Holly Martin Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Lou Allin
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meets rich man. Typical fairy-tale world. What did we do wrong?” She winked at Kim, whose face pinked as she touched a beaded necklace featuring a double-headed eagle. Once, twice. Was she trying to reassure herself with this totemic image?
Holly explained her reason for the visit. “Now that these complications have appeared,” she said, “I need to know more about Angie as a student of yours.”
Kim drained her mug with a wince, then gave a half-smile. Holly hadn’t noticed before that she had a small gap between her sparkling front teeth, an attractive feature in the days of assembly-line beauty. “If this is coffee...you know the saying.”
Holly let a beat or two pass. She liked this woman, but she remembered her initial days on the force. Several times she’d been one-hundred-eighty degrees wrong in her first estimates. Witnesses gave false information, sometimes not their own fault. With an endless variety of focus and five complex senses, people saw things different ways, could even be led in the wrong directions. Drained by hours of steady interrogation, confused by the options, innocent people confessed to murder, especially young people and the mentally challenged. “It’s a rather delicate situation.” She told Kim about the accusations. “Two students...and I consider their testimony as biased as the typical teen’s—”
“Probably less biased than an adult’s.” Kim passed a broad hand over her brow. It was stifling in the room, the sun streaming through the glass. She got up and levered open a window, and a cool breeze rushed past them. The instructor sat back down and levelled her olive black eyes at Holly. “It’s possible that Angie had a crush on me. Nothing was ever said or written. It’s something you sense. And even so, she might not know her own mind at this age. I was in love with my Grade Eight history teacher, Mr. Bradshaw.”
Possible crush, Holly wrote, leaving her face impassive. It was critical to keep opinions out of reports. Stick to the facts and let the justice system sort them out. If this woman had nothing to do with the death, “outing” her served no purpose. “Did she try to talk to you after class? Or outside the school?” She hesitated. Two questions at once. Bad form.
Kim’s voice was even and serious. “Sometimes when school let out, she’d come by the classroom for a few minutes. She walked home, so she didn’t need to catch the bus.”
“Was she discussing her schoolwork?” Holly winced again.
Leading the witness. Her techniques needed refining, but at least she knew that.
Kim gave a sigh. “Angie was an overachiever. She brought in her essays for my opinions on improvement, not to argue about the marks. In the normal scheme of grading, the huge numbers, sometimes two hundred essays each week, I don’t have time to make thorough comments.”
Holly nodded. Her father made the same complaints. “I don’t envy you. Maybe gym teachers made the right choice.”
A soft smile greeted that humour. “Often she wanted to move deeper into a point. And she brought some poetry.”
“Poetry? Part of her assignments?”
“I teach Canlit, but I don’t mind looking at creative writing from my students or any others in the school. We’re starting a little magazine this year. Spawnings.”
Holly sat up. “Pardon me? Did you say—”
Kim was laughing out loud, apparently at Holly’s expression. With her broad smile and a touch of crinkle at her eyes’ edges, she was even more attractive. “I know. It’s provocative. Sounds like Allen Ginsberg and those one-word Beatnik titles. But who around this fishing community could dispute it? I thought it was very clever. Angie was on the screening committee.”
The scenarios might be multiplying. “Does that mean she had a say about what was included? Could that have made her any enemies?”
“About poetry? Who would think? It’s the antithesis of violence.”
“Or should be. What about rock lyrics and rap music?”
Kim gave this some thought. “I suppose. Do you want me to send you a list of the students whose work she read, those who didn’t make the cut?”
“Might be an idea.” She passed Kim her card. “What were her poems about?”
“The normal teen angst. ‘Misery, companion mine, to my depths you do entwine’.”
Holly winced. “Ouch. I see she had no career there. But no one else has suggested that she was unhappy.” For once, Holly wondered if they were on the wrong track, if Angie had taken the drug herself. Even that theory didn’t explain where she had gotten it.
Kim gave her a wordly look that revealed her greater experience with teens. “She wasn’t unhappy. She was just exploring the concept. Young people think that writing about the small things in our lives, a flower, a delicate lichen, even a pet, is a trivial pursuit. They’ll learn. I sent Angie to that William Carlos Williams poem about finding a plum in the...fridge...icebox. So simple, so pure.” She closed her eyes. “Know what? There was a lovely fresh plum on my desk the next day.”
“Back to my original purpose, I have to ask...I mean...off the record...” She swallowed back her hesitation. Kim Bass was a likable person, trustworthy and credible, or so it seemed.
“I get you. This is a Catholic school, Charter of Rights be damned. It’s not exactly Don’t ask. Don’t tell. But close enough.”
“I understand.”
“I live with another woman who writes romance novels. We’ve been together for three years. I was glad to take this job to repay my student loans. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the boomers have been retiring in droves. I’ll be out of here in June. I have an offer back home in Canmore. With her occupation, Judi can relocate anywhere. Oddly enough, I miss the snow and cold. It’s so much cleaner.” She looked out the window, where it had clouded over. Sooke weather changed on the hour. Fat raindrops teared runnels down the window. “How I hate the rain. I think I have SAD. Thank god they put in those special lights in the library. Fifteen minutes a day, and you cheer right up. I’m overdue for my fix.”
“Your personal information will be confidential.” Holly heard a bell ring. Her watch read eleven. “Time for the memorial service, I guess. One more question. Did Angie confide in you about other students?”
“Absolutely not. She was no gossip. All the same, Angie was mature for her age, but she wasn’t one to make a teacher a pal. We’re supposed to be leaders, not friends. I looked over that essay on meth for her. It was passionate. No way in hell she took those drugs herself.” She checked her watch. “Guess I better make sure I have some tissues. If that’s all, I’ll leave you now and hit the bathroom before the service.”
Minutes later, Holly found herself in the last row of the bleachers. At least half the seats were empty, a far cry from the old days. Perhaps the school would close after all, just desserts for the discomfort it had inflicted upon her. Standing in for the principal, Gable began the service as the crowd quieted. A large screen showed videos of Angie’s triumphs in her swim meets. She poised on the starting blocks, intent, focused, a picture of youthful perfection. Then the video faded to black. Across to the podium came the president of the senior class, a boy with Harry Potter glasses, poking them back on his nose every two minutes. For his age, the comments were surprisingly mature. He ended by reading Housman’s “To an Athlete Dying Young”. Had Kim given him the idea?
Then came the head counsellor, followed by Coach Grove, awkward in a role other than pep talks. She noticed that his gaze kept gravitating toward the statuesque Katie. But the girl next to her, Janice, was it? was fixated on Paul Gable. Such temptations lay in wait in the educational minefield. Now female teachers were being accused of seducing young male students. Women were proving to be as reprehensible as men when it came to sexual foibles.
The choir finished the hour-long service by singing “I’ll Fly Away”. By then nearly everyone except the most stoic was wiping their eyes, and a chorus of sniffs filled the air as tissues