Dear Miss Demeanor

THIRTEEN

Miss Parchester announced that it was teatime, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the living room with the brandy bottle, trying to work up enough enthusiasm to call Peter and inform him that I’d found his culprit. He wasn’t apt to come roaring over with sirens and flashing lights, in that he knew she hadn’t poisoned Herbert Weiss and her motive to murder Pitts was no stronger than anyone else’s. Pitts hadn’t been blackmailing Tessa Zuckerman, since she was unavailable for such things. He could have been blackmailing someone else, I thought tiredly, but it didn’t seem likely. Blackmail requires secrecy; Pitts had been too eager to share his information.

Miss Zuckerman was the most promising candidate; she had admitted both motive and means, and the poison in the whiskey had also been an organic compound. She lacked opportunity, however. She was the only one who could not have left the whiskey for Pitts, I realized, sinking Farther into both the sofa and despair. Even Miss Parchester had visited the school, and had been invited for a cozy supper of pizza and whiskey. I wondered why her dear friend Tessa hadn’t mentioned Pitts’s death to her during one of their visits; Miss Parchester had been genuinely shocked when I told her.

I decided to ask her why, and went to the kitchen. The tea kettle was on the stove, but it wasn’t whistling Dixie -or anything else. The cups and saucers were on the counter, along with a sugar bowl and two spoons. The back door was slightly open. Miss Parchester was thoroughly gone. It did not surprise me.

Once the tea things were put away and the African violets watered, I let myself out the front door and went to my car. I drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes, but I had little hope that I would spot her on the sidewalk, and I was proved right. Miss Zuckerman’s house was located midway between the hospital and Farberville High School; I drove past both without success, then headed for home, aware that Miss Parchester would resurface in due time-probably disguised as a Maori, a nun, or a circus clown. Or all three, if she felt it necessary to operate as a tipsy, red-nosed, religious New Zealander.

As I unlocked my door, I heard the telephone ring, It was apt to be Peter, irate over Caron’s lie and ready to bawl her out. Feeling as if I were trapped in a round of Russian roulette, I picked up the receiver. “I’m not available to come to the phone right now,” I intoned. “At the sound of the

“Claire, this is Evelyn. I’ve just heard the most astounding news, and I presumed you’d be interested.” When I agreed, she continued, “Jerry and Paula have had a major falling out. She came over to sob on my sofa and repeat numerous times how utterly horrid he was. It seems the coach and Miss Dort have come to an understanding: He’s going to become administrative vice-principal, a position more in line with his credentials.”

“But he’ll get a raise, won’t he? That puts the cottage and babies in the immediate future, which ought to delight her.”

“I pointed that out to her, but she sobbed harder and said I didn’t understand. I didn’t, for that matter, but I couldn’t get anything more from her.” There was a long pause in which I supposed we were both mulling over the inexplicable turn of events. I was wrong. “Sherwood had good news,” she said, sounding oddly hesitant.

“His manuscript has been accepted?”

“Yes, by a university press. He is, quite understandably, elated. After a stream of Gloria in excelsises and other incomprehensible utterances, he said the classics department there had an opening for an assistant professor next semester and wanted him to come immediately for an interview.”

“That is good news,” I said. “You don’t sound especially thrilled, though.”

“I guess I’ll miss his conversations, as obscure and oppressively pedantic as they were. It’s difficult to envision the same with Mrs. Platchett or Mr. Chippendale.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, then I hung up and made myself a cup of tea. Cheryl Anne and Thud had parted ways, as had Jerry and Paula. Miss Don’s long-standing relationship with Herbert Weiss was finished, too, although not by choice of either participant. Evelyn and Sherwood might miss the obvious and end up at far ends of the educational spectrum. I wondered if Claire Malloy might be facing the same fate, due to a well-intentioned attempt to tidy things up and present Peter Rosen with a solution.

It was late in the afternoon by now, and said cop had not returned to chastise my daughter and listen to my latest bit of treachery. I wasted a few minutes chastising myself for losing Miss Parchester-for the umpteenth time, then took a piece of notebook paper and a pencil and sat down at the kitchen table. Charts and timetables had never worked yet, but one did cherish hope.

