Cold River (5 page)

“I’ve never seen a lime green Miata. Aren’t they usually British racing green?”

“I wouldn’t have any idea. I didn’t choose the shade. Someone ordered that color and then decided they didn’t like it— no, don’t look like that! I can tell you don’t like it either.”

Again, the even, white teeth flashed as he laughed. “No, no. You’ve got me all wrong. The color is… exotic.”

“Well, it is what it is. I got a good deal on the car, and it’s really heaven to drive with the top down on a warm desert night.”

“That’s right. You’re from Albuquerque. The headhunter told me, but I had forgotten. I think we’re very lucky to have a person of your caliber and education sign on with us.” He paused. “Though…”

Mandy raised her eyebrows. “You have some reservations?”

There was that smile again. “I didn’t expect anyone so young. You can’t be—” Vince held up his hand. “Forget it. I know I’m getting into forbidden territory here.”

“I’m twenty-nine,” she said. “I guess that is young to be superintendent, but I grew up fast. My mother was a single mom until I was ten, and she’s always been a bit of a scatterbrain. We kind of raised each other.”

He paused for a moment, obviously studying her. “I was raised by a single mom, too. It’s… yeah, you do grow up fast.”

There was an awkward pause. He had finished speaking, but he continued to regard Mandy with those dark eyes.

To bridge the gap, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Your agent did a good job of speaking for the district.” She was relieved when Vince smiled.

“What lures did he cast to get you to sign on?” he asked. “What were the strong points that made you decide in favor of a tiny district so far upriver there’s not even cell phone service, where there are no—”

“—restaurants and motels,” Mandy broke in, grinning.

“Oh, no! I see the agent didn’t prepare you. But didn’t Mrs. Berman?”

“Well, she gave me very good directions about how to find the district office.” Mandy rubbed her arm. The Tylenol she had taken early in the morning was wearing off.

“But that’s all. I see. Where did you stay? Where did you eat?”

“Um.” The corners of Mandy’s lips twitched. “I found a marginally comfortable couch for the night. And I had a delicious hot dog at the Qwik-E Market.”

“There you go! I’ll bet the agent didn’t describe those plusses.”

“He didn’t.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the job fair to expound on the wonders of Limestone, but I had an explosive situation I had to deal with.” When she raised her brows in question, Vince went on to explain, “I have a company that does demolition. We were taking down an old factory in Chicago.”

“One of those where it comes down in two seconds in a cloud of dust?”

“Exactly.”

Mandy picked up a pen and turned it in her hands. “The agent who hired me didn’t know anything about district circumstances, so he couldn’t tell me why you needed a replacement at the end of the year. I looked online, but the district doesn’t seem to have a website, and the places where the district is mentioned just give statistics. I’d be interested to know the lay of the land. There seems to be some… resistance to my being here, and it would help if I understood what was behind it.”

Vince looked at his watch and stood. “That’s going to take longer to answer than I’ve got right now.”

Her brows drew together. “Whoa! That sounds a little ominous.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. It’s small-town stuff, but I want to have time to answer all your questions, and right now I have an appointment downriver. Can we discuss it when we talk about other district matters? I just came by to say welcome.”

“Mrs. Berman will have my schedule. I’d be happy to meet with you. I just hope it’s soon.” Mandy rose and walked around her desk. “I had contacting school board members on my to-do list for tomorrow. You’re helping me be very efficient.” She offered her hand. “Thank you for coming by.”

Vince took her hand in his. “My pleasure. How are you doing with the dreariness and rain?”

“It’s a little daunting, but the daffodils are a good antidote.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners again. “You like the daffodils?”

“I love them! They’re like the New Mexico sun to my soul.” Suddenly, she realized he still held her hand, so she withdrew it. “In addition to that other matter, as soon as I get a little more up to speed,” she said as she stepped away to open the door, “I’d very much appreciate getting together and talking about the school board’s vision for the district.”

