Hush Puppy Read online

  “Dead?” Shertz said. “I’m afraid so.”

  “How did he die?” I asked.

  “He appears to have been stabbed. Most likely with the pitchfork we found lying next to him.” Belatedly, Shertz’s gaze swung in my direction. He frowned slightly, as if trying to place me. “You would be?”

  “Melanie Travis. I’m a teacher here. You and I met last year when Monica Freedman was murdered.”

  He thought for a moment, then said, “The kennel club case?”

  I nodded.

  Beside me, Russell Hanover had grown pale. “Murder? Are you trying to tell me that Eugene Krebbs was murdered ?”

  “At the moment, it looks that way.”

  “But that isn’t possible! Not here. Not at Howard Academy . . . !”

  Shertz mustered a sympathetic expression; but his posture—shoulders thrust forward, chin jutted—radiated determination. No doubt he’d heard similar protests before. “I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

  “Of course,” Russell agreed. “We’ll cooperate in any way we can. Let me explain something, however. Some of the most prominent people in Greenwich entrust the care of their children to Howard Academy, and I have no intention of breaching that trust. My students’ welfare is my highest priority. I must have your assurance that their needs will come first.”

  “What comes first is finding a murderer,” Shertz said implacably. “I understand your concerns, and I’ll do everything in my power to take them into consideration. But I won’t allow my investigation to be compromised in any way. Is that clear?”

  Russell nodded curtly. He was much more accustomed to giving orders than taking them, and it showed.

  “Who found the body?” asked Detective Shertz. He looked over at Michael, the one member of our party he hadn’t heard from yet.

  The drama coach shook his head. “Melanie and I were inside in a meeting when the bell rang and we saw the commotion out here.”

  “Mr. Hanover?”

  “I don’t know,” Russell admitted. “I received a call from Mrs. Plimpton in the kitchen. I was in my office, and Harriet passed her right through. She was terribly flustered, and it took a minute before I could even understand what she was trying to tell me. She said she’d been told there was a body in the caretaker’s cottage. Of course, I was sure she was mistaken. I thought perhaps someone was playing a prank.”

  “Is that the kind of thing that would pass for funny around here?” Shertz asked humorlessly. Even in a town as upscale as Greenwich, Howard Academy was considered a bastion of privilege. The detective wouldn’t be the first person, who couldn’t afford to send his children to the school, to assume that those who did attend were willful, shallow, and overindulged.

  “Hardly,” Russell snapped. “However, at the time I didn’t see any other possible explanation.”

  “Did Mrs. Plimpton tell you who’d given her that information?”

  “Not that I recall. Our conversation was rather brief. I came directly outside to see what was going on.”

  “And when you got here . . . ?”

  “I immediately went into the shed.”

  “You couldn’t see Mr. Krebbs from the doorway?”

  “No, it was dark. I turned on the light. Of course, then I saw Krebbs lying on the ground.”

  “Did you approach the body?”

  “I’m not sure.” Russell shivered slightly, and I wondered whether his reaction was due to the chilly March air or the memory of what he’d seen. “I think so. Yes, I believe I must have. I thought he was unconscious. I certainly didn’t realize he was dead.” His cheeks grew pink. “I knew I had to go get help. I went right back up the hill to the school and called the police.”

  Shertz flipped his pad over to a clean page. “Did you touch anything in the shed while you were there? Maybe pick something up or move a piece of equipment out of the way?”

  “No, nothing,” Russell said firmly.

  “You touched the light switch,” I pointed out. Shertz glanced in my direction, then back to the headmaster.

  “Maybe I did.” Russell exhaled loudly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying any attention to details like that. As I’m sure you can imagine, this has all been a most distressing experience.”

  “We’re going to need to get your fingerprints,” said the detective. “Who else has access to the building?”

  Russell was silent, staring down at his hands as if imagining the ignominy of being fingerprinted. “I think pretty much everyone around here does,” I answered for him. “I’ve never seen the door locked, and during the day, when Krebbs and his crew are out working, it’s often sitting open.”

  Shertz pursed his lips and made a note. “I’d also like to speak to the woman who called your office. Mrs. Plimpton, right? Where would I find her?”

  “She runs our food services.” Russell gestured up the hill toward the main building.

  Standing where we were, it was easy to see that if someone had left the caretaker’s cottage and gone for assistance, the nearest door would have led directly into the kitchen. But who had sounded the alarm? I wondered. And why hadn’t that person stayed around to help?

  “I don’t understand any of this,” said Russell. “It makes no sense. Why would anyone want to do such a thing?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” Shertz flipped his pad closed and put it away. “Was anything of value stored in this shed?”

  “As far as I know, just some tools and equipment. To tell you the truth, until this afternoon I’d never been inside. Krebbs was in charge of the caretaker’s cottage. I had no reason to question his stewardship.”

  “Do you think he might have interrupted a burglary?” Michael asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” said Shertz. “Until we know more, we’re not ruling anything out.”

  “Detective?” one of the officers called from the doorway of the shed. “Could you come over here?”

