Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"As headmaster, I'll take charge of those documents."

"Down in front!" a fan, oblivious to the drama, yelled at them.

"Without me you won't be headmaster for long." Little Mim clipped her words, then smiled at the deputy as she changed course. "Come on, Cynthia. You're absolutely right. We should do this together."

As they hauled off the cartons, the announcer blared over the loudspeaker, "We are happy to announce that St. Elizabeth's own Sean Hallahan has regained consciousness, and we know all your prayers have helped."

A huge cheer went up from the stands.

66

After the game, won by St. Elizabeth's, Jody, who'd played brilliantly, drove alone to the University of Virginia Hospital.

Sean, removed to a private room, no longer had a guard since Kendrick had confessed. His father was sitting with him when Jody, wearing a visitor's pass, lightly knocked on the door.

"May I come in?"

Sean turned his head toward her, stared blankly for a moment, then focused. "Sure."

"Hello, Mr. Hallahan."

"Hello, Jody. I'm sorry this is such a troubling time for you."

"It can't be as bad as what you're going through." She walked over to Sean. "Hey."

"Hey." He turned his head to address his father. "Dad, could we be alone?"

In that moment Mr. Hallahan knew Jody was the girl in question, for his wife had told him Sean's words during his first, brief moment of lucidity when Cynthia Cooper was on guard.

"I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

When he had left, Jody leaned over, kissing Sean on the cheek. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

"I was stupid. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I told you—well, the news—when I was pissed off at you and the world."

"I'll marry you if you like," he gallantly offered.

"No. Sean, I was angry because you were paying attention to Karen. I wanted to hurt you."

"You mean you aren't pregnant?" His eyes brightened.

"No, I am."

"Oh." He dropped his head back on the pillow. "Jody, you can't face this alone. Lying here has given me a lot of time to think."

"Do you love Karen?"

"No. I haven't even gone out with her."

"But you want to."

He drew a long breath. "Yeah. But that was then. This is now."

"Will you walk again?"

"Yes." He spoke with determination. "The doctors say I'll never play football again . . . but they don't know me. I don't care what it takes. I will."

"Everyone's back at school. My dad confessed to the murders."

"Mom told me." He didn't know what to say. "I wish I could be at Homecoming."

"Team won't be worth squat without you."

"Paul Briscoe will do okay. He's just a sophomore, but he'll be good."

"Do you hate me?" Her eyes, misty, implored him.

"No. I hate myself."

"Did you tell anyone—"

"Of course not."

"Don't."

"What are you going to do?"

"Get rid of it."

He breathed hard, remaining quiet for a long time. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Sean, the truth is—I'm not ready to be a mother. You're not ready to be a father, either, and besides—it may not be yours."

"But you said—"

"I wanted to hurt you. It may be yours and it may not. So just forget it. Forget everything. My dad's in jail. Just remember—my dad's in jail."

"Why would he kill Mr. Fletcher and Mr. McKinchie?"

"I don't know."

His pain medication was wearing off. Sweat beaded on Sean's forehead. "We were having such a good time." He pushed the button for the nurse. "Jody, I need a shot."

"I'll go. Don't worry. You're sure you didn't tell anyone anything?"

"I didn't."

"I'll see you later." She passed Mr. Hallahan, who walked back into Sean's room the minute she left.

"She's the one."

"No." Grimacing, Sean pleaded, "Dad, get the nurse, will you? I really hurt."

67

That same night Cynthia Cooper and Little Mim sifted through papers at Little Mim's beautiful cottage on her mother's vast estate.

"Why do you think April finally changed her mind?" Little Mim said.

"Had to be that she heard about Roscoe's affair with Irene," Coop answered. "Her hero suddenly had feet of clay."

The minutes from the various committee meetings provided no surprises.

Roscoe's record book containing handwritten notes made after informal meetings or calls on possible donors did pack some punch.

After a meeting with Kendrick Miller, Roscoe had scrawled, "Discussed women's athletics, especially a new training room for the girls. Whirlpool bath. Won't give a penny. Cheap bastard."

On Father Michael's long prayers during assembly: "A simple 'Bless us, dear Lord' would suffice." After a particularly bruising staff meeting where a small but well-organized contingent opposed athletic expansion and a film department, he wrote concerning Sandy Brashiers, "Judas."

As Little Mim occasionally read pungent passages aloud, Cynthia, using a pocket calculator, went through the accounting books.

"I had no idea it cost so much money to run St. E's." She double-checked the figures.

"What hurts most is maintenance. The older buildings suck up money.

"Guess they were built before insulation."

"Old Main was put up in 1834."

Cynthia picked up the last book, a green clothbound book, longer than it was wide. She opened it to the figures page without checking the front. As she merrily clicked in numbers, she hummed. "Do you remember what cost five thousand dollars the first week of September? It says 'W.T.' " She pointed to the ledger.

"Doesn't ring a bell."

Cynthia punched in more numbers.

"Hey, here's a good one." Little Mim laughed, reading out loud. " 'Big Mim suggested I butter up Darla McKinchie and get her to pry money out of Kendrick. I told her Darla has no interest in St. Elizabeth's, in her husband's career and, as best I can tell, no affection for the state of Virginia . She replied, "How common!"

Little Mim shook her head. "Leave it to Mother. She can't ever let me have something for myself. I'm on the board, she isn't."

"She's trying to help."

Marilyn's hazel eyes clouded. "Help? My mother wants to run every committee, organization, potential campaign. She's indefatigable."

"What cost forty-one thousand dollars?"

Little Mim put down Roscoe's record book to look at the ledger. "Forty-one thousand dollars October twenty-eighth. Roscoe was dead by then." She grabbed the ledger, flipping back to the front. "Slush fund. What the hell is this?"

Coop couldn't believe she'd heard Little Mini swear. "I suppose most organizations have a kitty, although this is quite a large one."

"I'll say." Little Mini glanced over the incoming sums. "We'll get to the bottom of this." She reached for the phone, punching numbers as she exhaled loudly. "April, it's Marilyn Sanburne." She pressed the "speaker" button so that Coop could hear as well.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Actually, I am," came the curt reply. "Roscoe's record book is priceless. What is this green ledger?"

"I have no idea."

"April, don't expect me to believe you. Why else would you remove these papers and accounting books? You must have known about the slush fund."

"First of all, given everyone's temper these days, a public reading of Roscoe's record book is not a good idea. Second, I have no idea what the slush fund was. Roscoe never once mentioned it to me. I found that book in his desk."

"Could Maury have started giving St. Elizabeth's an endowment?"

"Without fanfare? He was going to give, all right, but we were going to have to kiss his ass in Macy's window."

Little Mim bit her lip. "April, I've misjudged you."

"Is that a formal apology?" April asked. Yes.

"I accept."

"Sandy Brashiers couldn't have handled this," Little Mim admit ted.