“No, I am,” her mother said. “Maybe I’m the one that needs counseling.”
“Everyone is shaken up,” Miss Navarre said. “But if Wendy feels all right to come back to class, then that’s probably what she should do.”
“Yeah, Mom, don’t make such a big deal.”
Miss Navarre turned to her then. “It is a big deal, Wendy. So if you’re in class and find yourself suddenly feeling scared or upset, you have to promise you’ll tell me right away.”
“I will. I promise,” Wendy said and looked up eagerly at her mother, who was clearly not convinced.
“I’ll keep a close eye on her,” Miss Navarre promised.
“All right,” Wendy’s mother said grudgingly. She looked down at Wendy, worried. “But you do exactly what Miss Navarre just told you, and under no circumstances are you to walk home. I will be here to pick you up.”
So much for revisiting the scene of the crime so she could make notes about the setting for her story, Wendy thought. Oh well. It wasn’t like she was ever going to forget what had happened.
That was for sure.
She couldn’t wait to talk to Tommy.
10
Jane Thomas always began her day in the garden. This was her quiet time to think and reflect. Working in the garden was her version of meditation and the closest she would ever come to actually stilling her always-busy mind.
Even though she had gotten in late, driving up from LA after a long day of meetings, she had still managed to rise before most of Oak Knoll. The sky was that perfect electric blue of fall, the temperature comfortably in the low seventies. She made her way along the row, deadheading roses while Violet, her black pug, patrolled for mice among the overgrown patch of purple cone flowers.
Jane loved her home in Oak Knoll. She had purchased the 1928 Spanish hacienda-style house nearly five years before, after she had divorced her husband and Los Angeles. Oak Knoll had always attracted her with its interesting mix of people and small-town feel. The college gave it the sophistication of academia and the vibrancy of youth. Its proximity to Santa Barbara and to the northern parts of the LA sprawl made it a doable commute for young professionals with young families, promising a future. All of Oak Knoll’s attributes made it a desirable place for retirees with money, bringing affluence and support for the arts.
The college boasted a well-respected music program that attracted talented musicians and singers, both as students and teachers. Every summer Oak Knoll was home to a renowned festival of classical music.
Even though Jane still kept a condo in LA, Oak Knoll was her true home and the Oak Knoll Thomas Center for Women was her focus.
The Oak Knoll center was a scaled-down version of the original Thomas Center in Los Angeles. The centers, brainchild of Jane and her two sisters and started with money from the Thomas family philanthropic trust, were places for women to reinvent themselves.
The clientele was made up of women from all walks of life, women who needed and deserved a second chance. Homeless women, battered women, women with drug histories or police records—all were welcomed and not judged. Each center offered shelter to those who needed it, assistance with health care, psychological and job counseling, and the makeovers of wardrobe and self that would send them out into the job market with confidence and newfound self-esteem.
The Thomas girls had been raised on the ideal of giving back to the community and helping the less fortunate. Forty-one, Jane had found success in the business world and was a well-known patron of the arts. She sat on the boards of several nationally significant charities, but the Thomas Centers for Women were her pride and joy.
Through the open back door of her house she could hear the phone ringing for the third time in an hour. She never took calls during her gardening time, everyone who knew her knew that. But three calls in an hour made it seem like someone was desperate to get hold of her, and a strange uneasy feeling moved through her.
Her parents were both alive and well, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen to them. Her sister Amy was vacationing on a ranch in Idaho. She could have fallen from a horse or been attacked by a bear while hiking.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Jane muttered to herself, but she was moving toward the house and pulling off her gloves as she said it.
The answering machine had picked up by the time she walked through the kitchen to her antique desk in the front room. Angry red numbers flashed seven messages unheard. She hadn’t taken the time to listen to the four that had been there the night before. She had been tired and had gone straight to her room for a bath, bed, and a chapter of
The first message was from her assistant at the center, Tuesday, 10:34 A.M.
“Hi, Jane. Sorry to bother you, but Quinn, Morgan and Associates called to say that Karly Vickers was a no- show this morning. Today was supposed to be her first day on the job. I thought you’d want to know.”
Second message: Tuesday at 3:23 P.M.
“Miss Thomas, this is Boyd Ellery from The Nature Conservancy. Could you please give me a call when you have a chance. I want to run something past you with regards to the benefit.”
Third message: Tuesday, 5:14 P.M.
“Jane, it’s me again. I’ve been trying to contact Karly, and she doesn’t answer her phone. I’m going to drop by her house on my way home and make sure she’s all right.”
Fourth message: Tuesday, 7:11 P.M. “It’s me again. I’m at Karly’s. She’s not here. I don’t know what to think.”
Fifth message: Wednesday, 7:27 A.M. Her assistant again. She sounded tired and nervous.
“Jane, I don’t know what time you got in last night. Did you see the news? Call me.”
Sixth message: Wednesday, 7:39 A.M.
“Jane, it’s Mom. We haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. We just saw the news. Please call and let us know you’re all right.”
The news. What news? Why wouldn’t she be all right?
Seventh message: Wednesday, 7:52 A.M. Her assistant again.
“Jane, there’s been a murder. Answer your damn phone. I have a terrible feeling it might be Karly.”
11
Tommy hadn’t slept very much at all. Every time he had started to fall asleep, he had jerked himself awake, afraid of the dreams he knew would come. But every time his father or mother would come to check on him—which they did several times—he would pretend to be sound asleep.
He had gotten up as soon as it started getting light outside and started the homework he hadn’t done the night before. He didn’t know what the day would bring. Maybe he would be taken to a doctor or a psychiatrist, or maybe the police would take him in for questioning. The thing he most wanted to do was go to school and carry on as if the day before had never happened. As if.
Now he sat in the school office, waiting, his mother on one side, his father on the other. The secretaries kept looking over at him, then exchanging glances. He felt like a freak in the circus. Murder Boy.
He sighed and shifted on his chair. His father put his hand on his shoulder and gave a little squeeze. His mother got up and went to the counter to ask the secretary how long it would be.
“Are you nervous?” his father asked.
Tommy shrugged.
“All you have to do is tell the detective what happened and what you saw.”
Tommy said nothing. He stared at the doorway that led into the hall where the principal’s office and the