  “Excuse me,” said Shertz. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “What an ungodly mess,” Russell muttered under his breath. “Once the parents get wind of this, all hell will break loose.”

  Trust Russell to be more worried about the school’s reputation than the fact that Krebbs was dead. Then again, considering the tenor of my recent dealings with the caretaker, I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with grief myself. Michael, meanwhile, had tagged along after Detective Shertz and was taking in the scene as avidly as a sightseer at a prime tourist attraction.

  “The sooner the police get this wrapped up the better,” Russell said, turning to me. “Perhaps you could run up to the kitchen and fetch Mrs. Plimpton? I’m sure the detective won’t mind speaking with her down here.”

  And even if he did, Russell probably wouldn’t allow him much choice. Already the headmaster was working to control the spin and distance the school from what had happened. If he could arrange for Shertz to conduct his interviews off school grounds, I was sure that would have pleased Russell even more.

  Mrs. Plimpton was a motherly figure with soft, gray hair and a fondness for frilly aprons and support hose. The fact that her kitchen ran like a well-oiled machine, however, made me suspect that there was a core of steel beneath the cream puff exterior. As soon as I opened the back door, Mrs. Plimpton accosted me. Clearly she’d been watching the proceedings out the window.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “It’s Eugene Krebbs,” I said.

  “Oh Lord,” she whispered, crossing herself. “How bad?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” The shriek came from the other side of the large kitchen, where two of her helpers were standing behind a stainless-steel counter. Mrs. Plimpton sent a glare in their direction.

  “The police would like to speak with you,” I said.

  “With me? Why?”

  “They think he was murdered.” I’d lowered my voice, but it didn’t seem to matter. Another scream sounded, louder than the first.

 
“Murdered on the job!” cried a woman with the voice of Minnie Mouse. “What’s this world coming to? Who’s going to be next?”

  “You are, if you don’t stop that wailing,” Mrs. Plimpton said sharply, before turning back to me. “I don’t know anything to tell the police. Why do they want to talk to me?”

  “Mr. Hanover said you were the one who called him . . .”

  “He’s in charge. Someone tells me something like that, I figure it’s up to him to see to it.”

  “You did the right thing,” I said reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s all the police want to ask you about. Mr. Hanover asked me to come and get you so you could talk to the detective.”

  “Outside?” From her tone, you’d think I’d suggested we take a dip in Long Island Sound.

  “Mr. Hanover thinks it will be easier.”

  “I’ll have to get my coat. I’m certainly not going out there like this, and catch my death of cold.”

  I waited while she went into a back room. The kitchen help passed the time by standing around staring at me. If they had work to do, they weren’t in any hurry to get to it. One, a skinny young woman with buckteeth and a nervous smile, edged closer around the counter.

  “Was there a lot of blood?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t go inside the cottage.”

  “I’ll bet it looks just awful in there,” said the other. From her voice, I recognized her as the shrieker. “I bet there’s blood and guts everywhere, just like in the movies. I wonder who they’re going to get to clean it up. They better not be asking me!”

  “It’s a crime scene, stupid,” said the first. “Ain’t nobody going to be cleaning in there while the police are still looking for clues.”

  “Krebbs, murdered.” The shrieker shook her head. “I always knew that man was up to no good.”

  “Really?” I asked. “What makes you say that?”

  “Just the way he acted. He gave me the willies, always skulking around and showing up places where you didn’t expect him to be. How old was that man, anyway? A hundred? What was he still doing working? This school gives me benefits. You better believe when I get to be his age, I won’t be working no more.”

  “Wonder if he’ll turn himself into a ghost,” mused Buckteeth. “He was ugly enough for it. Big old house like this ought to have a ghost, you know?” She laughed at the thought. “Just a little something to threaten the kids with when they get out of line.”

  “There’re no such thing as ghosts,” Mrs. Plimpton said firmly, striding back in. She’d put a long wool coat on over her dress and tied a plaid, fringed muffler around her neck. “So don’t you be starting any rumors about a thing like that. That’s the kind of trouble that’s likely to come right back around and bite you in the butt.”

  We headed out the door and down the steps. “You don’t suppose the police think I had anything to do with what happened?” Mrs. Plimpton asked, sounding suddenly nervous. “I couldn’t have, you know. I was in the kitchen working all morning. Shawna and Bobbi can back me up on that.”

  “I’m sure you’re not a suspect. The police just want to know who found the body.”

  “It was a girl. I don’t know her name. She came running up the back stairs and pounded on the door. It wasn’t even locked, I don’t know what she was knocking for. She was all out of breath and agitated like crazy. I guess she just felt the need to make some noise.”

  “One of the students?” I asked.

  “She must be, I don’t know where else she would have come from.” Mrs. Plimpton frowned. “Though I don’t recall ever seeing her in the dining room. Usually I have a pretty good memory for faces. Maybe she’s new. Her clothes were kind of strange though.”

  “Strange?” I gulped.

