By the time Nick called the next day, it was after noon. Sitting at school and waiting for the phone to ring, Jazz felt as if she would jump out of her skin. She answered on the first ring and started talking before he even had a chance to say hello.
“Did you know dyslexia can be inherited? I found that out this morning, Nick. Maddie’s dyslexic and Bernadette told us she was, too. No wonder she was so anxious to help Maddie with her learning disability. She probably felt responsible. There’s another fact that proves my theory. What do you think, huh?”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
“Nick?”
He cleared his throat. “I … uh … I talked to Gary Lindsey. He talked to the people down at the morgue.”
She was too antsy to keep still and she walked over to her office windows and smiled out at the world. Sometime during the night the rain had ended, and sunlight glinted against the puddles on the sidewalks in the park. “And I bet they’re amazed we’ve come this far and found out so much. What did Lindsey say, huh? Is he jealous?”
“He … uh…”
Nick was not the type to hem and haw. He was plainspoken, direct, truthful. Except for the time he was playing ball with Manny in Jazz’s living room and knocked the framed autographed jersey of Omar Vizquel her brothers had given her off the wall. Nick had tried to cover up by cleaning up the broken glass, then hiding the frame and the jersey with the intention of having the whole thing repaired.
Really, he should have just made the confession from the get-go.
Instead, when she came home and saw the jersey was missing and demanded to know what happened to one of her most treasured possessions, he’d stammered out some crazy story about how her brothers had stopped by and borrowed it because they wanted to take some pictures of it.
It wasn’t Jazz’s imagination.
He sounded just as uncomfortable then as he did now.
“What?” The single word tasted sour in Jazz’s mouth.
Nick pulled in a breath. “The people down at the morgue, they told Lindsey they can’t be certain, that there are plenty of factors that go into looking at skeletal remains and determining if a woman has given birth.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your friend Fred told me. Dorsal somethings and grooves and ligaments.”
“Yeah, well, they took all that into consideration.”
“And?”
He cleared his throat. “As far as they can tell, she never had a child.”
“What?” It wasn’t like Jazz didn’t hear him; it was just that she couldn’t believe what he said. She was convinced her theory was not only sound, it was brilliant. She was positive she was right and that this major piece of the puzzle would lead them to Bernadette’s killer. “But it all makes so much sense, Nick. The learning disability, and Bernadette’s obsession, and the poems. I haven’t had time to tell you about the poems, but—”
“I get it. I really do. And I know just how you feel. There are times when I think I’ve really got ahold of a great piece of evidence, that it’s going to make all the difference in a case. Then when I find out I’ve made a colossal mistake—”
“Is that what you think this is?” Her voice pinged against the high ceiling and caromed back at her. “A colossal mistake?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You sort of did.”
“What I meant was—”
“It’s all right. I get it.” It wasn’t easy to admit, but once her initial anger dissolved and left Jazz feeling cold and empty, she knew she owed him an apology. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
“It’s hard to get bad news.”
Jazz sighed. “I just thought—”
“I know. Like I said, I get it. Hey, give yourself credit for coming up with a theory Gary Lindsey never thought of.”
“That’s a lot of consolation.”
Nick laughed. “Would dinner tonight make you feel any better?”
Just thinking about it eased her disappointment. “It would.”
“Seven?”
“No Police Patrolman’s meeting tonight?”
“No dog training?”
“I can meet you somewhere.”
“Nah. I’ll pick you up. It’s a beautiful day. I’m thinking dinner someplace on the water. Blue skies, sunshine, lake breezes. The cure for just about anything!”
Jazz wasn’t so sure, but she knew it was worth a try.
She thanked him again, apologized again, and ended the call.
“Shit.”
Eileen was just coming in from the hallway and she slanted Jazz a look. “Coroner?”
“No baby. Not as far as they can tell.”
“Shit,” Eileen echoed. “Where does that leave us?”
“Pretty much right where we were before last night. Nowhere.”
The realization hung over Jazz all that afternoon just like the rain clouds had the day before. She faked a smile for the girls who stopped in on their way home, wished them a good Thursday evening, told them she’d see them the next day.
It wasn’t so easy to keep that smile in place when Maddie fluttered by the office and leaned inside for a quick, “Adios, Ms. Ramsey!”
“Uh, Maddie…” Jazz knew—no, she felt it deep down in her bones—that the secrets surrounding Bernadette’s murder involved Maddie. She had to find out more and she wasn’t sure how to do it. She only knew she had to keep the conversation going, to keep it light and casual so Maddie wouldn’t become suspicious. She got up and walked to the doorway. “Your mom coming to pick you up?”
