Stay At Home Dead (19 page)
Authors: Jeffrey Allen
48
The auditorium at Rettler-Mott School was almost full by the time Julianne and I walked in. Our presence set off a buzz inside the room, as row after row of heads turned back in our direction.
“I’m going to have questions about that guy when this is over,” Julianne whispered.
I wasn’t sure I had the answers. Everyone who was anyone in Rose Petal was there. Sally Meadows was tucked back in a corner with several of her fellow teachers. Detective Willie Bell was leaning against the back wall. Darlene Andrews was in the second row, poured into some sort of velour outfit, her hair teased approximately six feet into the air. Mitch McCutcheon gave a short wave from his seat in the first row. Lots of other faces that I knew.
I didn’t think that the room was choosing sides. This wasn’t that kind of showdown. They were there simply to see what happened and to report back to the others who weren’t fortunate enough to attend in person.
Sharon Ann McCutcheon was whispering into Deborah Wilbon’s ear from a row of folding chairs behind a podium. Several other of the WORMS filled the remaining chairs, Sharon Ann and Deborah sitting in the middle of them. Sharon Ann noticed us, said one last thing to Deborah, which caused her to turn her head in our direction, stood, and approached us.
“Hello, Deuce,” she said through a forced smile, as if someone was pinching her rear end. “Hello, Julianne.”
The dynamic between Sharon Ann and Julianne had always been strange. Julianne had attempted to be friends with her when Mitch first brought her back to Rose Petal, because Mitch and I were friends. But it became immediately clear that Sharon Ann had no intention of taking up that friendship, at least not in a sincere form. I was never sure exactly what Sharon Ann envied the most about my wife—her looks, her career, her family—but it was as obvious as a horse on roller skates. Sharon Ann was jealous of Julianne.
“Sharon Ann,” said Julianne, looking past her at the other women sitting near the podium. “That’s it?”
Sharon Ann ran a hand down her blouse, smoothing it out, though it was tough to smooth out that kind of plastic surgery. “That’s it what?”
“I only count five of your little friends,” Julianne said. “You’re going to need more than that.”
Sharon Ann bristled. “I think we’ll be f ine.”
Julianne stared at her for a long moment, then gave a little shrug. “All right. Your choice.” She looked at me. “This is going to be easier than I expected.”
Sharon Ann’s lips fastened together in an irritated grimace. I couldn’t tell whether Julianne was being serious or if she was just trying to stick it to Sharon Ann and get inside her head. If I knew my wife even the tiniest bit, it was probably a little of both.
Sharon Ann’s eyes narrowed, in much the same way I assumed a shark’s did before it attacked its prey. “I’d like to get started. Are you ready?”
I looked at Julianne, who was returning the narrow-eyed shark stare at Sharon Ann. Her head tilted forward in a tight, confident nod.
I was glad someone was confident.
“Okay then,” I said, taking another long look around the room, wondering who, if anyone, was rooting for me. “I guess we’re ready.”
49
When I was a kid, my parents served as copresi-dents of the parent-teacher association at my elementary school. At their final meeting at the end of their two-year term, my father put a man named Charles Spillner in a headlock because he’d had the poor idea to say that he thought my parents had done a lousy job. As my father brought him to the front of the room in the headlock, my mother presided over the swearing in of the new officers.
The Spillners’ daughter, Andrea, never spoke to me again.
So when I thought of any type of parent-teacher school meeting, I couldn’t get the image of my father locking up Charlie Spillner out of my head. As I watched Sharon Ann up at the podium, I hoped that headlocks would not be necessary on this night.
Sharon Ann cleared her throat and tapped the microphone attached to the wooden podium. Her face morphed into a sea of warmth and friendliness, all the Botox in her face coagulating its way into a gigantic smile.
“Good evening, friends,” she said, letting her eyes sweep the room, as if each and every person there was her personal friend. “We all appreciate your attendance here this evening in regard to this important matter.” She shuffled through several sheets of paper in front of her. “As most of you know, Mr. Deuce Winters serves as the Room Mother... .”
She pursed her lips together and again let her eyes sweep the room, feigning embarrassment. “Excuse me. I meant to say Room Father.”
She, in fact, meant to say exactly what she said. It was her subtle way of letting the room know that I was miscast in the role from the get-go.
“And he has served admirably in that role for the majority of the school year,” Sharon Ann continued. “We all certainly appreciate his efforts on behalf of the children in room nine.”
A slight murmur arose from the room, and I couldn’t tell if it was positive or negative.
“But at this time I feel it is my unfortunate duty to request that Mr. Winters be replaced in his current position,” Sharon Ann said, adopting a seriousness normally reserved for funerals and beauty pageants.
