The Witch of Agnesi (2 page)

Looking good, Peyton.
“How’s the lip?” She worked to keep her expression blank.

Peyton eyed her sullenly and shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Look, I got to get to class. See you tonight.” He didn’t wait for a reply. In a dozen quick steps, he reached a cross hall and turned out of sight.

Marcie took Bonnie’s hand and pulled her into the tiny infirmary, then shut the door with a slam. “Give me the dirt.”

Bonnie eyed the door wistfully.
Trapped, trapped
like a rat.
“You know as much as I do. Peyton and Jesse exchanged words. Jesse took offense. He beat up Peyton. Pretty much end of story.”

Marcie narrowed her eyes. “What did our fearless leader have to say?”

Bonnie glanced up at the infirmary clock.
Thank
God, I have only a few minutes left in my planning
period.
“He’ll talk to other students, try to get the skinny on what really happened. If I were him I’d find out what became of Jesse Poole.”

“I guess you heard?”

Bonnie kept her expression blank. “Heard what?”

“Jesse’s mother has worsened. How long she lasts is anyone’s guess. Jesse spent a sleepless night at the hospital.”

How do you learn these things?

She pictured Marcie with her own version of the Baker Street Irregulars. The bell ending planning period rang. “Gotta go. Lots to do before Knowledge Bowl tonight.”

Marcie laid a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “I need to tell you, Bon. I know the boy is a big asset to your team. But for my money, Peyton Newlin, for all his genius, is one oily little creep. The only person likely to give a crap that Peyton got his porch shellacked is Edmund Sheridan.”

TURNING OFF HIGHWAY EIGHTY-FOUR, BONNIE STOLE glimpses of her Knowledge Bowl team in the rearview mirror. Ali Griffith and Stephanie Templeton sat in the seat directly behind her. Heads together conspiratorially, they whispered as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats that very morning.

Bonnie smiled. Just another example of why she preferred the company of teenagers. They lived for the moment. And regardless of what most people over twenty-one believed, they rarely held grudges.

On the long seat at the rear of the van, Edmund Sheridan and Peyton Newlin bent over an electronic game. The bandage-mustache on Peyton’s lip glowed pale green in the light from the display.

Moments like these were why she refused to even consider retirement—riding to Knowledge Bowl with four of East Plains’ brightest students.

Then there was the competition itself. She loved its simplicity; answer the most school-related questions correctly, one point per question, you win. Obviously, a game invented by Mathematicians.

She swung the van into the Interfaith Academy’s parking lot. School busses and vans filled almost every available space. Most of their competitors had already arrived. Then again very few of them had to come from as far away as East Plains.

Amid excited chatter her team poised at the van’s sliding door like eager soldiers ready for battle. All they needed was a bugle and an American flag.

That’s right, cutie pies. You’re good. Especially
when Peyton’s having a killer night.

Inside the combination school and church, she waved to the other coaches but stuck close to her team.

Ali, who had added a silver cobra necklace to her black gothic regalia, strode unselfconsciously through the crowded vestibule. More than a few heads turned in her direction.

When the team reached the tally boards, Bonnie tapped the one titled “East Plains.” “Why have we been in first place all season?”

Edmund cocked his spiky blond head. “Our exceptional good looks?”

Ali shoved him. “If that was right, then looking at you I’d say we should be in last place.”

He feigned a hurt expression. “You know you love me. Don’t hide your feelings behind this pointless hostile façade.”

“In your dreams, Samurai.”

Stephanie, the team captain, shook her head and regarded her team members as if they were children and she the only adult. “We stay alert. We don’t let our energy get down. And?”

“We listen for the magic word,” Edmund said.

“And?”

“We kick brain.” They high-fived and hip-bumped one another. Even Peyton got involved, although he seemed preoccupied.

Bonnie let the camaraderie envelop her. She loved these children. Right at the moment, she’d rather be here than anywhere else on planet Earth. “We’re in the main auditorium.” She pointed with her chin down a long hallway.

Stephanie led off, and the others followed.

When Bonnie entered the auditorium, really the Academy’s main chapel, Edmund pulled her aside.

“Can I talk with you, Missus P?”

