Murder at the PTA by Laura Alden Read Free Book Online

shrugged, shorthand for He’s just this guy I met half an hour ago. Sure, he’s gorgeous, but he’s probably a jerk, and I’m not ready to date anybody, anyway.
    Flossie nodded. “Tell me about the meeting last night. Dan Daniels stopped by for milk early this morning, and he looked ready to take on the whole school board. And when Kirk Olsen came in for doughnuts, I had the phone in my hand in case of a stroke. His face was that red.”
    Dan was CeeCee’s husband. He was a nurse at Sunny Rest Assisted Living and worked the afternoon shift, so he rarely made meetings, but clearly his wife had passed on the news. Too bad. Dan was one of those people who changed personality in and out of the workplace. As a nurse, he was caring and considerate and kindness itself. As a PTA member, he fought against any idea he hadn’t conceived himself.
    And Kirk Olsen had certainly been busy. Kirk was often out of his office on errands unrelated to his insurance business, and it was a mystery to all how he managed to keep his company afloat.
    “It’s an Agnes Project,” I said sadly.
    “Oh, great, merciful heavens,” Flossie said. “Is there any chance for us? Is there any chance for Agnes?”
    We laughed, Evan looked politely puzzled, and we ordered our meals.
     
    “I had macaroni and cheese for lunch,” Jenna announced. “I could eat mac and cheese every day and not get tired of it.”
    “What did you have, Oliver?” I started the car and backed down Marina’s driveway. In the rearview mirror I saw his small form slide into a slouch.
    “Hamburger,” he muttered.
    “Was it good?”
    “No. It was gross.”
    Jenna and I exchanged looks. Oliver loved hamburgers. “Did you tell Mrs. Krenz you don’t like mustard?” I asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “Did it come without mustard?”
    “Yeah.” He slouched so low that I couldn’t see him any longer.
    “Then what was wrong with it?”
    “Nothing.”
    Jenna rolled her eyes. “So why was it gross?”
    “It just was.” He sounded three steps away from tears.
    “What’s the matter, Oliver?” I asked softly. “Is Toby Stillson picking on the little kids again?” There was nothing but silence from the backseat. “Did you have a spelling test?”
    “No.”
    At least he was talking. “What is it, Ollster?”
    Either the pet name got to him, or he was ready to crack, anyway. “They wouldn’t let us play!” Tones of outrage rounded out every vowel.
    I looked at Jenna. She shrugged.
    “Who wouldn’t let you play?” I asked.
    “It’s the place we always play every single recess, and they wouldn’t let us!”
    They? I immediately had a picture of a cabal of fifth graders standing shoulder to shoulder, forcing Oliver and his friends to slink away. “Did you tell your teacher?”
    “Yes!” he shouted. “She said they were right and we couldn’t play there again. Ever.”
    This didn’t make sense. “Who?”
    “The men.”
    Trying to get a story out of this kid was like sweeping sand with a bad broom. “What men?”
    “I don’t know. They were mean. They had hammers and colored hats and big papers.” He stretched his hands wide.
    My foot moved from gas pedal to brake. “Show me.”
     
    Five minutes later, Oliver was trudging across the playground. “See? Robert and I always play marbles there. And now we can’t.” His lower lip trembled and I pulled him close.
    The back side of Tarver Elementary was similar to many primary schools, with swing sets and slides and dirt packed hard by hordes of children. But tonight there was something new—a small forest of fresh wood stakes. Bright pink plastic tape fluttered from the tops of waist-high strips of wood, cryptic handwritten lettering marking each one. Things like “10’ off NE B Cor,” and “12” WM,” and “10’ off SW B Cor.” The pink ribbons flapped noisily in a sudden north wind, and I shivered.
    “Mommy?” Oliver pressed against me. “Can you fix it?”
    Oh, how I wanted to say yes. Oh, how I