Hopscotch Homicide (Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 16) (3 page)

“I will. I have book club tomorrow. I know Hazel volunteers at the elementary school both in the library and in the classroom, reading to the kids. I’ll ask her if she knows anything about Mrs. Brown’s private life.”

“Mrs. Brown has lived in Ashton Falls for a long time. There has to be someone in the community who knew the woman well enough to point us in some direction.”

As instructed by Principal Bower, I returned to Ashton Falls Elementary School the next day to speak with Miss Maxwell about Scooter’s unique situation. Personally, I think informing a teacher about a student’s past behavior issues before she even meets him is just setting him up for failure. Scooter had developed into an awesome kid, but I could tell by the look on Miss Maxwell’s face that she had already labeled him a troublemaker.

“I think it’s important to meet him with an open mind,” I encouraged. “Scooter’s past is in the past, and he had a really good reason for acting the way he did. I mean, his mother died. How is an eight-year-old supposed to deal with that when his dad is all but absent?”

“Yes, I can see your point. It’s just that I have twenty-eight students to teach. I need to make certain that one student doesn’t interrupt the learning environment for the rest of the class,” Miss Maxwell answered.

“I can promise you that Scooter has changed. He’s a much more focused and serious student now. Although…”

“Although?” Miss Maxwell prompted. She had narrowed her eyes as she stared at me.

“Scooter does tend to be a bit hyperactive and his attention can wander at times, but all he needs is a gentle reminder and he’s back on track.”

“A gentle reminder?” the woman asked suspiciously.

“A hand placed on his shoulder. A meaningful glance, or possibly a verbal reminder whispered in his ear.”

Miss Maxwell picked up the pen that was sitting on her desk. She made a few notes in a notebook and then returned her attention to me.

“How are his manners?”

Yikes.

“His manners?” I asked.

“Does he know how to work quietly? Does he understand the importance of taking turns and listening to what others have to say?”

“He’s ten,” I pointed out.

“Many ten-year-olds are ready to take on the demands of fifth grade, while others are not.”

“Yes, well, he went to a private school last year and he did fine.”

Miss Maxwell sat back and looked at me. She had an expression on her face that made me feel as though I was being scolded, which was ridiculous because she couldn’t be any older than I was.

“And how many students were in his class last year?”

“Ten,” I admitted.

Miss Maxwell gave me a meaningful glance.

“Look, he might be a bit more active than other kids and his manners may need work, but one day Scooter Sherwood is going to do something truly amazing, and when he does, you can either be the fifth-grade teacher who believed in him and gave him a shot or the one who decided he was a loser and wrote him off before she even met him. What’s it going to be, Miss Maxwell?”

The woman looked surprised by my outburst.

“I look forward to meeting Scooter,” she said with just a hint of admiration in her voice.

I smiled. I was so nailing this mothering thing.

“It would really benefit his learning experience if you were involved with his class,” Miss Maxwell added. “How would you like to be room mother?”

Drat.

“I’d love nothing more.” I forced a smile.

“And our first PTA meeting is on Wednesday. I assume I can count on your presence?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Room mother?” Ellie asked when I spoke to her on the phone later that day.

“What was I supposed to say? She had me on the spot and she knew it. How bad can it be?”

Ellie laughed. I’m sure she wanted to remind me exactly how bad it could be but had decided to let me suffer in silence.

I decided to change the subject to something less painful. “I did find out one interesting piece of news after I spoke to you yesterday. The freezer in the cafeteria is being replaced, which means Mrs. Brown wasn’t planning to freeze the hamburger gravy she was making.”

“Whatever was she going to do with it?” Ellie asked.

“I don’t know. I checked around, and neither the church nor the senior center is planning a potluck. I can’t imagine why she would want a pot as large as she was making for anything less than a public event.”

“Did Principal Bower know what she wanted the gravy for?”

“No. He said he hadn’t seen Mrs. Brown since the end of the school year last June. He also thought it was odd that she hadn’t popped into the office to say hi. It seems none of her movements prior to her murder really make any sense, at least from the outside looking in. I spoke to the kindergarten teacher, who told me she had seen Mrs. Brown lurking in the hallway on the day she was murdered. She didn’t know why she was on campus, but she gave me the names of a couple other staff members who were at the school earlier in the day. I’m going to follow up when I can.”

“I don’t know, Zoe. It seems like you’re getting in over your head. Soccer mom and now room mom and PTA member. Do you really have time for sleuthing too?”

“Not really, but I’m not sleuthing. I’m just talking to people as the opportunity presents itself,” I defended myself. “If these conversations lead to clues in the case I might follow up just to see where they go.”

“That’s sleuthing.”

“Yeah, maybe. But don’t worry. I really do realize I have to prioritize my time.”

After I hung up with Ellie I headed over to Donovan’s, the general store my dad owns and operates. It had been a while since I’d stopped in, and I wanted to see how my baby sister, Harper, was feeling. The last time I’d seen her, my mom had been concerned that the cold she’d been fighting wasn’t going away as quickly as the doctor said it would.

When I arrived at the store it was Pappy, my grandfather, rather than my dad behind the counter.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“It seems your mom came down with the flu Harper has been dealing with, so I volunteered to come in so your dad could stay home and play nurse.”

“Poor Harper. She just can’t seem to shake the darn thing. And poor Mom. It’s no fun being sick.”

“Yeah, your dad seems pretty worried about it. You should stop in when you have a chance. Actually, maybe you should just call. There’s no use you getting sick too.”

“I will. Has Mom been to the doctor?”