She checked on the rest of the team. Stephanie had the others gathered around the center of three round tables and was handing out paper and pencils. Despite her preoccupation with appearance, or maybe because of it, the girl was a natural leader.

“Certainly, Edmund. What can I do for you?”

Edmund pushed his brushed stainless steel glasses further up his nose. “I’m pretty sure I saw Jesse Poole’s red pickup follow us into town.”

“You actually saw Jesse Poole?” She tried to keep her tone casual.

“The inside of the truck was dark, but it looked like Jesse.”

She tugged on her ear. “How far did he follow?”

“I looked away to talk to Peyton. When I looked back, the truck was gone. Maybe a couple of blocks from here.”

“Did Peyton see the truck?”

“I don’t think so.”

She draped her arm around the boy. “I’ll keep an eye out for Jesse and tell the Academy’s principal to do the same. Are you going to be okay?”

Edmund squirmed. “I’m not the one Jesse’s looking to kill.”

“No one’s going to kill anyone.”

Stephanie waved from the front of the auditorium, and Edmund hurried to join her.

Bonnie slid into a pew near the front. She didn’t want to think of the Jesse Pooles of the world right now.
God damn it, even though the boy has monumental
problems, I’d just as soon not deal with him tonight.

Nigel Jeffers, the Academy’s principal, a tall black man wearing an oversized Denver Bronco bow tie, strode up the center aisle.

Bonnie stopped him and tried to explain the situation. Before two sentences escaped her lips the man shook his head.

“I assure you, no one will interfere with this competition while I’m in charge.”

“But—”

“I need to begin.” With a condescending pat to her hand, he continued up the aisle to a metal podium facing the tables, his back to the meager audience of coaches and a few parents.

Ass.

Jeffers raised a hand for attention. “Fifteen seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Fifteen seconds to buzz in. Fifteen seconds to answer once you’re recognized. If the first team answers incorrectly, then the next team to buzz in gets a new fifteen seconds. If that team is wrong, then the third team receives an additional fifteen seconds. Any questions?”

All twelve competitors shook their heads.

“Then I’ll read the first question. The category is world capital cities and fruit.”

A buzzer sounded.

The timer called, “East Plains.”

“I know this,” Peyton mouthed to Stephanie.

She nodded.

“Tangiers,” he said.

Bonnie couldn’t see the reader’s expression, but his body language indicated he was both impressed and perplexed. “That’s correct, but how?”

Peyton reddened. “Simple. There’s only one major world capital named after a fruit.”

“Point for East Plains.”

All’s right in the Milky Way.
Bonnie settled into her pew.

“Second question. The category is waterfalls and the rivers that feed them.” The reader hesitated and looked to Peyton.

The boy smiled and shook his head.

“Just checking,” the reader said. “Name the highest—”

A buzzer sounded.

“East Plains,” the timer called.

Ali looked to Stephanie. The team captain nodded.

“Angel Falls on the Rio Churun.”

“That’s correct. Point for East Plains.”

Bonnie noted with satisfaction the other teams’ agitation.
Just adding to your freak factor, boys and girls.
As she planned in practice, East Plains would buzz in quickly, rarely hearing all of any one question, but usually preempting the other teams.

A noise behind her made Bonnie turn.

Mrs. Wendy Newlin, an attractive woman with a great mass of red hair flowed up the center aisle. A tube-top blouse revealed more than hid an ample bosom and a wasp-like waist. She excused herself, and sat next to Bonnie.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she whispered. Her breath smelled of cigarettes. She waved a multi-ringed, red-nailed hand to her son.

A pained expression on his face, Peyton waved back.

Almost immediately, after their initial success, East Plains went cold. Edmund missed an easy Science question, then another.

The worst was Peyton. He seemed distracted, unfocused. Twice he convinced Stephanie he knew the answer to a question she wanted to answer. Both times, when she deferred to him, he answered wrong. From the look on Stephanie’s face, the girl would have answered correctly.

At the end of the first round, East Plains was tied with the Academy’s team, having squandered the five point lead they enjoyed coming into that night.

