For Your Own Good Page 13

  When he began working on his plan to save Courtney, he was forced to rethink the method. Trying to put something in the coffee after it was brewed seemed impossible. No way to do that without getting caught. He also couldn’t put it in the sweetener, the sugar, or the milk without potentially affecting the wrong person.

  A real conundrum. A puzzle. And Teddy likes puzzles. Good ones, at least. Not the kind that insult his intelligence.

  He let this float around in his head for a few days, dismissing one idea after another. Either they were too risky or they were imprecise. None worked for what he needed.

  One morning, while making his usual sandwich for lunch, it hit him. Lunch.

  It was so obvious, he laughed.

  Faculty members put their lunches in the refrigerator located in the teachers’ lounge. While there had been a few instances over the years of people eating each other’s food, it hadn’t happened in a while.

  Once he’d heard Sonia was called as a witness for the prosecution, the plan came together like it was meant to be. She had been talking about losing weight and had started bringing salad for lunch.

  So perfect. So easy.

  At first, anyway. Then he remembered he had cleared his yard. Teddy had nothing to work with. No doll’s-eyes plant or berries. And it was winter.

  He also had no time to grow anything, so he had to get creative. Walking around trying to find the plant was useless while everything was covered in snow. He started visiting nurseries, asking about flowers and herbs and vegetables. It might be winter, but he said he was planning for spring.

  “Smart,” one of the nursery employees said. “Most people wait until spring, and they’ve got no plan at all.”

  “Oh, I’ve always been a planner,” Teddy said.

  He walked around the nurseries, pointing out plants he already knew about, testing the employees to see how much they knew. That was just for fun, though. Something to keep himself occupied as he searched for the plant he needed.

  In the midst of all those meaningless conversations, he’d managed to locate what he needed and break off a few sprigs of doll’s-eyes. They disappeared into his pocket fast, like he was a magician.

  He’d made sure to buy plenty of seeds to make up for that indiscretion. Including tulips, Allison’s favorite. Maybe he’ll even plant them. In the spring, the entire backyard could be a field of tulips. She would love that.

  But first, the doll’s-eyes.

  Back at home, Teddy had filled a syringe with the juice from the berries. Far more than what he’d used in the coffee. Ten times more, to be exact, and more than enough to kill an adult. But he had berries left over for another round or two, just in case it didn’t work the first time.

  If anyone else had been arrested, he never would’ve gone to so much trouble. But this was Courtney. Not only did he kill her mother—an accident, albeit a horrible one—but Ingrid Ross was, at least in part, responsible for his Teacher of the Year award. He owed her. And since she was dead, he owed her daughter.

  During third period today, his free period, Teddy had gone up to the lounge. Someone was there, but it didn’t matter. He opened the refrigerator and pretended to rummage around for his own lunch, all while holding a conversation about the weather. It only took a second to plunge the syringe through Sonia’s plastic container, empty it into her salad, and shake it up.

  A few hours later, she was dead.

  Too bad there wasn’t an award for that.

  39

  THE MEMORIAL SERVICE at Belmont is huge. It’s held outdoors, on the football field, and it looks like the whole school has shown up. Maybe the whole town. Luckily it’s an unseasonably warm day so nobody will freeze to death.

  Teddy stands in the bleachers with the rest of the faculty, wondering if this many people would show up for him. Then again, it’s not like Sonia is around to see this. Hard to enjoy the turnout when you’re dead.

  “This is lovely,” Louella says. She’s dressed in head-to-toe black, including lots of black beads around her neck. “I’m so happy to see everyone here celebrating Sonia’s life.” The art teacher thinks everything should be a celebration.

  “I thought this was to mourn her death,” Teddy says.

  Louella’s burgundy-tinted lips morph into a scowl.

  Frank shakes his head, saying nothing. He hasn’t looked well since finding Sonia, but that’s not Teddy’s fault. Just bad luck for Frank.

  Down on the stage below, Sonia’s husband is talking. Teddy has met him several times at school functions over the years. He’s the type of man who fills the room—because he’s big, both tall and wide, and because he’s a prominent professor. Sonia may have been the one with the money, but she definitely married up.

  When he’s done blubbering through his speech, the headmaster takes over. He is a calm force in a sea of emotion. The way a leader should be.

  Not like the old headmaster, the one who killed himself.

  Teddy can’t help but sigh out loud when he thinks of that sniveling little pip-squeak. He truly was a pip-squeak, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to hang himself in a room with such low ceilings.

  “Are you bored?”

  It’s Nari. She’s wearing a hat with a veil, like this is a funeral, and her straight black hair is in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are obscured by the lace, but Teddy can still feel the daggers.

  “No, I’m not bored. I’m frustrated by all these deaths at Belmont.” He is careful not to say murders instead of deaths. Another day or two, and everyone will know. That’s how long it took with Ingrid, and Sonia had so much more poison in her system.

  “This is horrible,” Frank says. “It’s all so horrible.”

  “Death is a part of life,” Louella says.

  “Shh,” Nari says.

