Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1) (3 page)

Plopping
onto the swivel chair, she placed her elbows on the desktop and looked down. A gasp escaped her as she read dozens of graffiti messages etched into the wood. Disgusting messages. Hopefully the work of students and not the previous principal.
Well, at least they can spell.
Fingering them, she felt the deep grooves that told her they’d meant to leave a lasting impression and knew she would keep the desk with its flaws as a reminder of the low-caliber of students she should expect to encounter. Clearly, the prison atmosphere in here wasn’t the only reason the principal had quit. She sighed and shook her head.
Might as well get started reading files. Maybe I can learn something from them.
She thumbed through the first stack of papers and folders. It would take her days to get through it all. No, more likely weeks, if the eight metal filing cabinets on the opposite wall flanking the door were full
. Please let those not be full.

A
peek inside confirmed the drawers were not only full, but were a disorganized mess—files out of order, multiple folders jammed inside of others, loose papers on the sides of the metal frame. She began pulling out about ten folders at a time and set them on the desk. As she worked, she came across a complaint lodged by a teacher against the former principal, claiming he’d been promised a promotion to department head, however, the principal gave it to a brand new teacher instead. She searched for paperwork indicating the reasoning and outcome. She found nothing. Not surprising. People lie and make promises they don’t intend to keep. They do whatever they want to get what they want, and the more powerful they are, the worse they are. Chances are, the superintendent never received the complaint.

T
he next few hours were spent studying everything she could find documenting the most recent happenings at the school. She jotted down notes, and mentally prepared herself for her first staff meeting. She thought she was almost ready until she glanced at the clock. It was already time to go to the faculty lounge, and her stomach was knotting up the way it used to do when she was a teacher’s aide in college and was terrified to speak to the students. The last thing she needed was to re-live those past insecurities. She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, but her heart continued its flip-flopping. How could she meet the entire faculty when she couldn’t even meet four employees without bumbling? She held out her hands and shook them to try to shake out her nerves.

Take a deep breath, let it out. Don’t stammer so much and don’t slip back into Oxford English.

Her American mother, after living in England for fourteen years, had learned to switch back and forth but had chosen more often than not to parade her Americanisms and American pronunciation in defiance of her British husband.

Claire had copied her sometimes. Neither of them would have guessed it would come in handy one day. She’d done pretty well during her second new identity until a
few weeks ago when two Brits had visited the accounting firm where she worked in data entry. They’d stopped near her cubicle and were discussing a news report from London. Without thinking, she’d turned round and asked for details, letting her full Home Counties accent out for everyone to hear. The boss summoned her into his office and questioned her about it, and she’d panicked and couldn’t think fast enough to cover her blunder. She’d told him the truth.

Claire
trudged to the faculty lounge and selected a place to stand. No one was there yet. All right, that would give her time to gather herself. She waited in the empty faculty lounge for ten minutes and kept checking her watch. Hadn’t they received the message about the meeting? Finally, fifteen minutes late, the faculty started filing into the room. As they walked past her, she caught snippets of gossip about herself. She intercepted glares, too, and the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ sprang to mind.

Once everyone was seated, she
began, “Good afternoon. For those of you haven’t met me yet, I’m your new principal, Claire Constantine. I’m looking forward to working with you.” Sullen faces stared back at her. She cleared her throat and continued, “I—”

“Why would you pick this school?”

It was Bill, the school counselor she’d met earlier. She should have known.

“Well, I
—I don’t exactly know how to answer. I mean I—I didn’t really pick it. The porc—I mean, it’s the position the HR Manager offered.”

“So either you got stuck with us, or we got stuck with you. Does that about sum it up?” another man asked.

She opened her mouth, intending to speak, but closed it again. Teachers looked at each other and snickered. She struggled for words. What could she say? The room was quiet except for the loudly clicking clock on the wall straight ahead and the clicking of keys on mobile phones. Were they texting each other?

Before she had a chance to compose an answer to the man’s question, a bell rang and her staff stood up and hastened toward the door.

“Wait,” Claire said. “We aren’t finished.” Everyone ignored her except for Nancy Palmer who stopped and looked at Claire with pity in her eyes.

