Death of a PTA Goddess Read online

  He shook his head. “No, I saw the whole thing. I think it was a woman. Or maybe a short man. Looked about your size. Had a ski mask on. And she was just standing there looking up at the other skiers, and when she saw you, she took off after you and threw her elbow into you.”

  That was the impression I’d had, too, but really would have greatly preferred otherwise. I managed, with great effort, to get to my feet.

  Two other skiers, who both appeared to be eighth graders from Carlton, asked if I was all right and helped me retrieve my ski, then took off again. Though it was a struggle at this angle, I eventually got my ski back on, with Chad’s help.

  “I’d better report this,” I said to him. “What color outfit was the skier wearing?”

  He shook his head. “She was pretty far away from any of the lights. I just couldn’t tell, other than that she had a dark jacket and ski pants, and a dark mask on.”

  “I guess I’ll report that much to the ski patrol.”

  “Lucky you didn’t get knocked clear into the trees. You could’ve gotten killed.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I think I’m calling it a night as far as the skiing goes. I’m not doing much good as a chaperone, anyway. I think I’ll keep an eye on things down at the lodge instead.”

  “Okay. Take care, Mona.”

  I decided not to correct him. At least he could get the first letters of my name right.

  By the time I got down, Karen and Nathan were already well on their way back up. I heard Karen yell, “Mom!” and I managed what I hoped was a happy-looking wave. No sense in putting scary ideas in their heads, or mine. They would be fine. They were better skiers than I was and were shorter and therefore closer to the ground.

  I removed my skis and set them against the rack, thinking I could count on their never being stolen. Unfortunately. I found one of the men in red ski-patrol suits and told him about my “accident,” and he said he’d be on the lookout and revoke the skier’s pass if he could find the person.

  The crash had to have been a coincidence—a case of road rage on the slopes. It couldn’t have anything to do with the murder. Nonetheless, a fear niggled at me. I could have been killed, had I hit a tree trunk at that speed.

  I entered the lodge and searched for Kelly. I finally spotted her in the corner, sitting alone at the long, picnic-table style of seating. She was sipping from a Styrofoam cup. “Hi, Kelly. Can I get you another hot chocolate?”

  “No, thanks, Mrs. Masters. I’ve already had three.”

  “I meant to get down here and check on you sooner. I had a slight fall, though.”

  “I’m okay now. At least my mom didn’t see me. She’d have been humiliated.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. She must have meant her stepmother, who Kelly thought would have been humiliated to have a stepdaughter with a severe fear of heights.

  Just then, Amber Birch entered—her face flushed, her gait taking on that exaggerated lurch that skiers get to compensate for their inability to flex their ankles in the boots. She scanned the room and stopped at the sight of us. She rushed to our table and sat down next to her stepdaughter. “Kelly, honey, are you all right? I just heard what happened. I was out with the Lady Downhillers. I’m sorry. So, like, you got sick on the lift?”

  Kelly shrugged, not looking at Amber. “I’m fine now.”

  “Thank goodness.” Amber shifted her vision to me.

  “Hi. You’re the . . . uh . . .” She let her voice fade and gave a quick glance at her stepdaughter, apparently not wanting to mention my having come to her door to call the police. “Amber Birch.”

  “Yes. Molly Masters.”

  “You’re the, uh”—she hesitated, and I knew she was looking for an alternative to pointing out that I was the person who had barged in the night of the murder— “Veep of the PTA,” she said at last.

  “Right. I used to work with Patty. She was a good friend of mine.”

  “Yes, she was quite a person.”

  Kelly clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Molly can just stay with me, Amber. You can get back to your class now.” Kelly’s voice had taken on the snide hostility that all teenagers seem to master.

  Amber furrowed her eyebrows, but merely asked, “What happened?”

  Kelly set her lips and didn’t respond.

  “She got scared on the lift,” I answered for her. “They had to take her down.”

  “That much I heard. But scared of what?”