Bonnie put on a brave face. Before they could rise from their seats, she signaled them back down. “Come on guys. Shake it off. We’ve only given away five points. We’ll get the lead back.”

“That’s right,” Stephanie agreed. “We stunk up the place on that round, but we have two rounds left. What are we going to do?”

Ali and Edmund answered, “Kick brain.”

“You bet,” Bonnie said, uneasily eyeing Peyton. “Go stretch your legs and be back here in two minutes.”

As the team left the auditorium, Peyton approached his mother. Taking his hand, she pulled him aside, behind the baptismal. For the better part of a minute, mother and son whispered furiously one to another, Peyton’s face growing red. Just when Bonnie thought the boy might explode, Peyton nodded. He gave his mother a sullen look and retook his seat.

What in hell was that all about?
Bonnie stared hard at Peyton, then the mother.
Damn you, woman.
Couldn’t you have stayed at home for this last meet
? Bonnie could only hope Peyton could shake off whatever weirdness had transpired.

No such luck.

Although Ali and Stephanie rallied, Peyton and Edmund never did recover. Distracted, Peyton played like someone who needed to be somewhere else. Time and again he locked eyes with his mother who returned his gaze like a serene Madonna, nodding approval for her floundering son.

When the final question was read, East Plains had fallen to fourth place. Bonnie sat stunned. For the first time in twelve years an East Plains team finished out of the top three.

Stephanie pushed back her chair, stood, and glowered at Peyton. “Thanks a lot, boy genius.” She flounced past Bonnie and out of the auditorium. Ali and Edmund ran after her.

Mrs. Newlin winced, but only momentarily. Her tranquil smile reasserted itself.

Tears glistened on Peyton’s freckled cheeks. “I’m sorry, Missus Pinkwater.”

Bonnie swallowed her disappointment. “I’m sure you did your best, Peyton. Let’s catch up with the others.”

The boy blanched. From the look on his face the last thing he wanted was to confront an angry Stephanie Templeton. “I got to go to the bathroom.” He shuffled from the auditorium like he carried a sack of bowling balls on his shoulders.

Bonnie had no desire to spend another moment in the company of Wendy Newlin. “Please excuse me. I need to be with the team.”

Bonnie resisted the urge to run. No way would she let Stephanie vent her spleen on an already hurting thirteen-year old genius.

At the van, Ali had her arms wrapped around Stephanie, who was weeping.

The tall blonde looked up. “I’m sorry I let you down, Missus P. And I’m really sorry I was such a bitch to Peyton.” She sniffled.

Too taken back at Stephanie’s change of heart, Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to object to the girl’s choice of words. “He’ll be relieved to see you’re not mad at him. I think he went to the bathroom to avoid seeing you.” She handed the girl a tissue.

“It’s not his fault. He’s not the first team captain in a dozen years to come home without a trophy.”

Bonnie took Stephanie in her arms. “East Plains will survive.” To Edmund, she said, “Go see what’s keeping Peyton.”

Edmund left looking relieved to get away from all this womanly grief.

Neither of the girls appeared eager to speak, so Bonnie invited them to sit quietly with her on the back bumper of the van. All around them, busses and vans full of teenagers sped away into the night.

When the last bus left, Bonnie checked her watch. “What’s keeping those boys?”

As if in answer to her question, Edmund slammed through the door of the school. Standing in the school’s floodlights, he yelled, “I can’t find him anywhere. Peyton’s gone.”

CHAPTER 2

B
ONNIE LED A HYSTERICAL WENDY NEWLIN into the main office. The red-faced woman sucked air in ragged gasps.

Don’t let her pass out
, Bonnie prayed.

“Get me a paper bag, maybe yea big.” She used her hands to show Principal Jeffers of the orange bow tie the approximate size of a lunch sack. When the man hesitated, she hurried him off.

She pulled a swivel chair from behind a large gray-steel desk and patted the upholstered seat. “Sit here for a moment. Put your head between your knees.”

Gasping and shaking, Wendy did as she was told.

“I’ll be right back.” Bonnie stepped out into the hall.

Stephanie, Ali, and Edmund stood leaning against a wall. They broke off whispering when she approached. Tears glistened on Stephanie Templeton’s cheeks.

