Carrie Weaver - Four Little Problems

“Yes, Mr. Stevens, we’ll help.” Kat spoke for both of them as she often did.

“Good.” He handed them each a banana-oat muffin, wishing it was a four-course hot breakfast. Their parents were immigrants, both working sixteen-hour days to make ends meet. Sometimes, he suspected there wasn’t enough food in the house.

Patrick sipped his hot cocoa, wondering if the kids thought it strange they didn’t go inside where it was warm. But they never asked, so he was spared explaining that it wasn’t prudent for a teacher to show a special interest in a child behind closed doors. He could understand the practical reasons, but it still saddened him.

Instead, they sat, shivering, right in front of the school, where they were appropriately supervised by anyone who might drive or walk by.

“I read…the book,” Ari said. His speech was a bit slow because of cerebral palsy, but his mind was sharp. He’d been mainstreamed several years back and had done fine. Of course, he also had his own personal guardian angel in the form of Kat.

“What did you think of the book, Ari?”

“Dolphins are smart and nice,” he enunciated slowly.

“Yes, they’re good animals. There are lots of true stories of dolphins keeping humans from drowning.” Funny, how he could say the word drowning without even flinching. Progress perhaps?

Ari’s eyes were bright with excitement. “I…will…swim with the dolphins. At Sea World.”

The thought made Patrick’s stomach churn.

“Sure, we’ll see the dolphins. I think you can even pet them from a boat.”

“No.” His reply was emphatic. “Swim.”

Anything but that.

For the first time he could remember, Patrick ignored Ari. “What about you, Kat, did you read the book?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to see the dolphins and penguins?”

She hesitated, as if afraid to believe in something that would turn out to be a fairy tale. “I’ll go if Ari goes.”

“Good. You guys worked really hard at the car wash.”

There was no way in hell he’d allow this trip to die. He’d promised all the sixth-graders, but most importantly, he’d promised Ari and Kat.

Emily Patterson would just have to do the right thing.

EMILY SIGHED when she hung up the phone, eyeing her overflowing In basket. Now she knew why it was mostly stay-at-home moms who were PTO presidents. She was in the unenviable position of having to ask to leave early two days in a row.

She found her boss in her office. “Olivia, the principal from the school called and wants to meet with me.”

Olivia gave her a pitying look. She probably assumed it was about Jason again.

Emily’s conscience twinged, but she didn’t correct her. She didn’t want her job jeopardized because of her PTO position.

Fortunately, Olivia was understanding. “Voice mail can pick up the phones. And you said you’d work through your lunch hour tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will. Thanks a bunch, Olivia.”

Her boss nodded. “Go.”

Emily grabbed her purse, forwarded the phones and left in a matter of minutes. She was breathless when she reached Principal Ross’s office, following Patrick through the door.

“Good, you’re both here,” the principal said. “Please close the door.”

Emily’s heart sank.

“Please, sit.” The woman sat behind her desk and nodded toward two chairs.

Patrick pulled out one of the chairs slightly and gestured for her to sit down.

His courtesy flustered her.

But she sat.

And so did he, in the chair next to her. They were practically knee-to-knee in the small office.

Principal Ross cleared her throat. “What I have to say is rather difficult. I expect it to stay in this room. Not to be repeated to anyone.”

“Of course,” Patrick said.

“Yes, of course,” Emily murmured, aware that she’d probably already shared too much with Nancy. But Nancy was discreet and wouldn’t repeat the information.

“I spent several hours at the bank today. The PTO account was in complete disarray. But the gist is, there’s only a few dollars left.”

Patrick stiffened. “There’s got to be some mistake.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no mistake. The branch manager checked and rechecked the figures while I was there. I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to contact the police.”

“Do you have any idea where the money went?” Emily asked.

Marilyn Ross’s mouth turned down at the corners. For a moment, Emily was afraid she might cry.

“I guess I can go ahead and tell you. There were several sizeable cash withdrawals made over the past three months. During the time that Tiffany Bigelow was sole signatory.”

Patrick swore under his breath.

Emily silently agreed.

“So I’m in the unenviable position of heaping more grief on the Bigelow family.”

“What effect will this have on the Sea World trip and all the other requests for PTO assistance?” Emily asked.

“The account is frozen. Tiffany had been very excited about a spectacular new connection she’d made for a fund-raising activity, but she didn’t share the details. I’m afraid I was distracted by…other priorities and didn’t give it the attention I should have.”

“Tiffany always took notes.” Patrick leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking she might have files on her home computer.”

“The thought crossed my mind, too. But the police will be involved very soon and I don’t think we’ll be in a position to ask favors from Tiffany’s husband. I sincerely doubt he’ll let us anywhere near her computer.”

Patrick hesitated, glancing at his watch. “It’s late. Surely, you don’t intend to call the police tonight.”

The principal sighed. “No, to be honest I just want to go home and have a glass of wine. This has been one heck of a day.”

“Since there’s nothing more we can do today, why don’t we sleep on it and maybe there will be an obvious solution tomorrow morning?” Patrick’s face was bland, innocent.

But Emily could almost feel electricity rolling off him. He might have sincere hazel eyes, but he was up to something.

“Yes. Let’s call it a day. I’ll update both of you within the next day or so. Remember, this goes no further than this room.”

Emily murmured agreement, aware of Patrick’s hand on her elbow as they left the office.

“Can I talk to you outside?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear.

“Of course.” Of course…she should run like hell. Because the reliable Mr. Stevens was putting out some decidedly dangerous vibes.

“Where’s your car?” he asked as they left the building.

She nodded in the direction of her minivan. “Over there.”

He was silent as they walked to her car.

Emily punched the button on her keyless entry tag. The lock opened, but she hesitated.

Patrick’s gaze was intent. “I need to ask you to do something for me.”

With some men, she would have figured he was propositioning her. The ones who hadn’t figured out that, although she enjoyed an off-color joke and liked to pretend she was worldly-wise, she kept her sex life toward the nonexistent end of the spectrum. She’d learned the consequences of loving too soon, too easily.

But she suspected Patrick had something else in mind. And that intrigued her.

“What?”

“I need access to Tiffany’s computer.”

“You heard Principal Ross. There’s no way we’ll get near that computer.”

“There’s one way. We go tonight, together, and ask Brad Bigelow. We tell him we’re very sorry to bother him, but we need Tiffany’s PTO files.”

“I’m not going to pester her family while they’re grieving.”

Patrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It is kind of ghoulish. But we’ll be very tactful, very respectful. And we might discover some simple answer for the missing money. We could end up saving her family more grief.”