“Thank you
for staying, Nancy. I tried. Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much. They didn’t like Carl, either, if it’s any consolation.
Nor do they like Porcupine. She’s a pain.”

Claire’s mouth gaped open for a moment.

“You call her Porcupine?”

Nancy shrugged. “A few of us do. Not to her face, of course. Don’t want to make her angry. She can be a real bitch.”

Claire nodded.

“Carl was the latest in a long string of incompetent principals at Midland. I guess the staff here doesn’t have high hopes for you, especially
—” She stopped and looked toward the door.

“Especially what?”

Nancy turned her head back toward Claire. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Oh, God. They’d probably all heard about her bumbling entrance this morning. Deciding to let it drop, she said, “One other question. What was that bell for?” 

“The after-school activities busses will be here in a few minutes. That’s when most of the staff goes home.”

On Claire’s drive home she tried to keep her mind on the traffic, but thoughts kept intruding. Why hadn’t she waited until morning to conduct a full-faculty meeting? She could have prepared herself better and come at it with a fresh face and renewed energy. Instead, she’d blustered her way through, and it had taken only five minutes to see no one wanted her in their school.

At home,
Nanny Kate left while Claire was still hugging Marcus. He squirmed when she hugged him a fraction longer than he wanted. She released him, and he hopped and twirled across the living room floor in a silly dance he called his froggy gyro.

“I know you’re probably hungry
. Unfortunately, I really need a quick shower before dinner. You don’t look as if you’re starving.”

Marcus laughed and wrinkled his nose. “You need one, Mommy. Yucky smoke.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes. Are you going to continue dancing or shall I put something on the telly for you?”

“Telly? TV, silly.” He picked up a toy car and rolled it along a make-believe road on the wood floor in the entryway. “Zoom-zoom.”

She locked her front door, latched both deadbolts, and double-checked the windows to make sure they were secure in case the nanny had opened one.

After her shower, Claire cooked dinner
and tried to forget about work. Listening to Marcus chatter while they ate, made her smile, and she finally felt some of her tension dissipate. Even cleaning up the kitchen helped lighten her mood. After she finished that task, she slumped onto the sofa and listened to the six o’clock news. Although today’s high was forty-three degrees, tomorrow’s temperature was expected to reach only twenty-three, with a chance for flurries. Claire winced. A twenty degree drop in temperature—and snow. Snow in the high country this early in the season was typical she had heard, but here in the Denver Basin? She groaned, thinking this was not going to be an easy winter.

At
Marcus’s bedtime, she carried him into his bedroom piggy back style, with him giggling all the way. His pale gold walls, or his ‘happy color’ as he’d called it when he picked it out at the hardware store three days ago, made her smile. They’d gone shopping for his new quilt, and she’d suggested one with dinosaurs. He’d shaken his head and reached for a light yellow one with daisies and butterflies. ‘I can have summer all the time,’ he’d said, grinning from ear to ear.

She helped Marcus change into his p
ajamas and drew back his quilt. He climbed into bed and she sat on a bedside chair and read the next chapter in his Harry Potter book, their new nightly ritual. She closed the book, kissed his cheek, and said, “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight Mommy.” He gave her a goofy smile that made her wonder what he was thinking.

“I forgot to ask you earlier. What did you do today?”

“Watched Sesame Street. And Nanny Kate read
of my story books.”

“Did you have a good time?”

He nodded, and pulled his covers up to his chin, and then his face crinkled. He cocked his head alerting her that something was amiss.

“Do I need to look for a different nanny?”

“I dunno.” He bit his lip and said, “She won’t play alphabet game. It’s easy. Take turns. Make words startin’ with same con . . .so . . . nants, in alpha order. She said I pulled her leg. I didn’t touch her.”

“You know, most kids don’t know about letters or consonants until they start school. Nanny Kate’s here to look after you, keep you safe. She’s not a teacher.”

“But I wanna learn. She says little kids can’t read. I wanna read my story books to her. I think I can. I know my letters and sounds.”