Bonnie opened her fanny pack, extracted her cell phone, and tossed it to Edmund. “Call your parents, all of you. This could take awhile. Have them come get you.”

Stephanie shook her head. “This is all my fault.”

Bonnie held up an admonishing hand. “Cut that out. Take Edmund and Ali to the auditorium and make those calls. Can I count on you?”

Stephanie nodded.

“Good girl.”

When Bonnie returned to the office, Wendy had her head between her knees. She’d removed her sweater and sat there in a white sleeveless shell. On each of her arms a string of purple bruises stood out like grapes against pale flesh.

The hair on the back of Bonnie’s neck bristled. Her jaw tightened.

In the doorway, Jeffers held up a small paper sack. “Will this do?”

She forced herself to smile and took the sack. “Do you have somewhere Missus Newlin can lie down?”

“I’ll be fine.” Wendy raised her head. “I need to find my boy.” She tried to stand and sat down hard.

Jeffers strode past Bonnie to a darkened room and flicked on the light. “Nurse’s cubby—the back of my assistant principal’s office.” He helped Wendy to her feet.

The woman protested, but let Jeffers guide her to a cot behind a mobile canvas screen.

Bonnie handed Wendy the bag. “Just a dozen breaths until your breathing settles.”

“I don’t think—”

“Humor me.”

Wendy sighed but clamped the bag’s mouth over her own. Eyes closed, she inflated and deflated the bag like a bellows.

Bonnie signaled Jeffers to accompany her to the door. Once beyond it she whispered, “We need to call the police.”

“They may not come. We’re talking about a boy who ran away less than half an hour ago. My custodians are still searching.”

“We’re talking about a missing child, and I’m not so certain he ran away. Remember the red truck you wouldn’t let me tell you about?” She gave him an abbreviated version of Peyton’s altercation with Jesse Poole.

“And you saw this truck near here?”

“One of my players did.”

Jeffers worried a hangnail on his thumb. “I’ll call.”

As he turned toward the phone on the secretary’s gray-steel desk, Bonnie took his elbow. “If you get any kind of runaround, ask for Sergeant Valsecchi. Mention my name. He’s a former student of mine.”

“Missus P?” Holding the cell phone, Stephanie came into the office. “We’ve all called.”

“That’s great, sweetie.” She took the phone. “Listen, I’ve got to see to Peyton’s mom. You guys going to be okay?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “We’re not little kids, Missus P.”

Oh good, give me a double scoop of attitude.
“Of course you’re not.” She left the girl and returned to the back room.

Mrs. Newlin was sitting up. She had the bag in her lap smoothing out wrinkles. “Peyton’s run away before.”

“He’s probably just feeling guilty about the competition.” Bonnie shut the door behind her but stayed near it, not wanting to invade the woman’s space. “He’ll come back when he sorts it out.”

“His running away had nothing to do with Knowledge Bowl. It’s been building between him and my husband, for weeks—the fights, the getting in trouble.” She rubbed her naked arms and winced when her fingers passed over the bruises. Her face reddened. “My husband’s not the easiest man in the world to live with.”

Bonnie’s jaw tightened again. She nodded toward the purple splotches. “Those look new.”

Mrs. Newlin cocked her head and eyed Bonnie suspiciously.

I don’t blame you, honey
, Bonnie thought.
You’ve
got no reason to confide in me.

“Ralph was waiting when Peyton and I returned from school. We weren’t in the house five minutes before he started in.”

“Had he been drinking?”

The woman shook her head, red hair falling across her face. She pushed it back with a shaky hand. “Colonel Ralph Newlin doesn’t drink.”

Her mouth twitched, as if she was forcing down a nervous laugh. “He doesn’t relinquish control of anything—his faculties or his family.”

“Did he hit you?”

Wendy hesitated then nodded. A knock on the door made her jump.

Jeffers poked in his head. “I called the police.”

Wendy crushed the bag in her lap.

Good timing, Jeffers.

The big man crossed the room in three long strides. “Don’t worry. I dug out the emergency phone list Missus Pinkwater provided and got a hold of your husband. He’s on his way.”

“Oh, God!” She locked eyes with Bonnie.