She cut her eyes in my direction. “Unless, of course, Mr. Winters would prefer to save us all the trouble and resign his current position.”
I had to hand it to Sharon Ann. She knew how to work a room.
I stood and faced the room. “I have no intention of resigning my position.” I turned, smiled at Sharon Ann, and sat down.
A brief flash of anger rocketed through Sharon Ann’s eyes as the crowd murmured again. She quickly composed herself, though, and put on an expression of resigned disappointment, as if that was what she’d expected. “Then I guess we should get the proceedings under way since Mr. Winters does not wish to step aside.”
Maybe I
would
need to put Sharon Ann in a headlock.
would
need to put Sharon Ann in a headlock.
She glanced at Deborah and the other three women now sitting behind her. They all nodded assuredly at one another, portraying the confidence of people who were about to present a can’t-miss cure for cancer.
Sharon Ann shuffled through the papers once again. “At this time I would like to formally recommend Mr. Winters’s removal as Room Father for room nine. Do I hear a second?”
Deborah and the others behind her all chimed in with “Seconded.” It was clear that they had rehearsed.
Sharon Ann suppressed a smile. “Excellent. At this time we do not feel that Mr. Winters—”
“Who’s we, Sharon Ann?” Julianne asked.
The room murmured again.
“The Women of Rettler-Mott School, Julianne,” Sharon Ann said through clenched teeth.
“So it’s the group that’s recommending this action?” Julianne asked, the amused smile from before again creeping across her face.
Sharon Ann met her question with irritation. “That is correct.”
Julianne nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. Continue.”
Sharon Ann started to spit something, most likely because she didn’t like Julianne giving her permission to run her own meeting. But she bit her tongue, attempting to stay focused. “As I was saying, we are making this recommendation due to the recent troubles that Mr. Winters has experienced.”
The murmuring in the room got louder, and Sharon Ann was happy to let it fester.
“He is an active suspect in an ongoing murder investigation,” Sharon Ann said, pausing to let that settle in with the audience. “And he has recently been served with a restraining order after harassing the wife of the victim.” She shifted her gaze to the middle of the auditorium, and I followed it.
Shayna and Billy were sitting together. Shayna’s head was down. Billy was patting her on the back.
Rose Petal seriously needed to give thought to the idea of forming a community theater, because there was some amazing acting talent in the town.
Sharon Ann did a little head shake, clearly displeased with me. “Clearly, Mr. Winters has other issues in his life right now that would seem to prevent him from performing his duties.”
My blood pressure did zero to sixty in less than two seconds. Even though I had prepared myself for what she was going to say, hearing it out loud, in front of all those people, was like another shot to the head.
Julianne’s hand pressed down on mine.
“We wanna see Deuce!” Darlene yelled from behind us.
I cringed as the entire room went silent.
“I mean, we wanna hear from Deuce,” Darlene corrected herself, but not blushing. “We wanna hear what he has to say.”
Sharon Ann’s mouth twitched. “Certainly.” She looked at me. “You may express any wishes you have against this going forward.” She turned back toward the audience. “Though I doubt it will matter.”
I stood and walked to the lecturn. It would’ve been the ideal moment for a headlock, but I decided against it.
I spotted Cedric near the back of the room, working a toothpick between his lips. “Sheriff. Am I a suspect?”
“Not in my book,” Cedric said, grinning.
Judge Gerald Kantner was right next to him, yawning.
“Judge, did the restraining order present any evidence that I harassed anyone?” I asked.
Gerald shook his head. “No, Deuce, it did not. That is why the order was granted with temporary status. If cause had been presented, then I would have considered a more stringent order.”
And then I had to take a chance. “Detective Bell.”
He was startled to hear his name called, and he straightened against the wall.
“Anyone file a complaint with you, complaining about me?” I asked.
The entire room turned in his direction.
The pink splotches that I’d seen before were forming on his face. He didn’t like being the center of attention.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Can you say that again?” I asked. “So everyone can hear you?”
“No,” he said, louder and more irritated.
The murmurs grew into voices, clearly surprised. I turned around to Sharon Ann. Her cheeks were drawn tight; her jaw set firm. She wasn’t enjoying her meeting.
I turned back to the room. “Sally. You still want me as your Room Dad?”
Sally Meadows stood and was already nodding. “Absolutely. I have no complaints.”
The murmuring came to life again.
“Thanks,” I said.
Sally saluted and sat down.
“My daughter loves this school,” I said to the crowd. “I love being able to help out with her class. I believe her teacher, Ms. Meadows, is happy with the job I’ve done as Room Dad.” I took a long look across the room, trying to catch as many eyes as possible. “I do not have any plans to leave the job before my term is up. Thank you.”