  “We should pray,” Frank says. His voice sounds raspy, like he can barely get the words out.

  No one answers him.

  Teddy looks out across the field, toward the full parking lot. So many expensive cars. A lot of parents have shown up in the middle of a workday, like they have nowhere else to be. The amount of money here just in clothes, jewelry, and handbags must be in the millions. Not to mention the wristwatches. The only acceptable jewelry for a man is a wedding ring and a wristwatch. Teddy always checks out both.

  It’s too bad he doesn’t have binoculars. Bet there are some extraordinary watches here today.

  The headmaster introduces the school band, which is set to play “one of Sonia’s favorite songs.” The band bleats out a pathetic rendition of “Lean on Me.”

  When the crowd starts to sing along, Teddy excuses himself.

  Behind the football field is the school’s state-of-the-art concession stand, which even has an app to let people know how long the line will take. Today, the stand is closed. The only people around are a few parents who just had to use their phones.

  One of them is James Ward.

  Teddy can smell him from ten feet away. The stench of entitlement is that strong.

  James sees him while he’s still on the phone, and he holds up his finger, as if telling Teddy to wait. He does. Not because James told him to, but because he wants to know what James is going to say.

  “Teddy,” James says, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’d say nice to see you again, but under these circumstances it seems inappropriate.”

  Teddy nods.

  “It’s unbelievable, really,” James says. “Two deaths in just a few months.”

  “Yes. It’s so tragic.”

  James looks at him, his head slightly cocked to the side. “And they still have no idea what happened to her, do they?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “How odd.”

  Teddy doesn’t answer that.

  “I never thanked you, by the way,” James
says. “For giving Zach a chance to improve his grade on that paper.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s unfortunate his final grade wasn’t better.”

  Teddy almost smiles. Zach was never going to get anything better than an A-minus in his class. Never. “Yes. Very unfortunate,” he says.

  They are interrupted by Pamela, Zach’s mom, who is dressed in a dark suit. Going back to work soon, perhaps.

  “I wondered where you were,” she says. “I thought you were still on the phone.” Pamela turns to Teddy. She’s wearing the same plum-colored lipstick he saw before, in the school parking lot. “Mr. Crutcher, nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you, even at a time like this.”

  “Yes, well,” she says. “There’s been too much tragedy around this school, hasn’t there?”

  “We were just talking about it,” James says, glancing down at his phone.

  “Well,” Teddy says. “At least there hasn’t been a school shooting. I guess there’s that.”

  The silence that follows is long and uncomfortable, and Teddy enjoys every second of it.

  “I hope we see you again soon under more pleasant circumstances,” Pamela finally says.

  Teddy watches them leave. The Wards walk in step together, Pamela’s high heels making her almost the same height as James. They really are a handsome couple. It’s unfortunate they’re such horrible people.

  As Teddy starts to walk away, he catches a glimpse of someone. The profile of a girl as she passes by.

  No, not a girl. A woman. Dark hair, pert nose, ruby lips.

  He shakes his head, laughing at himself. Because it can’t be her.

  * * *

  ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH the memorial service, it hits Zach. Up until Mrs. B’s husband starts talking about her, he hadn’t felt much of anything about her death. Like he didn’t believe it was real.

  Now he does, and the sadness is bigger and heavier than he’d expected. Mrs. B was a nice woman, a good teacher, and she was young. Not even forty. Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t fair. Just like it wasn’t fair that Courtney was sitting in jail right now.

  Too much. It’s all too much.

  Enough to make Zach leave the memorial before it ends. Any place would be better, including the hospital.

  Zach drives straight there and walks in through the emergency room door. It smells the same, even looks the same, as far as he can tell. The last time he was here was when he broke his arm two years ago.

  The ER is nothing like it is on TV. There are no gurneys rushing by with bleeding patients being wheeled into surgery. No one is screaming for a crash cart, and not a single person says “Stat.” The only one in the waiting area is an older woman who is watching a talk show while knitting.

  Zach smiles and waves to the receptionist, and he keeps walking, right into the hall where the patients are. The receptionist doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stop him. Not surprising. Being white and clean-cut gets Zach into a lot of places.

  And out of them, if need be.

  He wanders down the hall, past drawn curtains and swinging doors, glancing around at everything. A woman asks if she can help him.

  “Oh,” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “A friend of mine texted me and said he was here. I’m just trying to find him.”

  “Go to the desk and give them his name,” she says. She’s a stern-looking woman, the kind who would make a scary teacher. “They can help you.”

  “Thanks.” Another smile.

  She walks away, and he doubles back, making another loop around the emergency area. It’s not that big in a town this size. Not too many emergencies around here.

  Finally, he finds her.

  She looks exactly as he remembers. Same curly hair, all tied up in an unruly mess. Same rosy cheeks. Even the same pinkish lips. A sweet woman. She took good care of him until his parents arrived.

  And she’s not pregnant, or at least she doesn’t look it. Maybe those fertility treatments aren’t working.