Claire smiled and patted his soft brown hair. “I know you do. I’ll talk to her. Soon.”

“She thinks I’m a baby.” He shook his head vehemently.

“Of course you aren’t. She’s
just getting to know you. It takes time.”

He pouted. Oh, please not a tantrum. Not that he had many. But he had them often enough. Tonight, she didn’t have the energy to deal with that. “For now, Marcus, why don’t you try reading them to me?”

His face lit up and he discarded his covers and jumped off the bed. “Now? I get book.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You and I both need to sleep. Tomorrow night, I promise. Right after dinner, you can read to me.”

“Okay,” he said. His shoulders slumped, and then he crawled back under his covers and sighed.

How easy it would be to indulge him, especially considering her guilt about whisking him away from his home so often.
The problem with reading to him now was that once he became immersed in a book, he’d get over excited and wouldn’t be able to sleep. He might not need the sleep, but she certainly did.

She reached out and hugged Marcus. “I love you
,” she said and then switched off the light and pulled the door closed, and then rechecked the locks on the front door again, the way she did every day. Back in the living room, she picked up her mobile phone and flipped between the phone number listings that would connect her to several of her so-called protectors. Then, remembering Brad’s words from her first day in Denver, she set her phone down and went to bed.

CHAPTER THREE

STEVE JENSEN RUBBED his temples
to ward off a headache. After reading the fifth weekly report from the district’s high school principals, he looked through yesterday’s emails for the last one—the one from Midland High. Huh? Nothing. Had he deleted it by mistake? He grimaced, then picked up the telephone receiver to call Carl Robinson. As he punched in the third digit, he remembered why no one had sent a report. Carl had quit two weeks earlier. The Assistant Principal didn’t know how to prepare the report, and the new principal had only started work yesterday.
Man, I need more coffee. Not awake enough.
He shook his head. What did that say about those five reports he’d just read? Sometimes he really hated this job; actually that was more often than he liked to admit. He’d come to work for this district, thinking he could make a difference. Instead, most of what he did was put out fires, attend meetings, and deal with bureaucrats.

The thought of Carl Robinson and hating jobs reminded him of the last phone call he’d received from the man.

“We’ve got big trouble,” an unidentified caller said. “Better get over here. Now!”

“Huh? Over here? Where? Who is this?

Distracted by the caller, Steve didn’t notice the traffic light change to red until he was about to enter the intersection. He slammed on his brakes and screeched to a stop, then sighed in relief that no one was behind him, until he noticed that the abrupt stop had caused his full coffee cup to tumble out of the cup holder. Damn, he muttered. Hot coffee covered the leather car seat and the floor of the car. Fortunately, only a small amount had splashed onto his suit pant leg.

He dabbed the spot on his suit with napkins leftover from his fast-food breakfast. The larger spills would have to wait.

In the background on the hands-free telephone he heard noises, but no one had answered his questions. “Are you still there?” he asked the caller.

“I won’t be for long,” the man snapped. “I’ve had enough of this hell-hole you call a school. Now get your ass moving.”

Carl Robinson. He should have known. Who else would talk like that to their boss? He opened his mouth to say something scathing, then decided to wait until he had more details of the situation. “Am I to assume you’re asking me for help?”

“Damn right. You administrators sit on your rear-ends in your cushy offices and leave the rest of us to do the dirty work. It’s about time you got into the trenches yourself.”

Steve clinched his jaw. Carl was an irascible man in his late sixties who, over the past two years, had caused a dozen of his employees to file complaints against him for his leadership skills, or lack thereof. But neither Steve nor the school board could fire Carl, even though the man had been the major cause of the deterioration of his school. Who else would want Carl’s job now that the school was a disaster? 

“Okay, Carl. Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

“Same kind of garbage that always goes on here. You know what I’m talking about. If I’d called and told you we’d gotten a mysterious note or letter from some punk threatening to blow someone away like those kids at Columbine, you’d jump into action. But blatant acts of violence you ignore. I’m sick of drug dealers, gangs, and juvenile delinquents.”

“I don’t ignore Midland’s problems. I’m trying to hire security guards and buy surveillance cameras. Even metal detectors. It takes time. Money, too. School hasn’t even been in session two weeks. Bear with me.”

