Are You Nuts? (12 page)

Todd and I walked down the corridor together. He still wore his coat and tie. He never seemed to sweat. Maybe he was secretly dead and simply hadn't told the rest of us. I explained about Lydia.

“Talk to her if you want. Why don't I wait out in the hall just in case you want me? Give her a chance. See what she has to say.”

Lydia was in her tent jeans, but had added a tent blouse over her mounds of flesh.

We sat in Edwina's office. Lydia rested her bulk in the comfy leather chair behind the desk.

Lydia said, “There's all kinds of rumors running through town.”

I nodded.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked.

“If you wanted information, why didn't you just ask Carolyn?”

“Carolyn is an employee like you. You're the one who is directly involved.”

“Is this a hostile conversation or any kind of investigation? My lawyer is right outside.”

“No, no. That's not necessary.”

“Mrs. Marquez, I don't mean to be rude, but what is this all about?”

“I wanted to talk to you. We've been on opposite sides, and we've never really spoken with each other.”

“All you had to do is come talk to me. The only remote contact we've had is because of the race for school board. I just worked with the union in the election campaign.”

“Against me and my friends.”

“Yes.”

“That's your right, but I was dissatisfied with our chat in the hall. We may never be friends, but I'd like to reach a point of benign neutrality. Besides, you're famous. I don't know anybody else who's been on
Oprah
.”

She had chosen this moment to be a star chaser/groupie? I didn't think so.

“Have you talked to the school board's lawyer?” I asked. “Does she know you're talking to me?”

“Why do I need to consult with the board's lawyer to talk to someone?”

I would have if I were a board member, but she hadn't asked for my advice. “Mrs. Marquez, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I'm concerned about the district.”

“Aren't we all?”

“I'm in a position of grave responsibility. I think we could work together to help resolve this situation. I understand you've been questioning people about what happened.”

“Yes.”

She leaned forward in her chair. “I'd be willing to trade information.”

“I won't make any unconditional promises.”

“May I be honest with you?”

What was I going to say? No, lie to me?

“I'm frozen out by most of the other board members. My agenda for change in the schools is not going to happen as long as I always get voted against six to one. I am a practical woman. I'd like to move beyond that.”

I wondered what that meant and what it had to do with me.

“I know you think I'm evil incarnate.”

I couldn't argue with that.

She continued, “I'd like to have at least a working relationship with you. I think you still have a lot of say in the union. And this mess with Jerome and Meg Swarthmore has me upset.”

“How so?” I was surprised to hear my own question.

She drummed her fingers on the desk for several moments. Finally, she said, “I wish things were different. I used to be certain of everything. At one time I was very close to Jerome. His death has upset me.”

“You were close?”

“When he first started teaching in the district, he came to my church, but there were feuds among various factions. He left and joined another congregation. Jerome was always kind to me. He reached out to me in some difficult times early in my marriage. I was sorry when his faction split from ours.”

“You couldn't stay friends outside of church?”

“Either you believe or you don't. Those were the options at that time. I've learned some since then. Too often we've been too rigid. I still believe, but I think our tactics have to be professional and sensible. Always screaming at the top of our lungs is not the way to get people elected. My confrontation with you in the hall was inexcusable. I apologize.”

“I appreciate that, but I don't understand. If you want to change tactics, how come you caused trouble at the PTA meeting?”

“You weren't there. If you had been, you would have seen two factions. Belutha going out of control almost lost us the election. We should have won that election by at least twenty votes. I'd counted carefully. I or my friends knew who was there and who we could count on. Now with Jerome's death, I'm worried.”

“About what?”

“Belutha might have had something to with his murder.”

I sat there stunned for several moments. It wasn't that I believed Belutha was inherently innocent. I said, “You're turning in your friend?”

“I don't know what to think. She's been more of an ally I had to put up with than a friend. My faction of the church is not as radical, has more class, than Belutha's. She's made some wild threats. She's not a help to us as a raving loony or as a killer.”

“And the attendant bad publicity?”

She had the grace to smile and nod. “Yes.”

“But you all three agreed on the same agenda.”

“Usually. I was part of the meeting that encouraged Jerome to run for union president.”

“But I heard he was in favor of equal rights for gay people.”

“Never. He knew about you and your activity in the union. He simply never said anything either way. It was sneaky, but no one ever asked him directly.”

“That's kind of mean.”

“He loved being secretive, and he was determined to win. I was willing to help him.”

“Was he really going to change things if he got elected?”

“Everything he could. He was determined to reverse all the liberal concessions the union had won in the last few years. The union leadership is far more liberal than its members. He was going to speak out for the majority of teachers.”

“You're wrong about that, you know. I realize that is conventional wisdom among some politicians, but membership is not clamoring for elected officials to take away their rights.”

“We'll see, but I didn't come here to discuss politics.”

“No?”

“Belutha was out of control. Every time we met, Jerome and Belutha fought.”

“What did they fight about?”

“Almost anything. For example, Belutha wanted Jerome to put out position papers like that Seth was doing. Seth was a true believer, but in his little causes, not in ours.”

“He wasn't in your faction?”

“No, he isn't in our churches. I don't know him at all.”

“He had no hidden agenda?”

“Not that I'm aware of. Belutha was out of control. She made threats. She wanted to picket, boycott, go to every meeting and disrupt the proceedings. She had to be slapped down more than a few times by others in several public forums. Jerome was one of the ones who didn't like the way Belutha handled herself.”

“But Jerome was out of control at the PTA meeting.”

“Remember, Belutha had to be led out. Jerome took Meg aside. I must say your friend was not a picture of calm reserve.”

“I don't get that last statement. You people sit back and say the most dreadful things, make the most outlandish accusations, and then you try to claim the morally superior high ground if somebody dares to disagree with you.”