The look demanded an unspoken promise of kept secrets. Bonnie nodded.

Wendy’s hand clutching the bag relaxed. She offered the other one to Jeffers, who helped her up. “Thank you for your consideration. If you don’t mind, I need a cigarette before my husband arrives.” She smiled thinly. “He doesn’t approve.”

“You want company?” Bonnie asked.

Wendy shook her head. “No. I’m just going out to my car.”

At the secretary’s desk, she collected her sweater and a beaded handbag. She and Edmund danced around one another, he trying to enter the office.

In frustration, Wendy pushed past the boy and said something Bonnie couldn’t hear.

Edmund watched Wendy Newlin walk down the long hall to the stairs. “Stephanie and Ali are gone. Steph’s mom was in town, and she took Ali too. My folks won’t answer. I’ll just ride back with you, if that’s okay. My car’s still at the school anyway.”

Bonnie wanted to follow Wendy, but Edmund blocked her path. “You want to call again?”

“Nah. Is it a problem me hanging here with you?”

Yeah, it’s a problem.
It was nine-o-clock. The police and an abusive husband were on the way. A thirteen- year old child, who’d been entrusted into her care, might just be in the hands of a maniac. She had no desire to have one more person depending on her.

“Try to stay out of the way.”

“Can do.”

She pushed past the boy. “I’m going to check on Missus Newlin.”

The hall was empty. She took the stairs two at a time, ran across the foyer and burst through the double doors to the parking lot. A silver SUV sped south down Peterson Avenue. In the driver’s seat hunched Wendy Newlin, a cigarette glowing in her mouth.

What’s with this family and running away?

“Where’s she going?” a voice at her elbow asked.

Bonnie yelped.

Edmund Sheridan stood so close he might as well have been in her pocket.

“Good God, Edmund! You liked to give me a heart attack.” She moved out onto the concrete steps and watched Wendy’s SUV drive out of sight.

Edmund followed her. “Sorry, but wasn’t that Missus Newlin?”

“I believe so.”

“What’s up with—Hey, somebody stuck something under the van’s wipers.”

Bonnie squinted trying to see with her fifty-three year old eyes what Edmund had seen with his younger ones. Before she could comment, the boy took off running—long easy strides that carried him across the parking lot.

At the van, he yelled, “It’s a note.”

He pulled the paper free. “From Missus Newlin. Addressed to you. It’s an apology.”

“Bring it here.”

Edmund took his time recrossing the lot. He seemed to enjoy her impatience.

She snatched the paper from his hand.

‘Mrs. Pinkwater. I know you’ll think me the worst mother in the world, but I couldn’t face my husband. You have no idea what he can be like. Hopefully, he’ll be calmed down by the time he gets back home. Wendy.’

This is dysfunction on a professional level.

Edmund wore a bemused expression. “Crazy, huh? That Mister Newlin must be one mean dude.”

Bonnie nodded absently. At parent-teacher meetings last fall, Colonel Ralph Newlin had come alone and in his Air Force Blues. He’d been brusque but not impolite. He seemed genuinely concerned his son do well at a new school, had explained East Plains was the fourth school Peyton had attended in the past seven years.

He didn’t come across as abusive.

What did you expect, Bonnie? A sign on his
forehead saying “wife-beater“
? A chill on the evening breeze had about convinced her to go back into the school when an unmarked car, with its cherry-top flashing, turned onto Peterson road.

“It’s the cops,” Edmund said.

The young man had always enjoyed a firm grasp on the obvious.

“Go tell Principal Jeffers.”

A battered lime-green El Camino pulled up to the steps where she stood. Its lights went off. A solidly built six-foot man in a rumpled suit struggled from the car. With a hand shielding his eyes from the school flood lights, Sergeant Franklin Valsecci squinted up at Bonnie with pale blue eyes.

“You just can’t stay out of trouble. Can you Missus P?” He raked his fingers through thinning auburn hair, presented her with a grin, and limped up the concrete steps to the school.

Every time she saw Franklin, she remembered the mischievous boy who bedeviled and delighted her in Algebra One. She felt like mussing his thinning hair. “I didn’t expect to see you. What’s with the limp, youngster?”