“Bear with me, bear with me. And what do you mean two weeks? We had the same damn problem last school year. What am I supposed to do? Wait until the bastards kill somebody.”

“It isn’t easy to get the school board to agree on anything, especially when we’re talking about huge outlays of cash, which we don’t have, as you well know. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Right. Just the same old runaround.”

“Take it easy. Tell me what happened. Did a student try to kill someone? Or even threaten to? Because, I’ve gotta tell you, I haven’t heard any reports like that. Everything you’ve told me has been worrisome, yes, but nothing that’s called for immediate action.”

“Oh, so having hoodlums break into the building before school and trash my office isn’t drastic enough to warrant immediate action? I caught them in the act and chased after them, swinging my briefcase like a machete.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You could have started off this conversation with that information.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m in my car. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Hey, you’re early!” someone said, pulling Steve out of his memory. He looked up to see Frank Lawrence leaning into his office. Frank was one of the assistant superintendents, and the one whom Steve trusted the most.

“Yeah, I need to catch up
,” Steve said, “and I have a committee meeting shortly. Yesterday I had no time for anything and had to skip lunch again. Fire-fighting as usual. Sometimes I wonder why I stay in this job. Certainly not because it’s a kick-back kind of job. What’s on your schedule today?” He picked up his coffee cup and sipped his now tepid coffee.

Frank said, “I’ve got a pile of paperwork to take care of
, but I think I’ll drive over to Midland High first. I heard from Helen Jackson that the new principal started work yesterday. Have you met her yet?”

“Oh, ye
s, I met her.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “And? What’d you think?”

“Damned if I know. She’s nice on the eyes. But there’s something fishy. I haven’t decided if it’s her or the school board.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve hesitated. Normally, he would be careful talking with employees, but Frank wasn’t like most employees. He was a life-long friend. Steve and Frank had grown up together in California and Steve had helped his friend get this job because he knew Frank was someone he could trust. “This is between the two of us, okay?”

Frank nodded.

“Do you know who the new principal is? Did Helen fill you in?”

“She gave me a name. That’s all.”

Steve smiled and leaned forward. “Well, you know I was pissed when the board bypassed my hiring committee and took on a new employee, a teacher from out of state, without explanation. I told you about that, didn’t I?” He paused, and Frank nodded. “It turns out they went and offered her the principal position. They didn’t say a damned word to me. I found out when Helen introduced us. I remembered the name.”

“Holy cow! What are you going to do?”

“Not much I can do. But I need to find out more about her. Let me know what you think about her after you meet her.”

C
LAIRE PARKED IN the faculty car park and walked around the left side of the building as she’d done yesterday, this time observing the school’s grounds: weeds, trash, grass unmowed, graffiti on the walls. She looked at the overgrown bushes abutting the building and wondered how many dirty needles might she find dumped behind them? Did she even want to know? An equally disturbing thought entered her head: this was a perfect hiding place for a mugging. As she reached the front of the building, where there weren’t any bushes, she relaxed. A red leaf dropped onto her shoulder, brushing her cheek, and she glanced up. The tall oak’s leaves glistened as they twisted in the breeze and the crisp air whipped her hair into her eyes, reminding her of autumns in England.

Forget about the past and your home, she told herself. But when she stood facing the four-
story building, she could almost imagine ivy, and believe this was Balliol College. It was a long time since she’d been in Oxford. She shook herself and continued walking, studying the building. A lovely ornate Clock Tower featuring the signs of the zodiac around the dial, beginning with Aries at one o’clock and running anticlockwise, was inset in the brick near the roofline above the entrance. An equally lovely ornate doorframe surrounded the main entrance. Not something she would have expected here. But looks were quite often deceiving, she thought with a wry smile. Directly above the doorway, an elegantly engraved plate bore the date “1935”.
This must have been a lovely school at one time.

