Philip’s agitation began to return. “No,” he said. “He works in Mattapan.”
“The town of Mattapan?” Marsha asked. “South of Boston?”
Philip nodded.
Marsha started to ask another question but she suddenly felt a presence that sent a shiver up her spine. She turned to the door. VJ was standing in the doorway with his hands on the jambs, his chin jutting forward.
“I think Philip needs his sleep,” he said.
Marsha stood up abruptly. She started to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead she hurriedly brushed by VJ and ran down to her room.
For the next half hour, Marsha lay there, terrified that VJ would come into their bedroom. She jumped every time the wind blew the oak tree branches against the side of the house.
When he didn’t appear, Marsha finally relaxed. She turned over and tried to sleep, but her mind would not stop. Her thoughts drifted to the mysterious Orlando Martinez. Then she began to think about Janice Fay. She thought about David, feeling the familiar sadness. She thought about Mr. Remington and the Pendleton Academy. Then she recalled the teacher who tried to befriend VJ and the fact that he died. She wondered what he’d died of.
The next thing she knew, Victor was waking her to tell her he was leaving with VJ.
“What time is it?” Marsha asked, looking at the clock herself. To her surprise, it was nine-thirty.
“You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Victor said. “VJ and I are off to his lab. He’s going to show me the details of the implantation work he’s done. Why don’t you come along? I have a feeling this is really going to be something.”
Marsha shook her head. “I’ll stay here,” she said. “You can tell me about it.”
“You sure?” Victor questioned. “If this is as good as I think it will be, maybe you’ll feel better about the whole situation.”
“I’m sure,” Marsha said, but her tone was doubtful.
Victor planted a kiss on her forehead. “Try to relax, okay? Everything is going to work out for the best. I’m sure of it.”
Victor went down the back stairs, literally shivering with excitement. If the implantation was real, he could surprise the other board members with the news at the Wednesday board meeting.
“Mom’s not coming?” VJ asked. He was near the back door with his coat already on. Philip was standing next to him.
“No, but she’s calmer this morning,” Victor said. “I can tell.”
“She was pumping Philip for information in the middle of the night,” VJ said. “That’s the kind of behavior that disturbs me.”
After the car pulled out of the drive, Marsha went to the upstairs study and got out the Boston phone book. She sat on the couch and looked up Martinez. Unfortunately, there were hordes of Martinezes, even Orlando Martinezes. But she found one Orlando Martinez in Mattapan. Taking the phone in her lap, she called the number. The phone was answered, and Marsha was about to start talking when she realized she was connected to an answering machine.
The message on the machine told her that the office of Martinez Enterprises was open Monday through Friday. She didn’t leave a message. From the phone book she copied down the address.
Marsha took a shower, dressed, made herself some coffee and a poached egg. Then she donned her down coat and went out to her car. Fifteen minutes later, she was on the grounds of Pendleton Academy.
It was a blustery but sunny day with the wind roughing the surface of the puddles left by the previous day’s rain. Many of the students were in evidence, most of them going to and from the obligatory attendance at chapel. Marsha pulled up as close as she could to the tiny gothic structure and waited.
She was looking for Mr. Remington and was hoping to catch him out and about.
Soon the bells in the bell tower tolled the eleven o’clock hour. The doors to the chapel opened and rosy- cheeked kids spilled out into the fresh air and sunshine. Among them were a number of adult staff members, including Mr. Remington. His heavily bearded profile stood out among the crowds.
Marsha got out of the car and waited. Mr. Remington’s path would take him right by her. He was walking with a deliberate step. When he got about ten feet away, Marsha called his name. He stopped and looked at her.
“Dr. Frank!” he said with some surprise.
“Good morning,” Marsha said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Remington said. “Something on your mind?”
“There is,” Marsha said. “I wanted to ask you a question which might sound a little strange. I hope you will indulge me. You told me that the instructor who tried so hard to befriend VJ died. What did he die of?”
“The poor man died of cancer,” Mr. Remington said.
“I was afraid of that,” Marsha said.
“Excuse me?”
But Marsha didn’t explain herself. “Do you know what kind of cancer?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t, but I believe I mentioned that his wife is still on staff here. Her name is Stephanie. Stephanie Cavendish.”
“Do you think I might speak with her today?” Marsha asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Remington said. “She lives in the cottage on the grounds of my headmaster’s house. We both share the same lawn. I was on my way home and the cottage is just a stone’s throw away. I’d be happy to introduce you to her.”
Marsha fell in step with Mr. Remington and they walked the length of the quad. While they were walking, Marsha asked,
“Was any staff member close to my late son, David?”
“Most of the instructors were fond of David,” Mr.
Remington said. “He was a popular boy. If I had to pick one, I’d say Joe Arnold. He’s a very popular history teacher who I believe was close to your David.”
The cottage Mr. Remington had spoken of looked like some cottage out of the Cotswold section of England. With whitewashed walls and a roof that was made to look thatched, it appeared as if it belonged in a fairy tale. Mr. Remington rang the bell himself. He introduced Marsha to Mrs.
Cavendish, a slim, attractive woman Marsha guessed was about her own age. Marsha learned that she was the head of the school’s physical education department.
Mr. Remington excused himself after Mrs. Cavendish invited Marsha inside.
Mrs. Cavendish led Marsha into her kitchen and offered her a cup of tea. “Please, call me Stephanie,” she said as they sat down. “So you’re VJ’s mother! My husband was a big fan of your boy. He was convinced VJ was extraordinarily bright. He really raved about him.”
“That’s what Mr. Remington said,” Marsha said.
“He loved to relate the story of VJ solving an algebra problem to everyone who’d listen.”
Marsha nodded and said that Mr. Remington had told the story to her.
“But Raymond thought your son was troubled,” Stephanie said. “That’s why he tried so hard to get VJ to be less withdrawn. Ray really did try. He thought that VJ was alone too much and was afraid VJ might be suicidal. He worried about the boy—oh, never academically. But socially, I think.”
Marsha nodded.
“How is he these days?” Stephanie asked. “I don’t have much occasion to see him.”
“I’m afraid he still doesn’t have many friends. He’s not very outgoing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Stephanie.
Marsha gathered her courage. “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I’d like to ask a personal question. Mr.
Remington told me your late husband died of cancer. Would you mind if I asked what kind of cancer?”
