Schulz quickly crossed the room to me, ignoring the confusion. “Goldy, I’m taking you to my car. I’ll notify surveillance. I want you out of here and with me,” he finished abruptly.
“I can t … have to clean up.?
“You have to go.” Julian echoed Schulz. “It’s what I keep telling you. You’re not safe around these people. Go, go now. I’ll clean up.”
Schulz had taken me by the arm to lead me out. I stood firm.
“And how will you get home?” I demanded of Julian, refusing to budge.
“I’ll get a ride or something. Now, go on, go.”
I felt dazed. I took one long look at the assembled group of students, parents, school and bookstore staff. All stood immobile, as if suspended in a snapshot, watching the caterer make her unexpected exit under police guard. I wondered how many decided I was under arrest.
21
Tom Schulz’s wheels shrieked as we rounded the parking lot’s hairpin curves. Within moments he was gunning the car up First Avenue. “Where’s Arch?” he demanded.
“Spending the night with a friend. I still don’t understand why I should leave because of a broken windshield. I feel ridiculous.”
“Come on, Goldy. You know you can’t stay,” was all he said.
When we arrived in Aspen Meadow forty-five minutes later, stillness enveloped my neighborhood. The only sounds were a dog barking in the distance and the murmurs between Schulz and the surveillance policeman.
Schulz shook his head as he walked back to me. “Nothing suspicious.” He escorted me up the steps. At the door I hesitated.
“Had the surveillance fellow received any radio messages about who trashed my car?”
“Nope. Look, I’ve had another call, unrelated. But I’ll come in and look around if you want.”
“No need. The bookstore closed at nine. Julian’ll be home by ten.”
“I’ll call you then.” I snapped on lights in each room, then checked the clock: 9:30. Every creak, every moan of breeze, every stray sound, made me jump. Finally, I made a mug of steaming hot chocolate, slipped on my down coat, and settled into a snowy lawn chair out front. Keeping the surveillance car in sight seemed like the best idea.
The hot chocolate was deliciously comforting. I leaned back to look at the expanse of stars glittering overhead. Because there was no moon, Arch was probably outside with his friend, wielding his high-powered binoculars and enthusiastically pointing out Sirius and Cassiopeia. I could find the Big Dipper and Orion, but that was about it.
At ten o’clock I went inside, checked my answering machine ? no messages ? and made more hot cocoa. Chocolate always tastes best with more chocolate, and I lamented that the windshield disruption had necessitated leaving the Sweetheart Sandwiches down at the bookstore. Actually, it was getting so that any Elk Park Prep catered event was likely to be disrupted.
Back on my lawn chair, I stared again at the sky. And then, it was as if a hole opened up in the sparkling firmament. Through it I could see Rhoda Marensky in the Dawsons’ kitchen, exclaiming: It’s as if someone’s trying to disrupt our lives. I remembered Hank Dawson’s different spin on that sentiment: You should have done the same food you did last week. /t would have been luckier. Rhoda and Hank seemed to believe that if you ate the right things, got enough sleep, followed all the same routines, you’d do well.
But if someone disrupted your life, you wouldn’t do well.
Someone had deliberately smashed Keith Andrews’ windshield the day of the Princeton rep’s visit. Not long after, that same person had probably killed him.
Someone had broken a window in our house, hung a snake in Arch’s locker, and perhaps planted a deadly spider in a drawer. Our steps had been booby trapped, our chimney stopped up, and one of our car windshields broken. The result had been police surveillance, worry, conflict, lack of sleep, quizzes failed, homework and college applications left undone.
The person who had suffered most had been a highly emotional person, someone who cared deeply about those around him, someone who was terribly vulnerable to criticism and cruelty.
Could it be that neither Arch nor I was at the heart of this campaign of harassment?
Excuse the fuck me. And then another time: This stuff at the school is getting to me.
I pictured Julian, who knew so many things that he was unwilling to discuss ? the steroids, bitter conflicts between his classmates, perhaps even blackmail. He was also ranked number two in the Elk Park Prep senior class. Keith Andrews, the top student, was now dead.
I sat up straight, splashing cocoa down the front of my coat. I didn’t have time to wipe it off or even curse it because I was running toward the house. The windshield incident was probably meant to lure me away. Dammit, I had never been in danger at the bookstore.
I fumbled with the front doorknob. My mind raced. Whoever had smashed my van knew who would be affected. Who stood in the way of a higher class rank? Who was vulnerable to a campaign of harassment of his employer and her son, whom he held so dear? Who would volunteer to clean up in my absence?
Julian had been the true target all along.
I called Julian’s friend, Neil Mansfield. Had Julian asked him for a ride? No, Julian said someone else volunteered to drive him back to Aspen Meadow. Who? Neil didn’t know. But, Neil added, he himself had been home for an hour, so Julian should be home by now. Great. Did Neil have any idea who else might know who offered this ride? No clue.
I tried to reach Schulz. No answer at his home. The Sheriff’s Department dispatcher said he couldn’t raise the homicide investigator on his cell phone. I glanced at the clock: 10:30.
I had no ideas, no plan, nothing but panic. I grabbed I the keys to the Rover. If I called the police, I would not know what to tell them or where to send them. I willed the mental picture of Keith Andrews’ bloody head out of my mind.
The bookstore. That was the last place I had seen Julian; that was where I would start. Maybe I could call Miss Kaplan, or some of the staff, maybe someone had seen him leave… but how would I get phone numbers for these people? Reluctantly, I dialed Audrey Coopersmith, but got only a sleepy Heather.
“Mom’s not here. She went out with Dad.”
“What?”
“She said they were trying to work things out.”
“Look, Heather, I have to talk to her. I … left something in the store… and I need to know how to reach somebody there now.”
“Why? The bookstore’s closed.”
“You didn’t see Julian, did you? At the end of the evening?”
“Ms. Bear, you’re confusing me. Did you leave a thing or a person in the bookstore?”
Oh, God, the grade book. I had left something in the bookstore. If Julian was still alive, if somebody wanted the evidence of that grade book enough… maybe I could do a swap. But I didn’t know who I was dealing with, what that person would want or when.
“Heather, look, I have a big problem. Julian’s life may be in danger… and I do have something. I have Miss Ferrell’s grade book.”
A sharp intake of breath from Heather. “You? But we’ve been looking for it; I can’t do the class rank without it.”
“Listen up. I need you to call every senior’s family. Be sure you talk to the senior and the parents ? “
“But it’s late ??
“Please! Tell every single person I have Miss Ferrell’s grade book and that I’ll swap it for Julian, at Elk Park Prep in” ? I hastily consulted my watch ? “two hours. No questions asked.”
“Does that include my mother? Because I don’t know where she is. And you still don’t have a way of getting into the store.”
“Find her. I’ll figure out the store situation. Your mother and Carl must have a favorite restaurant or something. Find them. Please, Heather, find everybody.”
