Address to Die For (15 page)

Keep first-aid kits in your kitchen, workshop, and cars. Any injury that can't be handled with a well-stocked first-aid kit requires the attention of a professional.

 

 

 

 

I
found Miss Harrier sprawled between her desk and the door, half leaning against a metal file cabinet. The cabinet, scarred by years of use, boasted a new indignity. A smear of blood extended from the corner of the cabinet to the top of Harrier's head.

“Oh my God, Miss Harrier.” I knelt at her side and lifted her hand.

Her hand was still warm, but too cold for a living body, even one in shock from a terrible injury. I dropped her hand and stood back. I wiped my own hand on my jeans. Maybe I was trying to wipe off death or distance myself from whatever violence had occurred here, but I stopped myself as soon as I realized what I was doing.

Miss Harrier was dead. I had probably transferred some of her DNA to my hand when I'd touched her. She and her DNA deserved respect.

I looked around the room, trying to decide what to do. A coffee cup lay on its side on the desk, and I stepped over Miss Harrier, planning to right the cup and keep the coffee from staining the papers. I was too late. A puddle of coffee had spread across the desk. It dripped from the desk and was soaking the carpet. Just like Harrier's blood.

Miss Harrier would have known what to do, but I needed help. I reached for the phone on her desk to call the police before I remembered that I probably shouldn't touch anything. I reached into my back pocket for my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

The phone rang, and as I was waiting for dispatch to pick up, I saw the pills. Dozens of small white five-sided pills that looked like tiny little houses were spread over the carpet and desk. I sniffed. The room smelled faintly of alcohol.

“Orchard View police station. How can I help?”

I couldn't answer. As the reality of the situation finally sank in, I was too shocked to carry on a conversation. Had Miss Harrier committed suicide? Was she a drinker? Or had someone killed her?

“Hello? Do you need help? Who is calling? Where is your emergency?”

“Orchard View Mi . . . middle School.” I forced the words out, but then dropped the phone and sank into Miss Harrier's office chair. I looked at the ceiling, and the door, and the clock—anywhere but at Miss Harrier's body. My hands were sweating, but I shivered and hugged my arms to my chest. I wanted to flee, but I had an odd sense that I should stay with her and that I shouldn't leave her alone.

The man in our house had died alone in the dark, in the cold, in our basement. Miss Harrier had died alone and if she'd committed suicide she must have felt more alone than I could possibly imagine. But she didn't need to be alone now. I could stay with her. I
would
stay with her. First though, I needed to finish the call.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

The same voice responded. “Orchard View police station. How can I help?” I briefly wondered whether she'd stayed on the line, or if I'd dialed again without knowing.

I took a deep breath to compose myself and said, “This is Maggie McDonald. I'm at Orchard View Middle School, in the office. The principal is dead.”

“Thank you, Ms. McDonald. I've dispatched ambulance, fire, and police officers to the scene. Are you safe?”

“Yes, I think so,” I said, thinking for the first time that there might well be a murderer or a violent, destructive criminal still in the building or on the school campus.

“Would you like me to remain on the line?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“My name is Susan Diaz, and I'll stay here with you, Ms. McDonald, until the police arrive. Can you tell me what you see?”

I didn't say anything. I stared at Miss Harrier. I wanted to run away, but I needed to stay with her. Susan Diaz, who shared a first name with Miss Harrier, wanted to stay with me. It was a human thing—needing that connection—or needing to offer it, needing to feel it. But so was wanting to flee.

I tried to focus on something else, and resorted to thinking about how I might organize Miss Harrier's office for greater efficiency. That led me to think whether there was anything here that was significantly different from the way I'd last seen her office.

There wasn't really anything I could do to improve upon her system, which used homemade, labeled, fabric-covered boxes to corral office supplies, forms, mail, and material to be reviewed. Charging cords for her electronics were coiled beneath the desk with their business ends attached to clips made for the purpose and secured to the desk so she would be able to conveniently use the devices while they were charging.

“Ms. McDonald, are you still there?”

I'd taken a step toward the door when I heard sirens and could see flashing lights reflected on the ceiling of the main office.

“I'll hang up now, Susan,” I said. “The police are here.”

I could imagine chaos outside. It was probably much like what had happened a little over a week ago at the house. I stayed where I was.

“Maggie?” Jason called from the door.

“In here . . .”

He stood in the doorway of Miss Harrier's office and holstered his gun.

He held out his arms in an ambiguous gesture. He could have been offering a hug or indicating a path toward the exit.

Belle barked frantically from the car, adding to the confusion.

“Can I?” I said, pointing in the direction of my car. And then I remembered: I was parked in the red zone right in front of the office door—the space reserved for the emergency vehicles that were now filling the parking lot.

“Should I move my car?”

“You're fine where you are,” said Jason. “Get in your car and stay there. We're not sure what we're dealing with. I'll fill you in as soon as I can.”

“The boys . . .” I needed to get home. “Max is going to call. I was making a quick stop here and then heading to the grocery store. There's no food in the house.”

Jason pulled out his phone and hit one button. “Stephen, how far are you from the McDonalds' house? We've got a problem here at the middle school and Maggie's with me.”

I couldn't hear Stephen's response, but Jason mouthed, “Fifteen minutes.”

“Can you stop and get something for the boys' dinner, breakfast tomorrow morning, and lunches?” Jason asked.

Jason's face wrinkled as if he were working hard to remember everything he needed to say. “Get them started making their lunches for tomorrow. Maggie says Max—Mr. McDonald—is going to call them.”

He held the phone away from his face and asked, “What time, Maggie?”

“Eight o'clock.”