  “Well, she wasn’t in uniform, for one thing. And though she was wearing a sweatshirt, she wasn’t in gym clothes either. I remember thinking, maybe that’s a costume for a play. Around this school, you don’t see many little girls running around in blue jeans.”

  The knot in my stomach grew. “Did she have short dark hair and big brown eyes?”

  “That’s right, she did. Do you know her?”

  “I’m afraid I do,” I said.

  Jane.

  Seven

  By the time Mrs. Plimpton and I reached the bottom of the hill, Russell and Michael had disappeared, and Detective Shertz was waiting for us. I performed the introductions, then started to tell the detective about Jane.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said brusquely. “I can take things from here. I’d prefer to speak with Mrs. Plimpton privately.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  He held up a hand. My voice stilled.

  “I’m sure you’re interested in what happened, but my investigation will proceed much more smoothly without your interference.”

  “I wasn’t trying to interfere—”

  “Maybe you don’t understand, Ms. Travis. This is police business.”

  Any idiot could understand that. Of course, that was exactly what Detective Shertz’s patronizing tone implied: that I was an idiot who wanted to meddle in his case for no good reason.

  “Fine,” I said, aware that I had a tutoring session in ten minutes. “I’ll get back to my kids.”

  Predictably, all afternoon my students were full of questions. Mindful of Russell’s dictum, I merely said that there’d been an accident in the caretaker’s cottage and that the police were looking into it. They could have figured out that much by looking out the window, so I didn’t feel I was betraying any confidences.

  By midafternoon, much of the activity around the cottage had died down. The door was shut and padlocked. Though the building was festooned with bright yellow crime-scene tape, most of the police crew had moved on.

  That didn’t stop the rumors that had begun to circulate among the students, however. None of the stories approached the truth, but they did make for fascinating listening. If Russell had thought he could insulate the kids from what had happened, he’d better think again. In the absence of facts, they were busy concocting tales that were even more gruesome than the truth.

  As soon as I had a free minute, I headed over to the headmaster’s office. His secretary, Harriet, sat behind a desk in the small anteroom outside. Normally, she has the placid look of a Labrador Retriever with a full stomach. Today, her expression was pinched and wary. Like Russell, she seemed poised to expect the worst.

  “Is he in?” I asked when she looked up.

  Harriet nodded.

  “Do you think he can spare me a few minutes?”

  “I doubt it, the way things have been going today, but I’ll check.”

  Harriet stood up and walked over to the door, opened it, and stuck her head inside. Though Russell wasn’t visible from where I stood, I could hear their conversation clearly. He must have realized that, because a moment later he appeared in the doorway.

  “Is it important?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He waved a hand, ushering me in.

  “Do you want me to hold your calls?” asked Harriet.

  “If it’s the detective, pass it through. Otherwise, take a message. If anyone else from the media calls, just tell them we have no comment at this time.”

  I followed him into the inner sanctum. Russell’s office was a large room, beautifully decorated with some of the furniture that had originally graced Joshua Howard’s own library. There was a wide bay window with a cushioned window seat, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The hardwood floor was covered by a slightly worn Persian rug. I’m sure the intent was to make Howard Academy’s wealthy parents feel right at home, and I imagine it succeeded admirably.

  Today, the headmaster looked far too distracted to notice, much less appreciate, the luxury of his surroundings. “I hope you don’t mind if we keep this short,” he said. “I’m afraid I have a dozen other things I should be doing.”

  “Not at all. Is there anything I can do to help?”

 
; Russell sat down in the plush leather chair behind his desk. I chose one opposite him and did the same. “There doesn’t seem to be much anyone can do right now, except wait and see what the police are able to find out.

  “Unfortunately, the fact that this school has been linked to a murder investigation seems to have sent the media into a frenzy. Already, I’ve fielded calls from as far away as Philadelphia, and there’s currently a New York news van shooting footage from the end of the driveway.”

  “The police won’t do anything to stop them?”

  “Detective Shertz’s men were kind enough to escort them off the property when they arrived. The news team is now set up on a public road, however, so there’s nothing else we can do.” The headmaster smiled wanly. “Under other circumstances, I might even be among the first to tell you that the public has a right to know.”

  “Easier to say when it’s not your business they’re interested in.”

  “Quite so,” Russell agreed. He leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his lower face. “What can I do for you, Ms. Travis?”

  “I was wondering if you’d spoken with Detective Shertz since he interviewed Mrs. Plimpton?”

  “Only briefly. Apparently she supplied him with the description of a student, and we’re having some difficulty tracking down just whom she meant . . .’ ’

  “That’s what I wanted to see you about. Mrs. Plimpton mentioned the girl to me, too. I’ve seen her several times myself and I believe her name is Jane. I’m fairly certain she isn’t a student.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Russell.

  “Actually, neither do I. Unfortunately, the person who seemed to have known the most about her was Eugene Krebbs.”

  “Krebbs?”

  “The two of them were together the first time I met her. We were in the prop room behind the stage, and after she ran away, Krebbs indicated that he’d seen her hanging around before. He said she didn’t belong here.”

  Russell was frowning now. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”