At the same time she moved one step closer to the front door of the school, Maddie shook her head. “She’s stuck in surgery and Dad’s got a few more patients he needs to see before he can leave. He said I should take Uber home, but I dunno. It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think, getting into a car with someone you don’t know?”
Jazz admitted it was. “If you need a ride—”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.” Maddie grinned and took another step toward the school’s front door. “I’m going to … I’m going to get the Rapid downtown. That’s what I’m going to do. And the bus from there. I’ll call Dad along the way so he knows where I am.”
“A good plan,” Jazz told her. “But I know where you live. It’s not far from my mom’s house and I could use taking you home as an excuse to stop and see what she’s up to.”
“Nah. Thanks for the offer, Ms. Ramsey. But really, I gotta go. Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”
“You’ve been good. And happy.” Jazz hoped the look she gave the girl was not as penetrating as it was friendly and interested. “You must really be enjoying summer school. You like your teacher?’
Maddie sidestepped toward the door. “Sure.”
“And the other girls in Spanish class?”
“Si.” She grinned.
“Except you were already this happy Monday morning, before that class ever started.”
Maddie’s smile froze and a color like blood stained her cheeks. “Is there…” She cleared her throat and moved the books she was carrying from her left arm to her right. “There’s nothing wrong with being happy, is there? I don’t think there is. And it’s been nice talking to you, Ms. Ramsey. But I…” She glanced at the clock that hung on the wall in the hallway. “I really have to get going. I checked the Rapid schedule, and if I don’t hurry I’m going to miss the next train. Bye!”
She heard Maddie’s voice one more time when she excused herself around someone at the front door. The next second, Mark Mercer came around the corner.
“Hey.” He stood there looking for all the world like he’d just been caught cheating on an algebra test. His hands flitted nervously over the front of his windbreaker. He rolled from foot to foot.
“You want to come in?” Jazz waved toward her office.
He joined her near her desk.
“I’ve got…” He reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, but he didn’t hand it to Jazz, not right away.
“If she ever finds out, I’m dead meat,” he said.
Jazz knew—she hoped she knew—exactly who he was talking about.
Exactly what he was talking about.
She darted a look at the paper. “Odessa Harper’s resignation letter.”
“Well, a copy,” Mercer said. “And if Hyland the Harpy ever catches wind of the fact that I went through the personnel files—”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Jazz crossed her heart. “I swear.”
At the risk of looking way too eager, Jazz glanced at the letter again. “What does it say?”
Mercer frowned. “Not much. I mean, all the usual. I mean…” He handed the paper to Jazz. “Take a look for yourself.”
Jazz unfolded the paper. “‘It is with the greatest regret,’” she read, “‘that I inform you that as of today…’”—she checked the date at the top of the paper and saw that it was just a couple days after Christmas break had started that year, the year Bernadette disappeared—“‘I am resigning my position at Forestall, Clemons, and Stout. I appreciate the opportunities and experiences I had there and I wish the staff all my best.’”
“See, just like I said.” As if it was actually his fault the letter wasn’t more sensational, more revealing, Mercer grimaced. “Plain ol’ resignation letter. Nothing fancy.”
“Except…” Jazz read over the letter again. “It sounds…” She was talking more to herself than to Mercer, but maybe working in a law office, he was used to that. He danced from foot to foot, watching her, waiting to see what she would do.
What she did was go to the cabinet where Bernadette’s file was kept.
“The police took the original letter, but we kept a copy of course,” she told Mercer, and then because he looked confused, she added, “Bernadette’s resignation letter.”
“Maybe they think the killer really wrote it.”
“Maybe…” It wasn’t polite to mumble, but Jazz couldn’t help herself. Her brain was suddenly caught in a loop with no way in and no way out. She retrieved the letter from Bernadette’s file, then sat down and smoothed it out on her desk next to the letter from Odessa.
“‘It is with the greatest regret,’” she read, “‘that I inform you that as of today I am resigning my position at—’”
“It’s just like I said!” Mercer’s groan betrayed his frustration. “There’s nothing interesting in Odessa’s letter.”
Jazz looked up at him. “Except I’m not reading Odessa’s letter.”
She knew the instant he caught on. His expression settled. But only for a second. Then his eyes popped and he hurried around to stand next to Jazz, reading aloud along with her.