  “The height!” Kelly snarled.

  “But, Kelly, give me a break here! You’ve been on that very lift at least a hundred times by now. Why would you suddenly get scared of heights?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Hmmm.” She lifted her index finger. “My mom died three days ago.” She raised a second finger. “You killed her.” She raised a third finger. “You’re a ski instructor here.” She looked at her hand and its three raised fingers and said with a sneer, “Could it be that I’ve become frightened of things that remind me of you?”

  Chapter 6

  So That’s the Fax I Get?

  Amber pursed her lips, got up from the table, and walked away without another word. Despite her clunky ski boots, she managed to look almost graceful as she strode out the door. I studied Kelly’s features. The petite redhead was glowering at her hands in her lap, looking much younger than her fourteen years.

  Quietly, my stomach in knots, I asked, “Did you see Amber . . . go over to your mother’s house that night?”

  Not looking at me, she answered in a growl, “She hated my mom. Just before my dad left for Japan, I overheard them arguing. Amber said my dad was still in love with her . . . and he said maybe he was.”

  If that was true, Amber could have had a motive. The source needed to be considered before I leaped to any conclusions, though. Kelly’s version might have been colored by what she wanted to hear—and having her parents reunite had probably been at the top of her wish list. “Did you actually see your stepmother leave the house and go across the street?”

  She grabbed the edge of the table and gave me a piercing glare. “Yes.” She dragged out the “s” for emphasis.

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “No . . . but I told my father. And he prob’ly told them.”

  I didn’t know Kelly well enough to discern whether or not she was telling the truth, but frankly, I was not convinced. Maybe it was just that her slight avoidance of direct eye contact reminded me of my own children’s expression when they were being less than forthright.

  As much as I didn’t want to badger this poor child, I also didn’t want her to be spreading very serious and perhaps completely unfounded rumors about Amber Birch. “You’re certain that you saw her enter your mother’s house?”

  She nodded, but could not hold my gaze.

  “Even if you had to stand in front of a jury to testify to that fact?”

  She blinked, the color rising in her cheeks. “I’m, like, almost positive she did. I mean, I heard the door bang, so I know she left the house.”

  “But I came over to your house to use the phone. You might have just heard—”

  “No, it was before that.” Kelly’s voice rose. “She kept looking out the window during dinner, saying how there were a lot of cars over there . . . like she didn’t want any witnesses, you know? Like, she was waiting for everyone to leave.”

  This story was getting less and less convincing, despite Kelly’s adamance. “She might be completely innocent, Kelly. Things are so bad for you right now. Please, honey, think about what you’re doing here. Until the police make some real progress, convincing yourself that your father’s wife—”

  She slammed her fists on the table and said, “She killed my mother! I know she did!”

  We were attracting an audience of other skiers in the lodge, many of whom were Kelly’s classmates. All of this was giving me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I now regretted engaging her in this conversation. I spotted a public phone on the opposi
te wall.

  “Kelly, maybe I should call your father. This is obviously not the best place for you to be right now. I’m going to see if he’s home and try to arrange a ride home for you with one of the parents who drove here.”

  Kelly pulled a cellular phone out of the inner pocket of her ski jacket and handed it to me. “Just say ‘call Dad at home’ and it’ll dial for you.”

  I thanked her and rose from the table, phone in hand.

  She clicked her tongue. “You don’t need to get away from me to call him. I know you’re going to tell him everything I said about his stupid wife. You’re going to tell him I need to see a shrink, too, but I already am.” She got to her feet and shouted, “All I need is to stop having to live in the same house with my mother’s murderer!”

  Everyone in the room was looking at her now, most of them with their jaws agape.

  I felt so sorry for Kelly that I was positively heart-sick. I leaned toward her and said quietly but firmly, “Kelly, listen to me. Your step—your father’s wife works here. Many people in this room know her. You must give her the benefit of the doubt until the police solve this thing. Nothing good can come of your insisting that she’s guilty. It’s not taking any of your pain away. It’s just going to make whatever happens next that much harder to bear.”