“Your dad said the doctor called in a prescription. So what are you up to today?”

“I guess you heard about Mrs. Brown?” I queried.

“I did. It’s a real shame.”

“Did you know her?”

“Sort of. Evelyn and I have lived in Ashton Falls for decades, and we came into contact from time to time. She seemed like a nice enough person, although she did have a few quirks. Have you heard who might have done this to the poor woman?”

I jumped up onto the counter and crossed my legs Indian style, then plucked a hard candy from the jar and popped it into my mouth.

“No, not yet,” I answered. “Salinger said he found a button in her hand from a man’s dress shirt, and it appears she was initially attacked in the kitchen and then chased outside. I’m afraid that’s not a lot to go on.”

“No.” Pappy sighed. “It really isn’t. How can I help?”

“I don’t know. I guess just tell me what you know about the woman, and maybe something you say will lead to a clue.”

Pappy leaned his elbows on the counter to support his weight while he considered my question.

“Evelyn first moved to Ashton Falls as a young bride about forty years ago.”

“I remember Salinger mentioned Evelyn was sixty-two, so she would have been in her early twenties when she moved here?”

“Sounds about right. When I first met her, she spent her time volunteering at the hospital, reading to the sick. I had broken my leg, and due to the severity of the break, I ended up spending almost a week in a hospital bed.”

“How come I never knew about your leg?” I asked.

“I guess it just never came up. It happened before you were born and it healed up right nice and really hasn’t bothered me since.”

It was times like this that I wondered what else there was I didn’t know about the people I was closest to. “Go on,” I encouraged.

“About a year after Evelyn and her young man moved to Ashton Falls, he was killed in a fire. He was the first on the scene at a residential structure that was completely engulfed in flames. He died saving the life of a young child.”

“Oh, my. What happened to the child?” I asked.

“He lived. Evelyn’s husband was deemed a hero, and the entire community rallied around her. She didn’t have any money saved and didn’t have any skills to speak of, so she bounced around from one job to the next for years.”

“So how did she end up with the job as lunch lady?” I had to ask. She certainly didn’t get the job based on her cooking skills.

“When Jim Bower took over as principal he hired her, and she’d been there ever since.”

“Why did he hire her in the first place? Her cooking was lethal.”

“He was the boy her husband died saving.”

“Oh.” Suddenly at least part of the puzzle had fallen into place. Of course he felt a deep gratitude for the woman. I’m sure that short of actually poisoning someone, her job had been pretty secure.

“Poor Mr. Bower. He must be really upset by what happened.”

“I haven’t spoken to him, but I’m sure he must be,” Pappy agreed.

“So I take it Mrs. Brown never remarried or had children.”

“She did not. I heard her say more than once that she didn’t care for children. It was a group of ten-year-old boys who set the fire in which her husband died.”

“That too explains a lot. I can’t help but wonder why she wanted to work in an elementary school if she didn’t like kids.”

Pappy shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. I do know that although she didn’t care for children in general, she was very fond of Jim Bower. Maybe in a sort of weird way he felt like family.”

I thought about what Pappy had told me. It explained why the woman worked as a cook at the elementary school, but it didn’t provide a clue as to who might have wanted her dead.

“Do you know anything else that might help Salinger and me track down her killer? Anything more recent? Current relationships, hobbies, memberships?”

Pappy thought about it. “We weren’t really close. I know she used to like to play bingo at the senior center from time to time, although I hadn’t seen her there in years. I had seen her dining at Rosie’s when I stopped in after church on Sundays on occasion. I think she liked to quilt, and I know she visited her husband’s grave every Sunday afternoon, rain or shine.”

“His grave? I ran into Trenton Field yesterday. He told me I should have a chat with Mike Parks, the groundskeeper at the cemetery. I guess I should pay the man a visit.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” Pappy asked. “You’re just home from your honeymoon, and you have a house full of kids who need attention. And to top it off, the transitional school you and Zak are developing is scheduled to open next week. Seems you have a lot on your plate already.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, “I do. I plan to leave the investigating to Salinger. It’s just that Trenton seemed certain Mike might be able to provide some relevant information.”

“You know,” Pappy added, “as long as you’re snooping around anyway, you might want to talk to Lilly Evans. I know she’s a member of the quilting group I seem to remember Evelyn belonging to.”

“Okay, I will. Do you know if she’s coming to book club tonight?”

“As far as I know.”

“I’ll talk to her then.”

Mike Parks had been the groundskeeper at the cemetery since before I was born. He was a short, thin man with a thin face and dark, beady eyes. He was in charge not only of maintaining the grounds but of digging all the new graves, which, everyone knew, he preferred to do at night. The man had a large, crooked nose and spoke in a deep voice. His stingy delivery of whatever it was he wished to articulate had always given me the creeps.

“Afternoon, Mike,” I greeted the man, who was trimming the tall grass around the headstones.

Mike turned off the trimmer and looked at me but didn’t say anything. I’d been involved in quite a few murders and funerals as of late, so I was certain he knew who I was.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Evelyn Brown, if this is a good time.”

The man shrugged.

“I understand she visited her husband’s grave every Sunday afternoon.”

“Yup,” Mike answered.

“Did she always come alone?”

“Yup.”

“Did anyone else ever visit her husband’s grave?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“Can you tell me who it was?” I wondered.

“Nope.”

“Nope, you don’t know, or nope, you won’t tell me?”

“Yup.”

I let out a long breath. This was getting frustrating very quickly.

“So you don’t know the name of the person or persons who you witnessed visit Mr. Brown’s grave?”