“We’ll make sure it happens.” He nodded— whether for emphasis or as a hint of a bow, Mandy wasn’t sure. Then he left.

She stood at the door and watched as he walked around the mezzanine and descended the stairs, and she waved and smiled as he paused at the corner of the reception desk and looked up at her.

She continued to smile as she returned to her desk, though she cradled her aching left arm in her right hand. After glancing at her notes from the night before, Mandy first consulted the yellow phone card and then picked up the phone. She dialed a number and spoke in a pleasant voice. “Mrs. Berman? Could you bring a notepad and step into my office? Thank you very much.”

She leaned back in the chair and swiveled around to face the window. As she visualized the conversation she would have with her secretary, her attention was caught by Vince Lafitte standing by his car, talking to a man. Mandy could see the sheen of the man’s scalp showing beneath a meager fringe of dark, combed-over hair. Vince seemed to be listening intently, frowning as he nodded. Finally, he said something and held out his hands. Just before the man handed over the briefcase he was holding, he turned to scan the parking lot, and Mandy recognized Mo Smith. As Vince put the valise in his trunk, she looked around the parking lot too, and noticed Grange’s pickup was gone.

“You wanted to see me?” Ice crystals hung from each syllable. Mrs. Berman stood in the doorway, and her manner could not have been more frigid.

“Yes. Thank you. Won’t you sit down?” Mandy was determined not to be deterred by a difficult staff. She had won over tougher customers than Mrs. Berman, including several older women in the district office in Albuquerque who had resented a younger woman in a position of authority.

After Mrs. Berman settled her ample rear into a chair, Mandy leaned back and considered her for a moment, taking in the silvery hair piled on top of her head in a neat bun, the large bosom, the nondescript print dress, and the sensible shoes. Trying to keep her voice even and pleasant, she glanced at her list and asked, “Mrs. Berman, where is the first-aid kit?”

The older lady’s eyes widened imperceptibly and she paused before answering. “Why?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Against her will, a steely edge crept into Mandy’s voice. “There may be any number of reasons why I ask the question. Is there a reason why you won’t give me an answer?”

“Not at all. The first-aid kit is in my office in the cupboard.”

“Thank you.” Mandy allowed her glance to stray to the window. Vince Lafitte was just pulling out of the parking lot. “Will you please make a note to get it hung in the bathroom on the wall so that anyone unfamiliar with the district office can have access to it?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Mandy’s gaze shifted to her secretary, and one eyebrow lifted slightly. She made no comment but simply waited.

There was a long silence. Mrs. Berman’s mouth compressed into a straight line while Mandy maintained a pleasant, inquisitive presence.

Mrs. Berman spoke first. “There are things in the first-aid kit that I wouldn’t want the wrong people to get hold of.”

“All first-aid kits have things that, if taken by the wrong people, might cause discomfort. Ipecac, hydrogen peroxide, ammonia salts. But the benefits of having someone able to get to those supplies in an emergency outweigh the dangers, I think.”

“It’s not that I’m thinking of. It’s the yarbs.”

“Yarbs?”

“Yes. I’ve got some of my best yarbs in the first-aid kit, but if they’re not used right, some can cause harm.”

Mandy’s mind searched, trying to place this foreign word. “Would you show me these yarbs? I’d like to see what you’ve got in the first-aid kit that worries you.”

“I don’t like other people messing with my yarbs,” Mrs. Berman muttered as she stood and marched out. She disappeared into her own office next door and reappeared carrying a suitcase-shaped basket, which she deposited on Mandy’s desk. She undid the latch then opened the kit wide, revealing the usual assortment of bandages, gauze, antibiotic ointment, and first-aid cream. In addition, there were several plastic bags filled with dried plants and four small, brown bottles.

“Oh, I see. Herbs.” Mandy picked up one of the bottles. It had a handwritten label with a crude skull and crossbones drawn on it.