  “What do you know about anything?!”

  She had a point there. I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a few steps, feeling like Frankenstein’s monster in my boots and my current role. I turned on the cell phone. “Call Dad at home.” I had to struggle to keep my voice steady. One thing was certain. I was now willing to crawl on my knees to Stephanie—and to anyone else—to plead for whatever help any of us could give in getting Kelly’s mother’s murderer behind bars as quickly as possible.

  Randy Birch answered. After identifying myself, I said, “I’m at the ski lodge with your daughter, and she’s not doing well.”

  “What do you mean?” His voice was rife with alarm. “Did she hurt herself?”

  “No, but she was scared to go up the lift, and she’s . . . upset.”

  “Can she stay put in the lodge and come home with my wife when she’s off work?”

  Kelly was peering through her bangs at me, her head slightly turned as if to give the impression that she was really just looking out the window. I turned my back and said quietly, “I . . . don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Kelly’s made some accusations about Amber, and I don’t know how comfortable either of them would be just now, alone together for a couple of hours in a car.”

  “Christ almighty,” he murmured. “Amber convinced me that this goddamned ski trip would be a good idea. She thought it might get Kelly’s mind off her loss. I never should’ve listened to her. Kelly’s just . . . lashing out. Can I speak to her?”

  I turned around again. Kelly was scowling at me. Her anger and loss seemed so much bigger than she was. She was such a tiny thing, probably the smallest student in the eighth grade. At least her diminutive size eliminated her from being considered a viable suspect herself. “Kelly? Your dad wants to speak with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. I handed her the phone, and she immediately snarled at her dad, “Yeah?”

  Another mother of an eighth grader approached me and offered to take her home, and we made the necessary arrangements with Kelly’s father.

  Someone needed to tell Amber that Kelly was leaving. I asked around and eventually found Amber behind the lodge on the dimly lit wooden deck, smoking a cigarette. In the muted lighting, she looked younger than ever. She must frequently be mistaken for the girlfriend of Kelly’s college-aged brother whenever the whole family was together. She saw me and immediately stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. “Kelly going home?”

  “With Brittany’s mom. I’d drive her myself, but my car’s back at the school.”

  “She’s just . . . so difficult.” Amber’s lip trembled slightly as she pushed some blond locks back underneath her ski cap. “She’s always hated me. This is, like, the last thing we needed to have happen.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” My voice was even, but it took effort not to scream: Of course she’s difficult! Her mother was murdered a few days ago!

  Amber clicked her tongue. “I’m making it sound like Patty’s death was a mere inconvenience to me and my life. It’s just that”—she stopped and searched my eyes— “I don’t know what to do, you know? I remember how this felt for me. My own mother died when I was about her age.” She retrieved her cigarette butt, examined it for a moment, and gave me a sad smile. “Lung cancer.” She flicked it into the nearby trash can and said, “If it helps Kelly to think of me as the bad guy, I figure, fine. But I sure as hell didn’t kill her mother. And I hope whoever did burns there for all eternity.”

  I couldn’t argue with that sentiment. Furthermore, I was rapidly gaining respect for Amber, so much so that I was all but ready to cross her off my list of suspects. “Kelly seems to think you left the house before I arrived to call the police. You didn’t, though. Did you?”

  She pursed her lips and brushed past me, putting her ski goggles in place as she walked. “ ’Scuse me. Time for me to meet up with my last class of the night.”

  Patty’s memorial service was the following afternoon. Her ex-husband was there, looking extremely shaken, sitting with his daughter and his college-aged son. Amber was seated one row back. Kelly’s accusations must be putting a terrible strain on their marriage. Earlier, when I’d repeated those accusations to Tommy, he was noncommittal about whether or not he’d already heard them. He did, at least, assure me that he had personally interviewed Kelly and her parents. Right before snapping at me to “Stop playing amateur cop!” Which, I assured him, I would do, just as soon as the killer was behind bars.

