Foul Play at the PTA

Since the event closed down at nine o’clock, it was hard to square reality with her statement, but I suppose I knew what she meant.

“Especially when you think about where he was killed.” She drew in a raggedy breath. “In this very parking lot. Think about it. Poor Sam was killed right there!”

I’d been trying very hard not to think about it. Thanks to Claudia, however, my internal gaze went out the door, down the hall, out the front door, and to the dark far corner of the parking lot, where Erica and I had . . .

“We’re all having a hard time with Sam’s death,” Erica said. “But let’s stay on topic, shall we?” There was velvet steel in her voice, and I got a glimpse of what she’d been like in the courtroom. “Now. You are proposing a cancellation of the twenty-third annual Tarver Elementary PTA Father-Daughter Dance, correct?”

Claudia rubbed her cheek. “That’s right. It’s the least we can do for poor Sam and—”

“Does the dance committee have a recommendation?” Erica asked. “We’ve advertised the dance. It’s scheduled for Saturday, eight days from today. If we’re going to cancel, we need to do it now.”

CeeCee had that deer-in-the-headlights look. The other committee members were two mothers I didn’t know very well. All I knew about Ursula was that she’d had triplets. I couldn’t even remember the name of the other woman. Something to do with the weather. Stormy? Autumn?

“Ladies?” Erica asked.

I considered going to fetch Marina, but Marina’s response would be: “Cancel the dance? Is Claudia insane?” She’d cross her eyes, say, “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve heard since they decided to revamp the lunch menu and get rid of Tater Tots,” and the meeting would go downhill from there. Much better to sit quiet and let events roll out without the benefit of Marina’s opinions. She’d be annoyed at my high-handedness, but she’d been annoyed before.

The mother whose name I didn’t know slid to the front edge of her seat. “I . . . I think having the dance would be okay. It’s a tradition. The girls and dads look forward to it. And it’s a very profitable fund-raiser.”

I looked at her curiously. She was probably ten years younger than my forty-one, and had straight brown hair like mine. If I cut off my feet to lower my height a few inches and lost twenty pounds, we could look like sisters. Not that I needed another sister.

Claudia straightened. “Why do we let money rule our decisions?” Her voice grew strident. “Is holding a good fund-raiser more important than Sam’s memory? Is that what you’re saying?”

The unnamed mother slid back. “No. I didn’t mean . . . I mean . . .” She shrank into herself and nearly disappeared.

“Ursula?” Erica asked, taking no prisoners. “What do you think?”

“Well . . .” Ursula’s gaze darted from Claudia to CeeCee to Erica and back around again. “Maybe we could hold off until December? Or January? After the holidays, anyway. Would that be a problem?”

Of course it would, I thought.

“Yes, it would.” Erica was writing, but I couldn’t see if she was writing notes or doodling. Sketches of flowers would be my guess. “Rescheduling a large fund-raising event is impossible. We have a Valentine’s mother-son dance the first week of February, and holding two dances within a three-week span isn’t the best use of anyone’s time. Canceling the dance or holding it are the only two realistic options.”

As surreptitiously as I could, I craned my neck around the front of Claudia to look at Erica’s notepad. Daffodils and tulips.

“Anyone else?” Erica asked. “CeeCee? You’re the committee chair. Surely you have an opinion. Currently we have one opinion for holding the dance and one for postponing it. Where do you fall?”

CeeCee pushed her hair back behind her ears. This could be interesting. CeeCee and Claudia had been friends since they ran around in their backyards in diapers and nothing else. I’d heard (from Marina) that their husbands didn’t get along, so their friendship was limited, but CeeCee often bowed to Claudia’s will.

The last time I’d seen it in action was when they were shopping in the bookstore and Claudia had scoffed at the graphic novel CeeCee was reading. “That stuff’s awful. Your kids read too much of that and their brains will rot.” And though CeeCee had put the novel back in the rack, she’d come back a week later—alone—and bought it for her son. “It’s all he likes to read,” she explained. “It’s better for him to read this than nothing at all, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I’d said, and wrapped the novel in special glitter paper, no extra charge.

Now, she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly without saying a word, and looked as miserable as a cat in a rainstorm.

“CeeCee?” Erica put on a patient smile. “Do you have anything to say?”

“I . . .” Her eyes darted left, right. And down to her lap. “No,” she said softly. “Nothing.”

Erica’s eyebrows rose into high peaks. “No opinion? You’ve been active on the dance committee for years, headed it the last two, spent hour after hour on the preparations, and you aren’t speaking in support?”

CeeCee kept her attention on her lap and shook her head.

“Well.” Erica sat back. “Do we have a motion?”

“Yes,” Claudia said. “I move that, due to the death of Sam Helmstetter, we cancel the Tarver PTA Father- Daughter Thanksgiving Dance.”

“Is there a second?” Erica asked.

My learned response was to wait for Randy, who could always be relied on to second anything. But Randy wasn’t here; during the winter he didn’t have anyone to cover him at his gas station.

“Do I hear a second?”

I shuffled my feet. Licked my lips. “I second the motion.”

Erica stared at me. I could feel the intensity of her unspoken question: What are you doing?

Between us, Claudia was smiling as if she’d gotten top score in a spelling bee.

“The motion is seconded. Is there any further discussion? No?” Erica kept her gaze riveted on me. “Roll call vote, please. Those in favor signify by saying aye. Those against, signify by saying nay. Will the secretary call the roll?”

My throat suddenly felt clogged. I coughed once, then again. “Wolff?”

“I hope,” Claudia said, “that the rest of the board understands the rightness of canceling this dance. I vote aye,” she said, smiling at me.

“Hale?”

I expected Erica to launch into a concise yet detailed summary of the reasons for her vote, but all she said was a short nay.

“Kennedy.” I scribbled my vote and looked up. Erica, Claudia, and our small audience were all waiting expectantly. Erica, with her eyebrows still lifted; Claudia, smiling with happy confidence.

But it was a confidence born from a lack of knowledge regarding parliamentary procedure. Seconding a motion does not mean support of a motion. It merely means you agree that the topic of the motion should be discussed. Not many people understood the intent of a second, but thanks to an online course I’d recently taken, Robert’s Rules and I were as one. “Sam loved to dance with his daughter,” I said. “My vote is nay.”

Erica’s brilliant smile was completely eclipsed by the storm cloud on Claudia’s face.

“You can’t do that!” she shouted. “You seconded! That means support. You have to vote in favor. Point of order!”

“The meeting is still in order.” Erica put on her lawyer face. “A second to a motion merely allows discussion about the motion to take place. Robert’s Rules of Order is very clear about this, and our bylaws state that we operate under those rules. I have the tenth edition, if you’d like to borrow it.”

“She supported,” Claudia said. “She has to vote in favor.”

“No, she seconded.” Erica clicked her pen. “Your objections will be part of the minutes. Beth, are there any communications? No? Then this meeting is adjourned. Thank you for coming.”

I hurriedly made a note of the time and started stuffing papers into the diaper bag.

“How could you do that to me?” Claudia asked. She’d stood and was looking down at me with red anger flaring in her eyes.

Confronting hostility was so low on my priority list it might as well not have been written down. “I’m sorry we disagree, but—”