“‘It is with the greatest regret that I inform you that as of today I am resigning my position at St. Catherine’s Preparatory Academy.’”
Jazz sucked in a breath and Mercer read on.
“‘I appreciate the opportunities and experiences I had there and I wish the staff all my best.’”
Jazz looked up at Mercer.
He looked down at her. “What does it mean?” he asked.
More confused than ever, Jazz shook her head. She tapped a finger on the copy of Odessa’s letter. “I can keep this?”
As if the letter and the desk had suddenly gone up in flames, he backed away from both. “I sure don’t want it. As far as you’re concerned—”
“I get it,” Jazz promised him. “I don’t know anything about how this letter showed up here at school. And I never saw you.”
Mercer lumbered to the door. He stopped when he got there and looked back at Jazz. “Will it help, do you think? Will it help you find out who killed Bernadette?”
As hard as it was, Jazz had no choice but to admit the truth. “The hell if I know!”
Jazz was still thinking about the twin resignation letters at five when she cleaned up her desk and got ready to leave. She had a little less than two hours before Nick showed up at her house, and Wally to take care of before she could even think about leaving for dinner. She tucked the copies of both letters in her purse so Nick could look them over and maybe offer some opinion that would beat the I have no idea what’s going on that had been whirling through her brain since Mark Mercer came and went.
That afternoon, Eileen really was at a meeting of the volunteers at the hunger center and Jazz was the last one at school. She turned off the office lights and grabbed the handle to close her office door. That was exactly when the phone on her desk rang.
She considered not answering. Whatever it was, it could wait, right? It was five and it was summer session, and whoever was calling, they’d think it was only natural she’d already gone for the day. They’d leave a message, and whatever they wanted, she’d deal with it in the morning.
Too bad responsibility was programmed into the Ramsey DNA.
With a sigh, Jazz slipped her purse off her shoulder, dropped her keys on the desk, and picked up the phone.
“St. Catherine’s.”
“Hi. This is Kate Parker, Maddie’s mom.”
“Doctor Parker, sure. This is Jazz. How are you?”
“Well, I’m a little worried. I just got home and talked to Scott.”
Maddie’s dad, Jazz knew.
“He tells me that Maddie told him she wouldn’t be back until late tonight, that she was going to dinner with Della Robinson and her family.” Before Jazz could say that Maddie hadn’t mentioned it to her, Doctor Parker went right on. “But when I talked to her this afternoon, Maddie told me she was going to a movie with Tatum Lynch this evening. I know we shouldn’t bother you with family things, but—”
“It’s no bother, Doctor Parker. Really.” She didn’t need to ask, but it was only right to get the story straight. “You called—”
“Della’s family and Tatum’s. Yes. Both the girls are home. They told their parents they never talked to Maddie about getting together this evening. And we called Maddie, too, of course. Multiple times. She’s not answering her phone.”
Jazz didn’t even realize her knees had collapsed until she felt the seat of her desk chair under her butt. “I don’t want to worry you more, but when I talked to Maddie this afternoon, she told me she was taking the bus home.”
“Scott…” He was obviously in the room. “Maddie told them at school that she was coming home on the bus.”
Ice formed in the pit of Jazz’s stomach and her mind moved a million miles an hour. “I’ll tell you what.” She congratulated herself for at least sounding calm. She didn’t need to let the Parkers know that her insides looped and whooshed like she was on a roller coaster. “Why don’t the two of you come down here. That seems easier than the three of us making phone calls back and forth while all this gets straightened out. We can call the police from here and—”
“The police?” Doctor Parker’s voice edged with tears. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think,” Jazz admitted. “But it doesn’t hurt to get another opinion and it would be good to have an objective one. I bet the cops see stuff like this all the time.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” From the way Kate Parker’s breathing suddenly accelerated, Jazz could tell she was getting her purse, grabbing her keys, heading for the door.
They ended the call and Jazz called Eileen and told her what was happening. While she waited for parents and principal to arrive, she sat back and tried to make her heartbeat settle.
It was no use.
Of course it wasn’t the first time a girl from St. Catherine’s had lied to her parents about where she was going, what she was doing. It was dumb, sure, and most of the girls eventually realized that. But when it came to their social lives, teenagers were often thoughtless.
Except Maddie was responsible and considerate, a good kid, and Jazz couldn’t imagine Maddie making her parents worry.
That was one thing that bothered her.
The other?
None of the other girls who’d lied about where they’d gone or what they’d been up to was so closely connected to a teacher who’d been murdered.