A Killer Read (17 page)

Lizzie linked her arm through Sally-Jo’s. “Good idea.”

Even though it was a bit early, a few guests had already arrived.
I wish they’d be this conscientious when it came to classes
, Lizzie thought as she greeted some of her students. Sally-Jo drifted over to the small platform where the guitar quintet was starting to set up.

By the time the buffet had been set out on the tables, most of the guests had arrived. Lizzie made a point of spending a few minutes with each of her students. She was pleased that the majority had come. However, she noted that Troy wasn’t among them. Teesha appeared beside her at the fruit-punch bowl.

“This is real cool, Ms. Turner,” she gushed. “I think it’s so darn nice of Ms. Molly to invite us all. I’ve never been to such a classy party.”

Lizzie smiled. “It’s a treat for me, too, Teesha. I’m glad you could come. Here, let me get you some of this delicious fruit punch.”

Teesha nodded and took a long drink after Lizzie handed her the cup. “See y’all later,” she said between sips, and eventually wandered off.

Lizzie nodded, then got her own drink. She also picked up a plate and filled it with Asiago-olive rolls, a spinach mini-quiche and a couple of spicy cheddar straw triangles from the table laid out with tempting light food fare, and limited herself to one red velvet brownie from the dessert table.

Lizzie joined the girls from her class at their table. The chatter was mainly about Molly’s wonderful garden and of course, the fact that she had invited them to her party. This would be the main topic of conversation for quite some time to come. Lizzie would bet on it.

She kept an eye on the back door, noting who went in, presumably to use the powder room. Lizzie knew that Bob had the situation in hand so she shouldn’t be concerned, bu
t she couldn’t help but worry and wonder if the thief was part of this crowd. She sure hoped not, but what other explanation was there?

As sounds of a Boccherini guitar quintet filled the unseasonably warm autumn air, Lizzie relaxed, enjoying the conversation at the table. Molly looked to be having a wonderful time, too, surrounded by students every time Lizzie looked over. She wore a flowery red, green and white cotton summer dress, appropriate since the temperature was in the high seventies, and black sandals. She carried a broad-brimmed straw sun hat in one hand and a tray of chocolate truffles in the other.

By the time the caterers started clearing the tables two hours later, a lot of guests had already left. The few still around looked as though they were having a hard time tearing themselves away from the beauty of the place. Lizzie finally ushered the last lingering students out to the front driveway, then returned to the back and joined Molly, Sally-Jo and Bob, sitting on patio chairs, iced teas in hand.

“Any action, Bob?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Too bad. That camera’s a beauty. Maybe I’ll just leave it hooked up for you, Molly, for a couple of weeks, anyway. I’ll bring over a recorder, too. You just have to remember to click it on and start the recording when the students arrive at night. Then, if anything disappears, we hopefully will have a video of it. You might want to leave that little table set up just as it is.”

Molly nodded her assent. She stretched her long legs out in front of her and sighed. “Such a delightful afternoon. I’m glad nothing was stolen. That would have ruined it.”

“It was a great success, Molly. The kids loved it. Most had never been to anything so elegant before,” Sally-Jo said. “This was a really nice thing to do.”

“That young guitar player in the quintet was wonderful,” Lizzie added.

Molly smiled. “He is good, isn’t he? I thought the students
might find it interesting that someone their age could be so talented and enjoy classical music, too. He’s the son of my gardener, and I’ve been helping with his music lessons. He may audition for Julliard in the spring, so that’s very promising.”

Lizzie wasn’t surprised to hear that Molly was assisting him. She’d be willing to bet that Molly would be the one paying his tuition next year, also.

Bob leaned forward. “Molly, you look dog tired. Why don’t I just whisk you over to my place and I’ll fry up some grouper I caught fresh this morning.” He grinned. “Some small boiled potatoes with collard greens and it’ll taste good enough to eat. You girls are welcome, too.”

Lizzie looked at Sally-Jo, who raised her eyebrows. Lizzie said, “Thanks, Bob. That sounds so tempting, but I’ve got some prep work to do tonight. I think I’ll just head home. Maybe pick up some takeout on the way.”

Sally-Jo had a similar reply. “If there’s nothing we can help you with, Molly, maybe we’ll both get going and let you two get to dinner.”

“I thank you both for your offers, but it will all be cleared and back to normal in no time. You run off now and enjoy your evenings, even if you’re both working.”

Lizzie gave Molly a quick kiss on the cheek, as did Sally-Jo; then the two gave Bob a quick wave and left.

“I think something was accomplished today, anyway,” Sally-Jo said as she got into her car.

Lizzie nodded. “And a very nice couple they make.

C
hecking her mailbox as she left for school had become another of those morning routines for Lizzie. So she wasn’t entirely surprised to find yet another large manila envelope stashed in it. What did surprise her was that Nathaniel Creely either hadn’t seen this happen or hadn’t let her know. She decided a quick check on him was in order, just to make sure he was okay.