  “Aren’t you . . . ?” he says, stepping toward her. “You were here when I broke my arm. I remember, you’re the one who wrapped it.”

  She blinks at him. “Oh, I . . . Wait, wait. Yes, I remember. Zeke?”

  “Zach,” he says. “Zach Ward.”

  “Close.” She smiles at him. He remembers she smiles a lot. “I’m Allison Crutcher.”

  Perfect. “Crutcher? Wait, you aren’t . . . ? Sorry. I mean, I have a teacher named Crutcher. Over at Belmont.”

  The change in her face is instantaneous. Smile gone, eyes dull. Like he had just brought up someone who was dead. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her hand flies to her mouth, as if she didn’t mean to say that. “Oh, that sounded terrible, didn’t it?”

  “Um . . . sort of.”

  “I apologize. Your teacher is my ex-husband.”

  Zach is so surprised, he isn’t sure what to say. “Oh.”

  “Well, almost-ex-husband. Close enough,” she says.

  Zach nods. “Okay.”

  She laughs a little. “Sorry. I’m boring you with my personal life. How are you? Are you sick, or . . . ?”

  “Oh no. It’s not me. I was just here visiting someone.” Even as he talks, his mind spins. Talking to Allison isn’t going to help him at all.

  “It was nice to see you again,” Allison says to him. “Hope your friend will be okay.”

  “Thanks. So do I.”

  He walks away, looping around and exiting through a different door. Zach no longer thinks about getting on Crutcher’s good side.

  He thinks about the wedding ring Crutcher still wears.

  And he thinks about yesterday, when he overheard Crutcher talking to another teacher about Sonia’s memorial. He said his wife couldn’t make it because she had to work.

  Zach also thinks about another one of his father’s favorite sayings.

  Knowledge isn’t just powerful; it’s valuable. Know when to use it and when to shut up.

  40

  WHEN FRANK GETS to school the next morning, something is different. More reporters are out front. A lot more. Which doesn’t make any sense, because the trial still hasn’t started. They haven’t even picked out the jury yet. But as soon as he starts driving through the gate, everything becomes clear.

  The police. They’re everywhere. Cars all over the parking lot.

  Frank stops right in front of the security guard.

  “Little crazy here this morning, eh?” the guard says.

  “Yeah. Just a little.” All these police. They must be here for him.

  No one to blame but himself, and he deserves it. He deserves everything, including having to watch Sonia die. A punishment for killing Ingrid. It’s all connected. Always is. Always has been.

  God makes sure of that.

  “Everything okay, Mr. Maxwell?” the guard says.

  “No,” Frank says, shaking his head. Whatever is coming next, he’s not ready for it. “I just realized I forgot something at home.”

  He backs up into the street and drives away.

  * * *

  IF TEDDY HAD to describe the detective in three words, it would be old, tired, and worn-out. Like a used couch.

  Bates is his name, though his first name is not Norman. Unfortunate, because that would’ve made everything perfect.

  They are sitting in the Windsor Room. Normally, it’s used for the headmaster’s meetings, but today it’s used for questioning. Bates has a notebook and a sad little pencil, chewed at the end. One by one, he wants to speak with every staff and faculty member of Belmont.

  Everyone, Teddy assumes, who had access to the refrigerator in the lounge. No doubt they’ve found the salad bowl right now. Teddy didn’t even try to get hold of that, and for good reason. He’d wanted them to find it.

  �
�Do you remember seeing Sonia Benjamin the day she died?” Bates says.

  “I saw her every day at some point, either in the lounge or the hallways. Sometimes the parking lot.”

  “But on that day,” Bates says. He sighs as he speaks, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Do you remember seeing her? Talking to her?”

  “I’m sure I said hello, at the very least. A lot of the teachers have been in the Porter Room recently—they’ve set up a TV in there, because of the upcoming trial—but I ate lunch at my desk. I’ve been trying to avoid the media coverage. It’s all a bit much.”

  Bates nods. He has a bulbous nose and wears thick reading glasses. “So you didn’t see her eating lunch?”

  “Oh, well, I’ve certainly seen her eat lunch many times. But that day, no. I ate alone,” Teddy says.

  The detective writes that down. “Would you say you and Sonia were close?”

  “We were colleagues, and we worked together a long time. But if you’re asking if we socialized outside of school, then no. Sonia and I were never that close.”

  “You’re Teacher of the Year, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “I bet people are jealous. Your coworkers, I mean.”

  Teddy takes a deep breath. “It’s an honor to work at Belmont. This is one of the most competitive schools in the Northeast, not only for the students, but also the teachers. I think everyone is just happy to work here.”

  Bates chuckles. His breath smells like coffee. “That’s interesting. I’ve never been in a place where everyone is happy to work.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for every single person here. But overall, yes,” Teddy says. “Teachers are very happy to work here.”

  “Can you think of anyone who didn’t like Sonia?”

  “Wait,” Teddy says, leaning forward in his chair. He’s been waiting for this question. “Are you thinking that someone killed Sonia? Right here at school?”