I listed all the names and drew arrows hither and yon. The paper began to look like a highway map, but I persevered until I had sorted out the relationships. I circled Sherwood’s name as the only possessor of an illicit key, and Miss Zuckerman’s as the possessor of a notably lethal bottle of tablets. I then underlined her name as the possessor of the most brazen motive. But she had been in the hospital, I reminded myself as I decorated the circle around her name with flowering vines.

But she did have loyal friends. Who were likely to visit that evening at seven o’clock.

I was staring at the paper when Caron and Inez slunk into the room. “Peter hasn’t called or come by,” I told the mendacious duo. “He will, of course, so you’d best call in Perry Mason to conduct your defense.”

Caron put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who bungled things, Mother. Inez and I kept Miss Parchester on the line; you were supposed to find her and deliver her to the police.”

“I did find her,” I admitted, “but she managed to slip out the back door. There may be a way for us to redeem ourselves, however. I think she’ll visit Miss Zuckerman this evening at the hospital. If you two-”

“No way,” Caron said. She picked up her notebook and her purse, shot me an indignant look, and hobbled toward the door. “Inez and I are not about to stake out the hospital. The situation was totally humiliating. Come on, Inez, we’re going to Rhonda’s house. At least we won’t be Tackled and Thrown to the floor there.”

“What about your career?” I said. “It’s possible that we can sort things out so that Miss Parchester can return to her classroom Monday morning, and the Falcon Crier can resume publication. You’ll have the opportunity to write the Miss Demeanor column.”

“I have decided to drop the journalism class. My design for the freshman class float won first prize; everyone agrees I have a talent. Therefore, I have decided to apply myself to set design in the drama department.”

Inez bobbled her head. “And Rhonda heard that Rosie is over the mono and coming back to school next week.” They limped out the door, discussing the Untimely Recuperation and the Lack of Consideration shown by certain parties.

I sat for a long time, then went into the living room and called Peter. I listened to a lot of unkind words about my darling daughter and admitted the purpose of the ruse. I then admitted I’d lost Miss Parchester, but that I had a good idea when next we might find her. He skeptically agreed to meet me at the hospital at seven o’clock.

That left an hour. I wandered around the apartment for.a while, visions of arrows dancing through my mind. I called Miss Dort again, and listened to the phone ring in vain, then snatched up my jacket and exited, although not with Caron’s style.

There was a car in the parking lot at the high school. I tapped my car keys on the glass door, and Miss Dort subsequently appeared. The first time I’d gone through the routine, Miss Dort had been irritated to see me. This time she smiled as she held open the door; the Cheshire cat couldn’t have looked more pleased with itself.

“Did you forget the yearbook layouts,” she asked as we walked to the office, “or did you just want to work in peace? I do enjoy the school when the students are elsewhere. At times I think we could be more efficient if they simply stayed away, but that wouldn’t work, would it?” She giggled at her heretical proposal.

“No,” I said, bewildered by her behavior. “I wanted to ask you why you allowed Immerman to play in the Homecoming game. I realize it’s none of my business, but I hoped you might tell me.

“I simply felt it was best for the school, although the Falcons failed to win the game. Immerman s not as important as he thought he was.”

“I guess Jerry was disappointed,” I said, beginning to get a glimmer of an idea. A decidedly tacky idea. “After all, he made quite a bargain in order to get Immerman reinstated before the game.”

Miss Don patted her hair, if not her back. “An agreement was reached, but it had nothing to do with the issue of reinstatement. Immerman was persuasive, and student morale is always uppermost in my mind.”

“But you and the coach had quite a discussion.”

“I called him in to inform him of my decision, but at that time I began to realize Coach Finley was much too valuable an asset to be left on a football field. Once we discussed the various directions his career might take, he agreed most readily to take on the position of administrative vice-principal.”

“That’s not what Weiss intended for him, is it?”

“Herbert wanted to have him fired, but he was afraid lest he alienate Miss Hart. He was biding his time until he could find a way to dispose of Coach Finley. Someone disposed of him in the interim.”

I saw no reason to enlighten her. “You weren’t caught in the same dilemma, Miss Dort. Offending Miss Hart surely is not your worst fear. Being alone on Thursday afternoons might be, however. Is that the bargain you made with Jerry-he stays on at Farberville High School, both as vice-principal and paramour?”