  The funeral home was rapidly filling. Ten minutes before the start time, I would estimate that two hundred people were in the room. I was seated on the aisle. Beside me was Nathan and then Jim, with Tommy next to him and Lauren on the far side. I squirmed, uncomfortable on the hard seat. Overnight, the bruises I’d sustained in my ski accident had turned dark purple and were very painful. To show as little flesh as possible, I was wearing black leather boots and an ankle-length, long-sleeved, dark green velvet dress.

  Karen had insisted on coming to pay her respects, as did Rachel, but they were both seated next to Adam Embrick in the same row as his mother. Touchingly, an entire contingent of high schoolers was present, including the four girls from the infamous tape, who were seated together to one side of us. Every time I glanced their way, I got the uncomfortable and yet acute impression that they were whispering about Karen and Adam. Even at a distance, I could tell that Karen was unnerved by them.

  I caught sight of Chad Martinez, looking very somber, heading down the aisle toward us. He caught my eye and said, “Can I sit here, Mary?”

  “Sure, Chip,” I replied before I could stop myself.

  “Chad.”

  “My name’s Molly.”

  “Sorry. I’m not good with names.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not good with solemn occasions.” I leaned back to stop blocking the men’s view of each other and said, “This is my husband, Jim.”

  “Hello,” Jim said, shaking Chad’s hand.

  He glanced around before settling into his seat. “Well, I guess we’re all here. All us PTA-nerds, I mean. I hear so many teachers wanted to come that they”—he cleared his throat and said in a strained tone—“they decided to hold this after three so that they could attend, too.”

  Someone tapped on my shoulder, startling me. It was Stephanie, seated directly behind me. When I looked back at her, she whispered in my ear, “We need to talk.”

  Minutes later, the service began. I had to zone out during the eulogies. I simply could not take this much sorrow.

  After the service, they instructed us to leave in the standard recessional style—front rows emptying first. The four girls who’d taped us had apparently skipped out early. Too bad. I
would have liked to have spoken with them, ever watchful for clues that Tommy and his men might have missed. Susan and Adam also left quickly.

  As we entered the reception hall of the funeral home, I saw Karen flash a plaintive look at Rachel, who gave her a decidedly sympathetic smile. Something was going on.

  “Did you know those girls from the high school who were seated together?” I asked Karen.

  “Not really,” she said. Her eyes were slightly averted.

  My warning flags went up. “Does Adam know them?”

  “Yeah, they’re juniors.” She pivoted and said, “Rachie, let’s go get some soda.”

  This was not the time or place to press Karen further. Stephanie caught my eye, and we went to a quiet corner where we could talk privately. “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m still determined to clear my good name and get the killer put away for life. Have you given any thought to my suggestion about joining forces?”

  “Absolutely, and I’ve thought of some of Patty’s former social groups we can infiltrate.”

  “Pardon?”

  “There’s a big crossover between the PTA board and these groups.”

  “So?”

  Already annoyed, I said a bit testily, “Remember how I explained to you that the way I’ve been able to beat Tommy in uncovering a murderer was to spend time with the suspects?” She still had a puzzled expression on her face, so I went on. “To keep a close eye on them and learn what their true relationships with the victim were?”

  “Oh, right. Well, I suppose if that’s what’s worked for you in the past . . . although that’s no guarantee that it’ll work this time.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, there’s the menopause support group that she and Emily Crown spearheaded, and Chad’s ballroom dance class. You should join the menopause group.”

  Stephanie stiffened so abruptly that she was momentarily half mannequin. “Pardon?”

  “Jim and I will join the ballroom dancing group she was in with Chad.”

  She let out a forced-sounding chuckle, the strain evident on her features. “Molly, nobody’s going to believe I’m in menopause. I mean, look at me!”