Лиза Гарднер - Never Tell - A Novel (A D.D. Warren and Flora Dane Novel)

“Anyone ever threaten her? Try to make a big deal about what happened to her father?” Phil pushed.

“How could they? His cause of death was public knowledge. Tragic, absolutely, but not scandalous. Evie herself had been cleared of all charges. It’s a sad family history, one of those things people are bound to whisper about. But other than that?” The principal shrugged.

D.D. nodded. She wondered what it was like for Evie, trying to move forward with her life while being forever shadowed by such a dark past. The principal was right; thanks to the internet, nothing was secret anymore. And having chosen to go into mathematics, even as a high school teacher, Evie Carter was bound to be connected with her father. Did the fact that no one talked to her directly about his death make things easier or worse?

“What did you know of Conrad Carter?” Phil was asking.

“I didn’t. I met him once or twice at after-school functions. He traveled a lot. Sales, I believe.”

“Any sign of trouble in the marriage?”

“Not that I could see.” Principal Ahearn hastily shook her head.

“But you wouldn’t know, would you?” D.D. pushed. “You respected Evelyn, but you weren’t close to her.”

Apologetic shrug. “I wouldn’t say we had a connection. But I’ll miss her.”

“You’ll miss her.”

“Yes. I got a call, just an hour or two ago, from her mother. She said given the circumstances, Evie wouldn’t be returning to work.”

D.D. arched a brow. “Her mother quit her job for her? And you accepted that?”

The principal flushed. “Well, given the circumstances … At the very least, Evelyn would have to take a leave of absence to handle the legal charges. Then there is the matter of the pregnancy …”

D.D. got it: The principal was happy enough not to deal with either situation.

“Did she have a friend among the staff?” Phil spoke up. “A fellow teacher, mentor, someone?”

The principal had to think about it. “Cathy Maxwell,” she volunteered at last. “She’s one of the science teachers. They often sat together at lunch.”

“And where is she now?” Phil asked.

The principal glanced at her watch. “Given that closing bell is in five minutes, finishing up her lecture.”

• • •

D.D. AND PHIL waited for the students to stream out of the classroom and down the hall. A few of the kids gave them suspicious glances, their gazes going immediately to the gold shields clipped to their belts. Sadly, the presence of two detectives in a Boston public school wasn’t that unusual, so most just moved along.

Which sparked a thought. Why public school? Someone with Evelyn’s background, not to mention parental legacy, could’ve most likely written her ticket to a number of the area’s prestigious private schools. Better hours, better pay.

But Evelyn had chosen public education. Because she wanted to give something back? Or because she hoped it would keep her one step removed from her past? The more elite the school, the better the odds she’d meet someone who hadn’t just Googled her father but had known him personally.

Which led to the next question: Why stay in Boston at all? Her husband was a transplant with a job he could’ve done from anywhere. Why not move to Florida, or the Midwest, or anyplace where the tragic shooting of a famous Harvard prof didn’t still linger in people’s memories? Was she that close to her mother? Because Evelyn wouldn’t even look at the woman in the courthouse. More and more curious.

D.D. didn’t like sitting at her desk in BPD headquarters, but she did like a case where nothing was as it seemed. Meaning she was currently quite happy. Phil, standing beside her, shook his head in exasperation.

Cathy Maxwell was cleaning the dry-erase board when they walked in. The classroom held rows of desks up front and long tables with lab equipment in the back. D.D. recognized Bunsen burners—after that, she gave up. She’d never cared for high school science, though she had no trouble following the latest advancements in forensics. Her educational issues had never had anything to do with her intelligence—more like her inability to sit still for long periods of time. Much to the chagrin of her academic parents, who were content to sit quietly, discuss politely, and ignore their rambunctious only child pointedly.

D.D.’s parents had retired to Florida. They visited once a year. If D.D. was really lucky, she spent their stay working a major case. They were all happier that way.

“Cathy Maxwell?” Phil spoke up. “We’re detectives with the Boston PD. We have some questions regarding Evelyn Carter.”

“Oh dear.” Immediately Cathy stopped wiping. She clutched the dry eraser with both hands, gazing at them blankly. “Is it true she’s not coming back? She really quit?”

“That’s not for us to say,” D.D. stated.

Phil added: “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Okay.” The woman sat at her desk. Stared at them again. Probably around fifty, she was dressed in brown wool slacks and a forest-green sweater. She had long brown hair clipped in a barrette at the back of her neck. Several strands had escaped and were drifting around her face. Between the eraser in her hands, the smudges of ink on her hands and the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she looked very much like a teacher to D.D. But a well-put-together one.

“We understand you and Evelyn were friends?” Phil prodded.

“Evie? Sure. We often lunched together. Two females, one math, one science.” Cathy Maxwell lifted a single shoulder. “You know, anyone will hang with the lit department, but tell someone you teach math or science, and it’s like you’re personally reminding them of every test they ever failed. People have a tendency to be intimidated, without ever giving us a chance.”

Phil nodded sympathetically. He excelled at the good-cop role. Already, Cathy Maxwell was leaning closer to him.

“How long did you know Evie?” Phil asked. D.D. helped herself to a student desk, willed herself into the background.

“Four years. I was already working here when she was hired.”

“And you became friends … immediately?”

“Pretty close. Evie’s quiet. Keeps to herself. Of course, once you learn what happened to her father …” Cathy waited expectantly.

“We know,” Phil assured her.

“She was just sixteen.” The science teacher sounded genuinely empathetic. “To have something that terrible happen, then have to live forever with the guilt. Of course Evie isn’t the most outgoing personality. Who could blame her?”

“Did she ever talk to you about it?” D.D. spoke up.

“Never.” Cathy hesitated. “Though she’d mention her father from time to time. Randomly. Something he once said, a piece of advice he gave. She always sounded admiring. I think she loved him very much.”

Cathy flushed, shrugged slightly. She set down the dry-erase marker. “From time to time, someone at the school would figure out Evie’s role in her father’s death. The whispers would start up again. Evie never said anything. But you could tell it took a toll on her. How could it not?”

“Any one person more vocal than another?”

“No. Evie might not be the warmest person around, but everyone respected her. She’s a great teacher. And she supported her fellow educators. Didn’t have any Harvard airs or anything like that. Academics”—she leaned forward conspiratorially—“can be the worst kind of snobs.”

“What do you know of her husband, Conrad Carter?” Phil asked. “She speak of her home life much?”

“Sure. Their latest house project. And of course, now that they were expecting, she’d speak of the baby. Where would they put the nursery, that sort of thing. She was very excited. At least …” That slight hesitation again. “In the past few weeks, I haven’t spoken to Evie much. She seemed distant, preoccupied. Morning sickness, holiday stress, I don’t know. I didn’t worry about it too much in the beginning; everyone gets busy from time to time. But now, in hindsight … I wonder if there was something on her mind. Maybe something was bothering her.”