“I am getting older, Mrs. Malloy, and I have neither time nor inclination to join singles’ clubs or prowl nightclubs. As acting principal of the school, I must maintain my standards.”

“How persuasive was Immerman?”

“I fear it was a letter to Miss Demeanor that convinced me to let him play. Once I read it, I realized Cheryl Anne was the culprit, and quite vindictive enough to contact the school board with all sorts of misinformation about my little meetings with Herbert. She is incorrigible.” Miss Don gave me a tight smile. “To be succinct, Mrs. Malloy, she’s a little bitch.”

“That’s how you discovered the identity of the poison-pen letter writer, isn’t it? You took the packet of letters from the counter in the office. Sherwood and I searched the building for over an hour, but we couldn’t find anyone.

“This is, as the students say, my turf. I suppose Herbert must have put the letters in his drawer and failed to mention it to me. It was most fortunate that you found them, Mrs. Malloy. They have since been destroyed.”

“But Cheryl Anne and Immerman still know about the Xanadu. How can you be sure they won’t use the information against you in the future?”

“Cheryl Anne is aware that I will report her blackmail scheme to the authorities should she try any more shenanigans. As for Immerman-we intend to discuss it on Tuesdays,” she said. She settled her glasses on her nose, picked up her clipboard, and sailed out the office door.

A large percentage of my arrows had missed the target. Once I recovered from the shock and could move, I left the building and drove to the hospital, trying very hard not to dwell on the images that came to mind. Miss Dort would be caught eventually, and the school administration would not be impressed with her afternoon schedule. Thud was hardly a model of discretion, and Paula Hart was hardly the sort to give up gracefully. I was comforted with the knowledge that I would no longer be around the high school when the gossip started. Again. Rosie’s journalistic integrity would be put to the test.

As I entered the hospital, I glanced around for undercover policemen and little old ladies in disguise but saw neither. Either I was wrong, or everyone was enjoying some degree of success. As I took the elevator upstairs, I prayed for the latter. Peter was waiting for me by the nurses’ station.

“Miss Parchester can’t possibly sneak in here,” he said. “I’ve got men all around the building.”

“She was here earlier this afternoon, apparently not too long after we were here. Did your men happen to notice her?” When he shook his head, I sweetly pointed out that she’d managed to avoid his men for a week, without having to miss any of her social obligations or school functions.

I was telling him about her escape from Happy Meadows when Mrs. Platchett and Miss Bagby came out of the elevator. They acknowledged our presence with nods. We all trooped into Miss Zuckerman’s room and positioned ourselves around the bed.

“How exciting to have so many visitors,” she said. “It’s almost a party, isn’t it?”

“We’re expecting one more,” I said. “I think Miss Parchester will be here shortly.”

The Furies exchanged looks. Mrs. Platchett at last cleared her throat and said, “Emily is a good and true friend, and she has been determined to spend as much time as possible with Tessa.”

“Not that I have much time,” Miss Zuckerman contributed. She looked at Peter. “I doubt you’ll have an opportunity to arrest and detain me, Lieutenant, but I shall gladly sign a confession if that will assist you in your paperwork.”

“For one murder-or for two?” I asked gently.

“Why, for two. I didn’t intend to poison Mr. Weiss, but I seem to have done so anyway. I certainly intended to poison Mr. Pitts. I used exactly the same number of tablets.”

“You couldn’t have, Miss Zuckerman,” I said. “You might have put the tablets in the whiskey, but you couldn’t have taken it to the teachers’ lounge and left it there.”

She turned her head to one side. “But I did, Mrs. Malloy, and I insist on taking full responsibility.”

At this point we heard a squeak outside the door. Peter and I stepped into a corner and watched as a green-clad orderly with a surgeon’s cap and mask came into the room, pushing a wheelchair. It would have been more convincing if the orderly had not been wearing fuzzy pink slippers.

Mrs. Platchett and Miss Bagby tried to warn her, but Peter closed the door and positioned himself in front of it. “Miss Parchester, I’m Lieutenant Rosen of the Criminal Investigation Department. We’ve been looking for you.”