She paused. She didn’t know what hiding places there might be around the other side of the building. Around the corner, an indentation in shrubbery caught her eye. Cautiously she approached it and was surprised to find an overgrown courtyard guarded by four winged lions. The lions were mostly hidden by vines and weeds, and the ground itself was littered with empty soda cans and beer bottles.
This garden must have been lovely back in the early days—like a cozy little terrace.

Claire headed back to the main entrance and dug the key ring out of her handbag. After several attempts with different
keys, she opened the door and entered. The door swung rapidly closed behind her with a deafening crash, making her jump.
Well, I guess the closing mechanism needs some work. Must be more careful in future until I have it fixed.

All was hushed in the
dark entrance hall, when suddenly a radiator began to hiss and rattle, making her jump again. Moments later, it quieted to a murmur as it began pumping warmth into the hallway. Searching the entry area in the dark, she lucked out and found a light panel, opened it, and flipped the switches. As the fluorescents illuminated her way, she appraised the dingy scene around her. The walls, originally painted off-white, had deteriorated over the years to a dirty yellowish gray. The dark brown industrial vinyl tiles on the floor were dull and filmy. Old and plain. No color. Nothing inviting. But then she turned around and there was a large colorful mural covering the front wall on either side and above the entry doors. Peeling paint, cracking and faded colors in a few places gave evidence that it was probably painted years ago, perhaps when the school was first built.

She walked up to the
second story and arrived at a long hallway lined with lockers in graffiti-covered gray metal. Some of them looked as if someone had beaten them with baseball bats.

The corridor was ghostly quiet, except for the clicking of her
own high-heels on the linoleum. Trying several classroom doors and finding them locked, she peeked through the narrow windows in a couple rooms. More of the same dilapidated dinginess. She came across a wide set of concrete stairs leading to the third story and as she climbed, she noted at least one place where the railing was loose, requiring immediate attention.

Continuing on to the fourth floor, she was unable to
shake that feeling someone was following her. Chills trickled down her spine, and she spun around to look, but could find no one.

Get a grip,
Juliet! You aren’t a little girl frightened of the dark, checking for monsters under the bed.

Still, she couldn’t shake the fe
eling and ended up dashing down the three flights of stairs bound for the safety, if you could call it that, of her office. Once inside, she looked around and picked up a file folder marked budget reports. Far off she heard the front door bang again. A glance at her watch told her it was still too early for teachers and students. Probably nothing. Forget about it. But when she tried to resume her work, her ears were prepped and then she heard another sound. Was it the door to the admin office?

She felt h
er heart pounding. Should she sit here and wait, or investigate? She closed her eyes momentarily, then stood and walked over to peer into the corridor. No one in sight. Thinking Ron might have come in early, she stepped into his office. Empty. As she turned round she collided with something—with someone. She gasped as large hands grabbed her by the shoulder. Her mind told her to pull away and run, but instead, she turned her head and looked up at a man, unsure what she expected to see. Claire gasped again. “Who—who are you?” 

“
Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Frank Lawrence, one of the district’s assistant superintendents. I’m your supervisor. Thought I should stop by and meet you.”

“Oh lord, you gave me a start.”
Claire exhaled and bit her lip, studying him momentarily. He wore a brown suit with a beige dress-shirt and had hair the color of a sandy beach with a hint of gray, pale blue eyes, slim build and around mid-forties—not a threatening sort of guy at all. She knew looks could be deceiving, though, and with people hunting for her, she couldn’t take any chances.

“I—I’m sorry to ask, but I need to see your district I
.D. badge.” She resisted the urge to look away so he wouldn’t see her embarrassment over asking her boss to prove his identity.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his suit jacket, then grabbed hold of the lanyard holding his I
.D. badge and displayed it for her.

Claire read his name and verified the photo.
Relaxing a bit more, she said, “Thanks. I guess I don’t need to introduce myself. Obviously you already know who I am.”

He nodded and gave a lopsided smile.

“I’m glad you aren’t a vandal. After reading and hearing about the problems here, one can’t be too cautious.”

“Ah, you must’ve heard what happened here the morning Carl Robinson quit. I
t can be scary working in this place alone. Guess I should’ve called first, let you know I was coming. I’m glad to see you haven’t abandoned ship quite yet.”