He answered on the first knock, his Tilley hat in hand. “Oh, Lizzie. Good morning. How nice to see you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Nathaniel. I just thought I’d let you know, I found another envelope in my mailbox this morning.” She knew he was proud of his independence and might get a bit miffed if he thought she kept as close an eye on him as she did.

“Oh my. How did I miss that?” He shook his head, then appeared to have one of those “aha” moments. “I did retire earlier than usual last night. I just wanted to be rested for today. I’m meeting some old friends, and we’re taking a
walk along the Pritchard Nature Trail. That must be what happened. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, Nathaniel. I just thought I’d let you know. Enjoy your walk; it promises to be perfect walking weather today.”

Nathaniel raised his hat in a jaunty wave. “I shall, I shall. You have an enjoyable day, too.”

That was good, she thought as she backed the Mazda out of the drive. Getting out with his friends. He didn’t need her help in finding activities at all.

Lizzie found her morning’s assignment fairly straightforward: observe and comment on a fifth-grade teacher, in her first year at teaching, who desperately needed some tips for handling the diversity in reading skills in her classroom. Lizzie admired the young teachers starting out in their chosen careers. Teaching was a difficult job, and doing it full-time was something Lizzie couldn’t imagine for herself. Besides dealing with students as individuals, as well as a class in general, plus keeping up to date on the latest teaching techniques, teachers now needed to know the most recent technology, which was advancing in leaps and bounds. Anything Lizzie could do to lighten their loads was a good thing, and she worked hard at it.

She’d meet with this teacher over lunch, then send her the written notes later. That way, there’d be no delay in getting her suggestions implemented. The class time flew by, as did the lunch hour. Lizzie barely had time to make it to her afternoon class, which included Danny from the other day. She was anxious to ask if his parents had bought him the books yet.

When she met up with him after class, it turned out they hadn’t. She dug into her bag and came up with another graphic novel, a version of one book on the required reading list, and gave it to him. “What I want in return,” she said to him, “is a copy of the book report you’ll be doing for your teacher. Now, enjoy.”

His attempt at a blasé thank-you didn’t quite mask his excitement.
I’ll get him hooked yet
, Lizzie thought, and decided it was time to go home and do her own reading.

L
izzie poured herself a glass of pomegranate juice, then settled in her comfy chair by the window in the living room. She’d been dying to read the next installment of manuscript since finding it earlier but had resolutely left it at home to avoid temptation while at school. She pulled the pages of manuscript out of the envelope and quickly scanned what she’d already read before carrying on with the new pages.

Just as she feared, tragedy hit the family of three. The father, Harlan Fowks, unable to get any of his investment back and having lost his job because of the economic downturn, moved his family to a new town, hoping to find work. After months of trying and getting nowhere, he gave up and in despair committed suicide. Lizzie sat a few minutes, lost in thought, imagining what that must have been like for his young wife. Her thoughts briefly lit on her own mother, in her midthirties, with a young daughter and suddenly no husband. She’d reacted by retreating into her own world. A young woman of delicate sensibilities, as they would have said in years gone by. She shook her head and returned to reading.

It would have been ideal, except for the extra duties he quickly added. Having Adele safely away from his wife’s prying eyes, he coerced her into a sexual relationship, leaving Adele feeling sickened and insecure. Lizzie threw the manuscript down in disgust.
What a creep. Taking advantage of Adele’s desperation.
A true lowlife of the species.

She stomped into the kitchen, startling Brie, who lay reclining on the kitchen table, enjoying the last few hours of sunshine. Lizzie stopped abruptly. “Sorry, baby. I didn’t
mean to scare you.” She took a couple of deep breaths before grabbing the jar of almond butter out of the cupboard.

Jar and spoon in hand, she went out to the back patio and tried to put it all in perspective. It was just a story, after all. But whose? And why send it to her? And why was she reacting so strongly to it? Because of her own daddy’s death? But the circumstances were entirely different, as was the way their mamas handled their grief.

Lizzie ate a couple of teaspoons of the thick almond butter and went back inside. She left spoon and jar on the counter and sought out the manuscript, grabbing a pencil on the way. Starting at the beginning of the story, she slowly read through the pages, circling all the possessives; then she went back to the start again and read only the circled words. A pattern began emerging. As the story evolved, the author seemed to be removing him- or herself from the telling of it and was no longer a participant. Lizzie wondered if that was because the story hit too close to home, becoming almost too painful to relive.

Or else, the writer was totally inexperienced and didn’t realize he or she had made the switch.

Lizzie read it through again, this time searching for how much setting and extraneous observations were included. Hardly any. The writing was spare, almost as if journal entries had been embellished to read more like a novel.

Lizzie sat back. Was it a journal? Someone’s true story? Often the basis for fiction. So that made sense, but why send it to her? Perhaps it was from one of the literacy students, but wouldn’t that person want feedback? And if she/ he could write this well, what were they doing in her literacy class? It just didn’t add up. She needed Sally-Jo to read it again, now that there were more chapters.