“Head to the house first, Stephen. If you're there when Max calls, please tell him everything's fine, but that Maggie will call him in about an hour.”

Jason paused to listen. He lowered his voice and said something else that I couldn't hear. I scrunched up my forehead and frowned. I hated the fact that we needed Stephen's help, yet again, and I had no choice but to accept it.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and turned my back on Jason, aware that the thoughts in my head were beginning to sound like those of a pouty little kid. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate their help, I did. But I was growing more afraid about everything that had been happening around us and I felt increasingly helpless. The boys and I, and Max too, were in debt to Stephen, big-time. Maybe my concern about returning social debts was the least of my problems, but it was the one that, right now, was easiest to focus on. My concern felt petty, though. I knew Stephen would take good care of the boys and I was truly grateful.

Jason put his phone away and gave me a little push toward my car. “Go reassure Belle. I'll be with you in a minute.”

I walked away and Jason called to me. “Maggie? Don't worry. We get it. When it's over you can have us over for dinner and we'll wipe the slate clean. No favors owed.”

There was a lot more than met the eye in that sentence, I thought, but it was too much to sort out now. In the state of shock I was in, everything was starting to seem like too much.

At the car, I opened the door and hugged Belle, sinking my face into her soft fur. I attached the leash to her collar and felt anchored by her presence. We walked together to find Jason again. He led me to a bench in front of the school.

“Maggie, I need to ask,” Jason said. “What were you doing here tonight? Why were you inside the office on a weekend?”

I looked across the parking lot at the houses on the other side of the street with their tidy lawns. Houses in which people were going about their business getting ready for the week ahead. Houses in which no one had been interviewed by the police three times in the past few days.

I looked at Jason. “I'm sorry, what did you ask me? I don't suppose there's any chance she's still alive?”

“No,” Jason said. “I'm afraid not. I expect she'll be pronounced dead at the scene and taken to the county medical-examiner's office.”

The rest of the evening passed with repetitious questions asked by varying members of Jason's team. I phoned the kids to make sure that Stephen had fed them and they were getting their backpacks and lunches ready for the morning.

They were full of excitement after talking to Max. Everything seemed to be under control. I assured the boys I'd call their dad, said I'd be home as soon as I could, and hung up the phone.

I sat on the bench and dialed Max's cell phone, hoping the call would go through. When we'd emailed each other to set up this evening's phone call, I'd expected him to call our home phone from his office. Now, when I needed to reach him, I wasn't sure how to do that or how much it would cost. But this was an emergency and poor Max must have been frantic.

After much clicking, silence, and more clicking, Max answered. It was a terrible connection with a frustrating delay, but I was able to tell him I was fine, and explain that the principal had died.

“Should I come home? Stephen told me you'd found another body,” he said. His voice dissolved into crackling.

“Honey, I can only hear static,” I said. “I'll hang up and send you an email as soon as I can. I love you. It's great to hear your voice.” I could only hope that he was able to hear me. I sighed and hugged Belle, who was leaning on me as if she weighed twice her sixty-five pounds.

“Let's go find Jason,” I told Belle. “Maybe he'll tell us we can take off.”

We found Jason near the office, talking on his phone. From the side of the conversation I could hear, I guessed he was talking to an administrator at the school district's main office.

After he'd ended the call and agreed that I could leave, I asked him the question I knew would be the first thing Brian would ask me. “Will the kids have school in the morning? Or will your team still be here?”

“We'll keep the office closed,” Jason said. “But the plan is to have counselors and school liaison officers on site to talk to any of the kids or teachers who might have something to tell us or just need to talk. We'll hold a joint assembly with the school district first thing in the morning and move forward from there.”

* * *

I pulled into the driveway and parked the car close to the house.

Stephen opened the back door and held it as Belle and I climbed the steps. I was glad the table wasn't any further from the door or I might have fallen before sinking into a kitchen chair. Stephen brought me a sandwich, a glass of wine, and a large glass of water, which I drank first.
This must be what it's like to have a butler.

“The boys are okay?” I asked.

“We made spaghetti and salad. We packed their sandwiches for tomorrow and threw in some apples and cookies. They've showered and are ready for bed with their backpacks packed.”

I squinted at the wall clock. It was well after their normal ten o'clock bedtime.

Brian ran down the stairs. I turned.

“Is it true that Harrier is dead?” he asked. “Kids are talking about it on Facebook. Was she killed? Does that mean we don't have school in the morning?”

“Yes, she's dead,” I said. I winced, hearing the words, but there really was no way to soften the news.

“Did you see her? Did someone kill her? Why?”

“No one knows yet how or why she died. There are all sorts of emergency personnel at the school working to find out, and I'm sure they'll tell the students as much as they can once they have information they're able to share. You
are
going to school in the morning, although your field trip may be cancelled. The district and the police are planning an assembly and getting back to business as quickly as possible.”

I looked at the clock again. “It's past ten, kiddo. It's been a crazy night, but you and David need to be in bed. I'll be up in a minute to check on you and head to bed myself. Stephen and Munchkin are going to keep watch for us.”

“I can't believe you found her. Were you scared? Did you talk to Dad?” Brian said.

“I'll be up in a minute and we can talk then. Go get ready for bed. And turn off the computer.” Brian stomped up the stairs.

“I'm sorry you had to find her,” Stephen said. “How did she die?”

“I have no idea. There were pills, the smell of alcohol, and some blood.” I picked up my wineglass. My exhaustion was catching up with me, as was the idea that Miss Harrier was dead. I didn't like her. Life at the school might be easier now that she was gone. But admitting, even to myself, that one small part of me might be glad that she was gone gave me a lump in my throat that made it difficult to swallow. I put the glass down.