“That’s my tincture of arnica,” Mrs. Berman explained. “That’s what I wouldn’t want someone to get hold of. It should never be taken internally.”

“What would happen?”

“It’s poisonous. Causes vomiting, raises the blood pressure, makes your heart race, makes you weak and trembly. Sometimes it causes delirium. That’s why I don’t like having the first-aid kit out of my sight.”

Mandy stood. “Mrs. Berman, you cannot be treating people with these things. That’s practicing medicine without a license. There are strict rules about what we can do as far as first aid.”

The older woman grabbed the bottle out of Mandy’s hand. “I’m
not
practicing medicine without a license. I don’t ever do anything beyond put on a band-aid. But people know I have things that can cure, and they come to me. I tell them what to take, and they get it themselves. I don’t dispense any of my yarbs. They take them themselves.” She put the bottle back in the suitcase and began to close the lid.

“Wait. Was there an Ace bandage in there?”

Mrs. Berman stopped in mid-slam and looked questioningly at Mandy.

“Um, I thought I might wrap my wrist.” After pushing the lid back, Mandy looked inside and found an elasticized bandage.

“Your wrist is swollen.” It was almost an accusation. “What did you do?”

“I tripped and fell. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Mrs. Berman snapped the lid closed and picked up the case. “Follow me.”

Thinking the interview with her secretary wasn’t going as she had visualized, Mandy did as she was bid, tagging behind as Mrs. Berman descended the stairs and went into the kitchen. Mandy sat on a stool and allowed her secretary to apply a warm chickweed poultice to the swollen wrist, but she baulked at the brown, bitter-smelling tincture offered for pain, opting instead for Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

Half an hour later, the first-aid kit, complete with yarbs, was back in the locked cupboard in Mrs. Berman’s office, and Mandy was again seated behind her desk. The poultice made a lump under the Ace bandage that swathed her wrist, but the throbbing had stopped. She smiled at her secretary, again seated in the side chair, and picked up her list. “Now, about a first-aid kit in the bathroom—” Mandy began, but she was interrupted by Mrs. Berman.

“Before we go any further, I need to remind you that you have an appointment with Nettie Maypole at eight, and one with Reuben Fellows at eight thirty.”

Mandy frowned. “How can I have appointments with these people? What do you mean
remind
?”

“I mean that they have each made an appointment to see the superintendent. You’re the superintendent, so they’re coming to see you.”

“What about?”

Mrs. Berman rose. “Nettie works at the high school cafeteria. That’s her pulling in right now. She’s a bit of a bulldozer, so don’t let her run over you.”

NETTIE TURNED OUT
to be more barnacle than bulldozer. No matter how many discussion-ending ploys Mandy tried, the other woman couldn’t be pried off the chair until she had an assurance of redress. Arvella Shonefeld, chief cook at the cafeteria, had hijacked Nettie’s recipe for Yum Yum Potatoes and was calling them Tarheel Spuds in the weekly school menu.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Nettie said. She was a large barnacle, with wiry, salt-and-pepper hair, and rimless glasses sitting on a bulbous nose. “That was my mama’s recipe that I let her use. She had no business changing the name. Why, Doc McDonald was saying to me the other day, ‘Wasn’t that your mama’s recipe they was serving at the school?’ Taste don’t lie, Dr. Steamburger. Taste don’t lie.”

To Mandy’s relief, her secretary opened the door. “Excuse me, Dr. Steenburg, but your next appointment is here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Berman.” She stood and walked around her desk, holding out her hand to Nettie. “What is it you wish me to do, Mrs. Maypole?”

“I just want her to call the potatoes by the right name. No more Tarheel Spuds. I want to see Yum Yum Potatoes on the menu from now on.”

“Well, I’m sure that can be accomplished,” Mandy said briskly. “Thank you for coming in. You people in the cafeteria do a great service to the school.”

Nettie shook Mandy’s hand but didn’t rise. “She serves them every two weeks. They’ll be on the menu for next week.”