He shook his head.

She knew if she pressed him he’d most likely tell her. She didn’t press.

“Caught your name on dispatch and volunteered to take the call,” he said, changing the subject. “I was heading home.”

Bonnie noticed Jeffers through the wire-glass slits on the double doors. “Let’s talk inside.”

Jeffers held the door. All were through when a graveled noise from the parking lot made him poke his head back outside. “A classic Stingray, tweety-bird yellow.”

“That would be Colonel Ralph Newlin.” Bonnie couldn’t keep the contempt from her voice.

Franklin gave her a puzzled stare.

“I’ll tell you later,” she mouthed.

Looking like a press photo from the United States Air Force, Colonel Newlin strode through the open door in his leather flight-jacket. Tall and well muscled, Newlin carried himself like he was used to being admired. He nodded to Principal Jeffers as one would a servant. Newlin removed his flight cap, folded it, and smartly tucked it beneath his epaulet. His hair was silver-white, his face lined and rugged. He held out his hand to Bonnie. “Missus Pinkwater.”

Bonnie let the hand hang there a moment before she took it. “Mister, oh, excuse me, Colonel Newlin.”

Newlin blinked as if stung. The smile that looked as if it might blossom onto his face faded. “Appears as if you lost my boy.”

Bonnie felt her neck hair rise. She bit back a reply she knew she’d regret. “I’m sorry about that.”

Franklin hobbled between them. “From what I understand, we’ll present a case for an Amber Alert. In a nutshell, we’ll involve the media. Does the boy have a cell phone?”

Newlin shook his head. “You kidding? He may be a genius, but he’s still just thirteen, too young for his own phone.”

“Too bad. Sometimes a runaway will answer his cell and even tell you where he’s at.” Franklin checked his watch. “If an Amber Alert is called for, it would be nice to get his picture on the ten o’clock news.”

Colonel Newlin fished around in his wallet and handed Franklin a three-by-five glossy. “This was taken just two months ago.”

“Thank you. I’m going to need quick statements from each of you. I’ll start with you, Missus Pinkwater?”

“Where’s my wife?” Newlin demanded.

Bonnie took Franklin by the arm and led him toward the auditorium. From the corner of her eye she saw Edmund walking toward Colonel Newlin.
If Edmund’s
smart
, she thought,
he’ll let Newlin find out on
his own his wife is gone.

“She what?” Newlin howled.

I guess Edmund isn’t so smart after all.
She kept Franklin walking.

In the auditorium/chapel, she handed Wendy Newlin’s note to him. “It was on the windshield of the school van.”

Note in hand, Franklin leaned heavily on a pew railing and sat. He read the note then pulled a spiral-bound notepad from his pocket. “When did you get this?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago. Missus Newlin took off a few minutes before that.” Bonnie relayed the conversation she’d had with Wendy.

He handed back the note. “That explains your attitude toward Colonel Newlin.”

“The man’s ten pounds of feces in a gold-plated nine pound bag.”

“Shucks, Missus P, don’t sugar-coat your feelings. What do you really think?”

She slapped Franklin’s arm. “Don’t mock me, youngster. I knew you when you had zits. Besides, I’m not sure this family upheaval is the reason Peyton Newlin’s gone missing.” She told him of the fight and Edmund’s sighting of Jesse Poole’s truck.

Franklin scribbled in the notepad. “The same Asian boy out front?”

She nodded.

“I’ll send someone around to Poole’s.” Franklin struggled to his feet.

“Also check the Saint Francis Hospice. Jesse’s mom is in there.”

“This thug kidnaps Newlin then goes to visit his mother?”

Out loud, the idea sounded silly to Bonnie, too. “I don’t know.” A wave of fatigue swept over her. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t over yet.

“You look whipped. Why don’t you go on home?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to wait for Edmund. You’re going to want to talk to him. He’s the only one who actually saw the truck.”

Back in the vestibule, a red-faced Colonel Newlin approached. “Do you really think this Poole character has my boy?”

Before Bonnie could speak, Franklin said, “We can’t ignore the possibility. I’m sending out a call on Poole’s truck and a sheriff to Poole’s home.”