“That may be, but I thought we'd agreed to help each other here?”

“Why don't you tell the police what you know?”

“Because then I'm involved. I'd have to give statements to them. If I get drawn in as a school board member, it might look bad for the district.”

And for yourself, I thought. I said, “I could just tell the police what you told me.”

“But we are the only ones here for this conversation. Deniability is a concept that works for me.”

“There's got to be a reason you're telling me this. You didn't develop a sudden urge to be friends with Meg or me.”

“No. To put it simply, by helping you, I may be able to help myself. If it turns out Belutha is somehow involved, then my life is easier. I don't have to deal with her.”

“I'm sure she'd love to hear that. How do you know I won't simply run over to her house and blurt out what you told me?”

“I know you want to free your friend. You'll follow the truth wherever it will lead you. I know that you're at least on the periphery of the investigation. If Belutha isn't guilty, I have lost nothing. If she is, I have gained a great deal.”

If I hadn't talked to Agnes and Stephanie earlier, I wouldn't have believed any of this. Even with that knowledge, I wasn't close to buying her whole story, but she was right. If this was information that took suspicion away from Meg and me, great.

Of course, she could also be trying to divert attention away from herself. A distinct possibility.

She said, “I've given you some information, will you in turn share with me?”

I wasn't about to give her anything incriminating. I gave her a scanty outline of the presence of the bloody book.

She said, “So the police have two books with different fingerprints. What does that mean?”

“I don't know.”

“I guess I was more thinking out loud.” Maybe I was wrong, but I thought there was a sudden gleam in her eye. She'd just thought of something or whatever I'd said had started a train of reasoning she wasn't about to divulge. Or her contact lens had caught the light just right. Who knew?

She nodded several times, seemed satisfied with what I'd said, then she left.

I called Scott and told him I would be home in about an hour and would give him the whole story when I arrived. I looked up Belutha's address on the district master list in the office. Todd walked me out to my car and I filled him in on Lydia's revelations.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I'm not going to the cops, that's useless. It's thirdhand hearsay or something.”

“It's not hard evidence.”

“That too. I'm going to Belutha's and I'm going to tattle.”

He smiled. “You're going to destroy your budding friendship with Lydia.”

“She took a chance. She lost. I'll call you if necessary. If there are any developments with Meg, let me know.”

I unlocked my black pickup truck. With its oversized wheels, shining black metallic exterior, and black leather interior, I call it the butch mobile. Wishful thinking.

When I turned the motor on, the radio blared enough to hurt my eardrums. Someone had turned the volume to full blast.

I snapped it off. I put the window down and listened to the neighborhood noise. I heard the roar of a motorcycle. When that faded, I listened to kids calling to each other. Children on bikes were riding around on the tennis courts. In the near distance I saw the arc lights around the community baseball field.

For ages Scott had been after me to get an alarm system installed in the truck. I had informed him that it was silly. I'd been told people could get around an alarm system almost as easily as breaking into the car. Scott had informed me that I'd been told wrong. I hadn't listened to him and now I wished I had.

This had to be more harassment. By whom? And what for? Wasn't there enough already? Unless this was not done by the murderer. Or done before all of today's other incidents or without the knowledge of them.

Sitting aimlessly in the parking lot wasn't going to help. There was nothing I could do at that moment about whoever was harassing me, so I drove to Belutha's.

She lived three blocks from Agnes. Her old Victorian home had one turret and a bay window, but was not overly endowed with gingerbread. Lights were on in the ground floor. Through a front window, I saw a large-screen television. On it a fat-faced preacher with a self-satisfied smile waved his arms.

I knocked at the door. A child of about five answered. I asked to speak to Ms. Muffin.

“Mom!” the kid yelled, and disappeared.

I'd never met Belutha. A moment later a moose of a woman appeared behind the screen. Belutha Muffin had the weight but not the height to be a lineman for a professional football team. She filled the doorway in a pale pink muumuu. Using the same comparison, Lydia might have the heft for a linebacker on a college team.

I introduced myself.

“I know who you are.”

“I'd like to talk to you.”

“Coming here to plead for your job will do you no good.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“That isn't why you're here?”

Whatever lurid scenarios had gone through her mind, I couldn't be sure. Dramatic confessions on my part? Repentance?

“No, I have some information that I think might be useful to you. May I come in?”

She looked uncertain, but I'd showed up unexpectedly and caught her off guard. She hadn't had a chance to check her Bible and find the correct behavior for what to do when the faggot shows up on your doorstep.

“What information?”

“Lydia Marquez came to talk to me. She tried to implicate you in the murder of Jerome Blenkinsop.” I figured I'd start out with the big bomb and work down.

“I don't believe you. Lydia wouldn't and didn't.”

“Would you like me to go to the police with what she said instead of talking to you?”

“If Lydia knows something, why didn't she go to the police?”

The same question I'd asked. “Right now it's at the gossip stage, not the hard-evidence stage. Do you think she should be going around telling people nasty stuff about you?”

“What did she say?”

Gossip. About yourself. Good or bad, who could resist? I was directed into the front room. What little I saw of the house was neat and clean. A “God Bless Our Home” sampler and a picture of the Nativity were the only wall decorations. The room I was in had plastic covers on the couch and chairs.

“The children are still little. We don't want them to spill on the good furniture.”

She was apologizing for her housekeeping. Something I never did.

The couch cushions squished as I sat down on them.

She asked, “What did Lydia say?”

“She said you and Jerome had fights. That you were out of control. If you were implicated in Jerome's murder, it would remove a thorn from her side and that of your organization. She also said that you had no class and that she didn't like your tactics.”