’ll be back to take you to lunch.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure you have a million things to do. If you point me in the right direction, I can find my own way. The cafeteria’s in Leamy straight ahead, right?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Richards said a hasty goodbye and turned away, doing a fine imitation of his boss’s earlier retreat. “You’re our guest so don’t let ‘em charge you!” he called over his shoulder. “Just say you’re temporary faculty.”

  Watching his retreat, I decided that it was damn lucky that I was a confident, self-assured person. Otherwise the sight of men running from me like I had the black plague might give me a complex. My watch read twelve fifteen. Since I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and was starving, I headed for Leamy in search of the lunch line. No sooner had I stepped through the cafeteria’s double doors than I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

  “Well, there’s something I never thought I’d see. Ricky Steele, returning to the scene of the crime.”

  “Rolly!” I opened my arms, giving my favorite teacher a hug, amazed that he’d recognized me after so many years. He was grinning from ear to ear. A few more wrinkles, hair a little thinner and grayer, wire-rimmed glasses a little thicker, but otherwise he looked the same. He moved with the same agility, the twinkly gray eyes alive with intelligence and good humor. Even in May he wore his trademark tweed jacket, rumpled khaki pants and sensible brown oxfords.

  “Not as well as you, my dear. Look at you! The duckling has grown into a beautiful swan.”

  I blushed, pleased that at least one person had noticed my transformation from dumpy adolescent with braces into the chic, modern woman I imagined myself to be. “Hardly.”

  “Phooey, my dear. You look sensational and you know it! Are you here for the reunion?”

  “Yup, and I’m filling in as housemother next week.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s the truth. I’ll be staying at Round House until Carolyn Santos’s replacement gets here.”

  “Oh, dear, of course.” He blanched, distress evident in his eyes.

  “Have you eaten, Rolly?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How’d you like to take a girl to lunch?”

  We settled ourselves at a corner table near windows affording an excellent view of the athletic fields and woods beyond. I stared out, momentarily diverted by a group of students circling the track before giving my full attention to the shrimp stir-fry. To my unsophisticated palate it was divine.

  As we chatted, students continually interrupted with, “Hi, Mr. D,’ or to query Rolly about assignments. Gracious to a fault, my companion gave each his undivided attention. When the twentieth student had trotted off, he leaned closer, whispering, “I’m sorry, my dear. This was not the place for us to catch up.”

  “That’s okay. I enjoy watching you in action. Almost makes me want to re-enroll.”

  “Ha!” He tapped my arm. “Why don’t we head over to my place for coffee? What do you say? I don’t have class till two.”

  “Love to, if I’m not taking you away from anything?”

  “Nothing at all. Why, I—”

  “Mr. Danforth, can I talk to you for a minute?” She appeared out of nowhere and Rolly jumped in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry I startled you.”

  “Kathy, why, no. I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is a former student of mine. Rather like you, come to think of it. Smart, curious and unpredictable.”

  She smiled, her round freckled face lighting up. I have always wanted to be a redhead instead of a drab, mousy brunette. She had glorious red hair, long, straight and shimmering.

  “Ricky Steele,” Rolly said, smiling from one to the other of us. “Ricky, this is Kathy MacGregor.”

  “Hello, miss.” Extending a hand, she smiled, her eyes betraying her impatience.

  “Hi.”

  “Ricky’s to be your new dorm parent beginning Sunday.”

  “What about Ms. Parnell?”

  “Don’t you think she’s had enough?” Rolly laughed.

  I may not be a private investigator, but I know when three’s a crowd. I hopped up, tray in hand. “Look, why don’t I bus our trays and let you two talk. I’ll pick you up outside, Rolly.”

  “Oh, I can’t talk here. Mr. Danforth, please, it’s really important.”

  “Kathy, I was taking Ricky back to the house for coffee. Why not tag along and we can chat a few minutes there.”

  “Can’t. I have class, then lacrosse. Can I come to see you tonight, after supper? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s really important.”

  “Oh, my dear, I am sorry. I’m eating dinner at the Headmaster’s tonight. How about in the morning, say nine o’clock?”

  “Well, it’s not… Oh, forget it. It’s okay.” Kathy’s eyes scanned the room. I tried to follow her gaze, but all I saw was a sea of strange faces. “It can wait till class Monday.”

  “Kathy, no, wait.” Rolly took hold of her hand. “
You’re obviously upset. Let’s pop upstairs to my office.”

  “I can’t, Mr. D. I just remembered I’ve gotta be at seminar early. Nice to meet you, Miss Steele.” Slipping her hand from his, she turned and hurried from the room.

  We looked at each other. “Now, that was odd,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s usually the most happy-go-lucky soul you’d ever want to meet. Like you were at that age, my dear.”

  I patted his arm, wondering if he was being ironic or forgetful. Happy-go-lucky, indeed. “Any idea what could be wrong?”

  “Not a clue, unless it’s about Missy Franklin. Was it just my impression or did she look frightened?”

  “Like a deer in the headlights. I’m sorry, I should have disappeared sooner.”

  “Not at all, my dear. Let’s head out, shall we?”

  CHAPTER 7

  As we walked, we caught each other up, recounting highlights of the past 40 years. When he heard about my current occupations, Rolly shook his head. “Ah, Ricky, I thought you might have found yourself by now. Why not take that political science degree and go on?”

  “I did, part of the way, at least. I finished two years of law school, then dropped out.”

  “Whatever for? As I recall, you were never a quitter.”

  “It just wasn’t what I wanted, that’s all. Plus I was deeply in debt.”

  “Your father wouldn’t help you?”

  “I wouldn’t let him. We’re not close. My decision to drop out of law school drove us even further apart. When I wouldn’t accept his help, he exploded and told me he was disowning me for the hundredth time.”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. Family members need each other.” Rolly was one of the few people who could talk to me about dad without getting his head bitten off. He had helped me through more than one rocky moment during my years at Whitley. I felt guilty taking his time when Kathy MacGregor had so obviously needed him.

  “My sister, Annie, and I are very close.”

  He gave me a long look, his eyes softening. “I’m eating dinner with your father tonight. He always makes a point of seeking me out at these gatherings, you know. As if he senses how out of place I feel and wants to put me at ease. So many times he’s expressed gratitude for my work with you. I always tell him that it was a two-way street. That you gave as much as you got.”