Murder at the PTA. Lee Hollis
Читать онлайн книгу.
of her bag to see what had everyone buzzing.
“If there are no more questions . . .”
A woman, with bright red hair and a color-print blouse that was so loud it practically screamed, solemnly stood from her chair with her hand raised.
“Yes, I have one.”
Sandra waited expectantly as the woman took a deep breath and glanced down at her phone, which she clutched in her right hand. “Would you like to address the latest headline on Dirty Laundry?”
Sandra sighed.
She was quite familiar with Dirty Laundry, a gossipy website that had popped up recently, solely focused on salacious scandals relating to people involved with SoPo High—students, teachers, coaches, even parents. It was a no-holds-barred trash bin full of rumors and innuendos, none of it backed up with any meaningful evidence. And despite the school’s best efforts to unmask the identity of the site’s creator, so far they had had zero luck.
Sandra didn’t want to give this putrid site any more oxygen, but as she gazed across the auditorium at the shocked faces of the parents in attendance, she couldn’t help but finally ask, “What are they saying now?”
The redhead with the ugly blouse cleared her throat, swaying from side to side uncomfortably as she gathered up her courage to speak. “If you don’t mind me just reading the headline . . . ?”
Sandra nodded.
Permission granted.
“‘New PTA President’s Senator Husband Uses Taxpayer Money to Hush Up Blockbuster Sex Scandal.’”
Sandra grabbed both edges of the podium with her hands to keep from falling.
The words were like a gut punch.
The whispers and murmurs stopped.
Two hundred people stared at her, waiting for her reaction.
She opened her mouth to speak.
But nothing came out.
She had absolutely no idea how to respond.
She just felt her face flush with embarrassment. Her knees were so wobbly she wasn’t sure if she would even be able to walk out of there.
“I . . . I . . . ,” Sandra stammered.
Finally, knowing it was a lost cause, she leaned down into the microphone, and through deafening scratchy feedback, managed to get out, “I’m sorry. . . . Excuse me. . . .”
She fled to the wings of the theater and out a side door as she heard the principal, John Hicks, speaking into the microphone she had just deserted. “Thank you all for coming . . .”
CHAPTER TWO
Sandra stumbled out of the building and directly into the large, sprawling high school parking lot. It was dusk with limited visibility as the sun dipped and disappeared in the west. She squinted at the rows and rows of cars parked all around her and couldn’t immediately spot her silver Audi A6 sedan. Sandra frantically rummaged through her purse for her car keys, finally managing to extract them and press down on the remote to unlock her car. She heard a chirp just a few rows away and followed the sound till she mercifully saw the flashing red lights on her Audi as she pressed down on the remote again a few more times with her thumb.
Her head was still spinning from the shock of the lurid Dirty Laundry headline, and she felt dizzy, but she fought to remain calm in order to get herself home and out of public view. She was a U.S. senator’s wife. It was critical she maintain her dignity and not collapse to the ground, weeping uncontrollably. It was exactly what she wanted to do at the moment, but alas, that was just not an option.
As she reached for the car door handle, she suddenly stopped. Behind her, she heard shouting. She spun around to see the assistant principal, Maisie Portman, having a loud argument with another woman. Maisie was small in stature, a real spitfire, and her round freckled face always seemed to be on the verge of anger no matter what the topic she happened to be discussing at the time. Her abundance of black curls always seemed to be bobbing up and down as she spoke. If anything, Maisie was a loyal soldier to her boss, Principal Hicks, which was why Sandra was surprised Maisie wasn’t inside the school at the moment, by his side, ready to jump to his defense if need be.
No, she was outside, yelling at a woman Sandra didn’t recognize. Perhaps she did know her, but it was almost completely dark now with the sun already below the horizon, so it was a miracle Sandra could even make out Maisie. Sandra watched the two women going at it for a few seconds, not quite sure if she should make her presence known, but then the unidentified woman violently shoved Maisie up against the side of a parked van, and her hands wrapped around Maisie’s throat. Maisie struggled to push the woman away, but she was too tiny; the woman was about a foot and a half taller than she was.
Sandra rushed forward. “Stop it! Let her go!”
The instant the woman heard Sandra, she released her grip on Maisie. Maisie, embarrassed, glanced over at Sandra, who was fast approaching them, and quickly exchanged a look with her assailant. Maisie stepped forward, in front of the other woman, and her mouth broke into a friendly smile.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wallage. So nice to see you,” Maisie said in a calm, reassuring tone.
“Is everything all right, Maisie?” Sandra asked, suspiciously eyeing the woman behind Maisie, who was trying to slink away and disappear into the darkness.
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine. No problem at all. We just got into a heated discussion about something silly really, nothing important.”
Sandra stepped closer toward them, trying to get a good look at the woman. “Hello, I’m Sandra Wallage.”
“Nice to meet you,” the woman muttered. “I better go. I’ll see you later, Maisie.”
And then she scurried away without introducing herself.
“Who was that?” Sandra asked, turning back to Maisie.
“You don’t know her. I better get back inside in case John needs me,” Maisie said, running off, her black curls bobbing.
Sandra considered chasing after her in order to find out exactly why that woman had her hands around Maisie’s throat, but then she caught sight of dozens of parents pouring out of the school and into the parking lot. The PTA meeting had officially been adjourned, and she was about to be surrounded by curious busybodies all eager to hear what she had to say about the latest Dirty Laundry claim.
Sandra dashed back to her car, jumped in, and roared away. When she was safely off school property, she pulled into a vacant lot next to a closed warehouse where she could have some privacy and shifted the gear into park. She grabbed her phone off the passenger seat and scrolled down the Dirty Laundry article about her husband’s alleged sexual harassment scandal. As she suspected, it was short on facts and long on gossipy innuendo and unsubstantiated speculation. Still, the fact that the mere suggestion was out there was not good. She decided it was time to call her husband, who she knew was in Washington, DC, probably in the senate chamber at the moment.
After a few rings, she heard a man answer gruffly. “Yes?”
It wasn’t Stephen.
It was his young aide Preston Lambert.
Sandra couldn’t stand the kid. He was smug, overly ambitious, and as her kids liked to call him, “A real slimeball.” But for some reason, he was indispensable to Stephen, who refused to fire him despite his off-putting and cloying personality. What Sandra hated about him the most, however, was just how irritatingly patronizing he was to her.
“Hi, Preston, it’s Sandra. I need to speak to Stephen right away.”
“Well, hello, Mrs. Wallage. It’s so nice to hear your sweet, friendly voice this evening.”
Liar.
He knew damn well Sandra wasn’t