Applause started in the back of the room and worked its way forward. I was feeling pretty good about the moment. I took my seat back next to Julianne. She patted my hand, proud. Never underestimate the power of a high school football hero in Texas.
Sharon Ann and Deborah were in a tight-lipped, white-faced discussion as the applause continued. Sharon Ann finally stood and returned to the podium.
“Well, it is lovely to hear that Mr. Winters has been able to clear his name. To a certain extent, of course,” she said with all the friendliness of a python. “Of course, there is another issue I’d like to bring up before we vote.”
The room came to attention.
“Two nights ago,” Sharon Ann said, “Mr. Winters was attacked out in front of the school. Fortunately, he is all right. The attack, however, raises a concern.”
My confidence was disappearing by the second. I didn’t like her standing up there, looking like she was about to swing a big hammer right at my head.
“Whether or not he is to blame for the attack, it does concern me that someone is out to get him,” she said, pausing like a well-rehearsed orator. “Particularly when he is around the children.”
That set off the murmurs again and blew my confidence into itty-bitty pieces. Sharon Ann was very pleased with herself, trying to hold off a smug smile. She looked down at her papers as it started to broaden across her face, like a kid who didn’t want to get caught laughing in the back of the class.
She managed to wipe the smile from her face for a moment and held up her hands for quiet. “I think you understand where I’m coming from. We do not want to put our children at risk.” She glanced around the room. “And I would be happy to sacrifice my time in order to take his place. So that our children can remain safe.”
“Good God,” Julianne whispered. “Like she’s willing to hold off the plague or something.”
“I’m done,” I whispered above the conversations behind us. “She got me.”
Julianne raised an eyebrow. “Not even close, househusband. Not even close.”
“Jules, she’s got everyone drinking the Kool-Aid,” I said, gesturing behind us.
Julianne frowned and looked back to Sharon Ann.
“So I think it’s time we vote,” Sharon Ann said, her chin upraised, her fake boobs puffed out in victory. “Should Mr. Winters be replaced as Room Father of room nine?”
Julianne stood. “Don’t waste their time, Sharon Ann.”
Sharon Ann’s eyes turned into tiny little AK-47s, firing in my wife’s direction. “I’m not wasting their time, Julianne. Now I’m sorry your husband ...”
“You are sorry,” Julianne said. “I think we may need to recall you as president of the WOR ... Women of Rettler-Mott.”
Sharon Ann reloaded the AK-47s. “Oh, really. And why would that be?”
“Because you don’t even know your own bylaws, honey,” Julianne said, now facing the audience.
Sharon Ann blinked her eyes several times. Any other moment, it would’ve looked like she was batting her eyelashes at someone. But I saw it as doubt sneaking its way into her pea brain.
“How many women are in the group?” Julianne asked, still watching the audience, in full lawyer mode now. “In the Women of Rettler-Mott?”
Sharon Ann started to say something, then caught herself. She turned to Deborah and the three women behind her, covering the microphone. Her colleagues met her with shrugs.
When she turned back around, her cheeks were pink and she wasn’t pleased about having to stare at the back of Julianne’s head. “I’m not sure, but I don’t see any way that’s relevant.”
Julianne smiled at the audience, full of conf i-dence. “Again. I’d think someone in your position would know your own bylaws.”
The decibel level of the murmurs rose, the crowd sensing something big was about to go down.
“Let’s take a guess, then,” Julianne said, turning around to face Sharon Ann. “Two, twenty, two hundred? As president of the Women of Rettler-Mott, how many women do you think you preside over?”
The pink in Sharon Ann’s cheeks blossomed. “If I had to guess, I’d say forty. Certainly not more than fifty, and two hundred is ludicrous.” It was a poor attempt to save face.
“Forty,” Julianne said, nodding as if that was fine. “Let’s go with that.”
Sharon Ann twitched with irritation. “Honestly, Julianne. You are wasting everyone’s time. This is ridiculous.”
Julianne upped the wattage in her smile. “It’s on page four of the school bylaws.”
“What is?”
“The part that says in order for any parent-sponsored group to make a change of any kind that the group must present at least fifty-one percent of their group for a public vote,” Julianne said, turning back to the audience.
The murmurs rose to a few chuckles and whistles. I made out a few “Uh-ohs” and “That woman is screweds.”
Sharon Ann’s face rippled from pink to strawberry red. “That is nonsense! I would know something like that if it were true.”
Julianne whipped out a small royal blue book and held it up. “Well, I certainly would’ve thought you would’ve known something like that before putting on this dog and donkey show.” She tossed the book at her. “Page four, Sharon Ann. It’s the one that comes after page three. We’ll go ahead and wait for you to read it.”
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