Tuesday morning
HER PLAN TO SPEND THE GREATER PART OF THE DAY ON MENGELE GOT scotched after a call from Mrs. Mac, who felt a migraine threatening and hoped Rannie could cover for her at school. An hour later, Rannie was stationed at Mrs. Mac’s desk, fielding calls, nibbling M&M’s from a glass jar, and deciding if she had the nerve to search through personal files in the cabinet behind her. On the corkboard, a cutesy calendar cat for October—a black kitten in a trick-or-treat bag—peered at her solemnly; next to the calendar, on a push pin, the key to the file cabinet dangled temptingly. Before Rannie’s superego had a chance to hold her back, she grabbed the key, opened the cabinet and pulled the two files that might either support or contradict information gleaned from Daisy Satterthwaite.
Mr. Tut’s file was bulgingly thick and hard to sift through, nothing in chronological order, his class schedules from the 1970s mixed in with citations from the National Council of Teachers of English, changes in his pension plan, a copy of his commencement speech from a few years ago. And a whole separate folder relating to Grant Werner’s expulsion. Unfortunately, nothing new in there.
Then suddenly Rannie struck gold. In her hand she held a letter on onion-skin paper that was typed in the blurry ink of manual typewriters. It was from Tut to the then-headmaster notifying him of “my need, for personal reasons, to take a short leave of absence in November.”
Hurriedly checking through Ms. Hollins’s folder, Rannie confirmed that Tut’s requested leave was for the month following Ms. Hollins’s birth on October 17, 1960, in Asheville, North Carolina. So, had Tut gone down to Asheville after all? Maybe Daisy was wrong or had purposely misled Rannie. Perhaps Tut hoped to reconcile with Laura Scales, maybe in the back of his mind he was even ready to chuck Chaps and raise a family. Or, at the very least, had he been compelled to lay eyes on his newborn baby? His letter revealed nothing other than he had taken pains to ensure all his classes were covered during his absence. Other dated bits of info Rannie found attested to his return to Chaps less than a month later.
A fast look at Ms. Hollins’s application to Chaps confirmed what Daisy said: Ms. Hollins was divorced; had taught English at an all-girls’ school in Atlanta; and was a magna graduate of Wellesley. Her initial inquiry letter stated the caliber of Chapel School and a desire to live in New York as the reasons for seeking a position. She listed herself as Augusta S. Hollins on the application. No reference to Scales as her maiden name. Absolutely nothing acknowledging any connection whatsoever between Mr. Tut and herself.
But another tidbit. More about Grant Werner. Three years ago, a month after school began, Ms. Hollins had lodged a formal complaint against Grant. He was behaving “inappropriately in class,” often showing up “glassy-eyed and lethargic,” other times acting “belligerent.” Clipped-together memos attested to meetings with Grant, his parents, Ms. Hollins, and the headmaster. Grant claimed Ms. Hollins was “out to get him.” Rannie read: According to Grant, Ms. Hollins is spreading rumors about him to other teachers, including the two who are writing his college recommendations. The contretemps had played out over first semester of his senior year; second semester he switched to another English class before getting expelled that spring.
Rannie replaced the files and then, on impulse, swiped one more—Jem Marshall’s—though she wasn’t sure why except that she was curious. On his résumé: Graduate of Palo Alto High—something she already knew. Ditto the B.S. from Stanford. A year of travel preceded a long stint at a renowned high school in Westchester County, where he first taught chemistry before switching into administration. Ultimately he became principal at the school. Then it was on to City Prep for seven years and next stop, Chaps. A memo dated a week ago—in the same tiny cramped handwriting she’d noticed when he was signing letters—referred to an encounter with two neighborhood drug dealers whose base of operation was Turtle Park. Mr. Marshall had gone over and warned them to stay away from students. He’d also written to the precinct captain.
Just as Rannie was about to replace his folder, the Annex—quiet as a tomb ’til now—became a hive of activity. Several seniors appeared, all wanting appointments with the new college director, the hot-shot private counselor Rannie had glimpsed at the Werners’ rooftop party. The woman was moving into Tut’s office next week. There were also kids needing bus pass forms, others searching the carton for lost clothes. A middle school teacher came looking for Mr. Marshall and then Mr. Marshall himself came downstairs from his office, Augusta Hollins following behind. Both had the clamp-faced look of people who’d recently exchanged words neither wanted to hear.
Rannie, half-expecting the fates would conspire against her in exactly this manner, managed to keep her cool. Instead of frantically trying to hide Jem’s folder in her lap, she remained at Mrs. Mac’s desk, looking efficient and innocent, writing a pretend pink message slip. Neither the headmaster nor Ms. Hollins seemed to take notice of her.
“Augusta, please, one favor—take time and reconsider,” he was saying to Ms. Hollins. “We’ll talk again.”
Ms. Hollins’s response was a noncommittal shrug, then, stony-faced, she swept past Rannie without so much as a glance, much less an evil eye.
A moment later, as Jem Marshall returned to his office, Rannie stood, calmly put back his file, and relocked the cabinet.
What needed reconsidering? Rannie wondered. Was Ms. Hollins resigning? Again Rannie remembered Daisy Satterthwaite’s words about fun costing a bundle. Well, soon Augusta Hollins would have a bundle. Maybe she’d decided it was time to trade in her Birkenstocks for a pair of Manolos and kick up her heels. Two million dollars could finance a whole lot of fun.
Rannie’s cell suddenly sprang to life.
It was Mary. Immediately, Rannie intuited that she was calling with bad news. Peter had had a heart attack. Mary was making arrangements to leave for California.
“Peter assured me it was a mild one, a very mild one,” Mary said nervously. “But I’m so worried. I want to be there with him and speak to the doctors, face to face.”
“Is Whit going too?” Mary was not up to this kind of trip by herself. Really, Peter’s older brother should be going in Mary’s stead.
“He refuses. Evidently he and Peter aren’t speaking to each other.”
Typical of Whit not to come through for Mary—he was a selfish, self-righteous prick.
“I’ll go with you,” Rannie offered.
At some point in the conversation, an endless discussion of arrangements—who would pick up whom, which flights to choose, where they might stay—it became abundantly clear to Rannie that the far simpler plan was to go to California by herself without the additional responsibility of tending to her mother-in-law. “I’ll speak to the doctors, make sure Peter’s okay, and then come back. It’s no big deal.”
Ultimately, Mary conceded, adding, “It is a big deal and you’re an absolute love.”