“So I’ve noticed.” She took off the cap and mask, then sat down in the wheelchair. “You really ought to speak to your men about their behavior, Lieutenant; it has bordered on police brutality. At times my civil liberties have been endangered by their youthful enthusiasm.”

“We were discussing the identity of Pitts’s murderer,” I said as I came out of the corner. “Miss Zuckerman claims responsibility, but that’s impossible.”

“I did put Laetrile in the whiskey,” Miss Zuckerman said in a firm voice that had stopped many a student in midstep. “I put one dozen tablets in the bottle. I would have put in a few more for good measure, but that was the last of them.”

“Pitts was despicable,” Mrs. Platchett said.

“He corrupted the students,” Miss Bagby said.

“He had to be stopped,” Miss Parchester added from the wheelchair. “Tessa’s actions were warranted, even if they did violate his constitutional rights. The judge was always harsh with criminals, especially those who were a threat to society.”

Peter joined the circle around the bed. “But Miss Zuckerman did not buy the whiskey; someone else did and brought it to the hospital to be laced with poison. Someone then took it to the lounge where Pitts found and drank it. Either knowingly or unwittingly, one of you three ladies is an accomplice to murder.”

The three looked back steadily, with nary a blink. One steely-eyed cop was no match for one hundred sixty collective years in the front of a classroom.

“One of you is guilty,” he persisted, although with an increasing air of hopelessness. When he received no response, he looked at Miss Zuckerman. “Which one of your friends helped you murder Pitts?”

“If one of them is indeed an accomplice, she is guilty of no more than doing a small favor for a dying friend-and a major favor for the students of Farberville High School.” She smiled, then closed her eyes and let her cheek fall against the pillow. We all tiptoed out of the room.

Miss Parchester announced that she needed to return the wheelchair before it was missed. Miss Bagby opted to ride, and the three squeaked toward the elevator, leaving an unhappy policeman and a bemused amateur sleuth in the hallway outside Miss Zuckerman’s room.

“Do you know which one did this ‘small favor’?” he asked me. “It doesn’t really matter,” I sighed. “Miss Zuckerman conceived and executed the plan; whoever delivered the bottle did so for her. You’re not exactly loosing a homicidal maniac on the town.”

He glanced at the closed door. “I suppose not, but what if they decide they don’t like the new custodian? They can’t be allowed to take matters into their own hands every time they encounter a potential source of corruption in the corridors of the school.”

“Have a talk with them about retirement,” I suggested. “I doubt you’ll get an argument, and the three of them can take a nice bus tour of southern gardens in the spring. I’ll check into watercolor classes.” Of the three, I was fairly certain Miss Parchester needed the busiest schedule.

“I may check into Happy Meadows,” he grumbled, but without heat. We walked out to his car and drove back to my apartment. I entertained him with an account of Miss Dort’s intentions, and the likelihood of retaliation from Paula Hart. The teachers’ lounge would continue to be a hotbed of gossip and intrigue, I concluded as we went upstairs.

“But you won’t have to be there, or take it upon yourself to solve whatever mysteries arise,” Peter murmured.

In that he was murmuring into my ear, I did not feel compelled to point out that I had solved the murders for him. In the midst of further murmurs, the telephone rang. It proved to be Sherwood Timmons, bubbling with the news about his manuscript. I let him bubble for a minute or two, then interrupted with congratulations.

“Thank you, dear sleuth,” he said. “I shall cherish ad infinitum the memories of our minor escapade in crime.”

“You had a key, even if it was an unauthorized copy,” I reminded him. After all, Supercop was in my living room.

“I’ll mail it to Miss Dort, accompanied by a note begging her forgiveness. She will make a terse note on her clipboard, but we will not have to listen to her crackly voice over the intercom or watch her lips purse with displeasure over-”

“We?” I inserted before he lost control of himself completely.

“Evelyn and I. I have proffered vinculum matrimonii, and she has consented.”

I congratulated him once more. After he said good-bye (carpe diem, actually, but I ignored it), I joined Peter on the sofa and told him about the impending matrimonii. He gazed at me for a long time, looking terribly enigmatic. I opted for nonchalance.

“Claire,” he at last said, “I can think of only one way to keep you out of trouble, and that’s to-”

I stopped that nonsense. And with great charm, I might add.