A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 12

  He was taking a chance in talking about a colleague, but with Blake having only eight more school days, he felt more inclined to share his true feelings.

  “I”ve asked myself that same question a number of times,” Bishop admitted as he reached for his cup of tea. “The kicker is not only is she in education, but also that she is a Sister of the Holy Rosary.”

  “I had nuns in grammar school. I guess they’re no different than any other group. There are good ones, and there are not-so-good ones.” He had barely finished that statement when his face became visibly pale. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the entrance to the restaurant.

  “Don’t turn around,” he warned, “but guess who just walked in.”

  Bishop thought for just a moment. “Is one of them tall and the other short?”

  “Yes, indeed. Let’s get out of here. I’d rather not deal with Sister Pat again today.”

  Bishop got Diane’s attention, indicating that he wanted the check. “Let’s not be too obvious about this. I doubt that she would create a scene in public.” As soon as he made that remark, he had a feeling that he had tempted fate.

  Blake kept glancing in their direction. They were being seated in a completely different section of the restaurant. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess I’m safe now, but I still think we should get out of here.”

  Diane had not returned with the check yet. Bishop said, “I’ll wait for the check. Why don’t you just go if you feel that uncomfortable?”

  “I think I will. Thanks again for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  “What you were saying about school?”

  Blake almost jumped out of his skin as he looked at the source of that question. Sister Pat was blocking his exit from the booth. She was wearing jeans that exaggerated her girth and a maroon crewneck sweater. The expression on her face was anything but friendly. The substitute teacher clearly was intimidated which was probably exactly what she had intended.

  Although she totally ignored Bishop, he greeted her with as much warmth as he could muster. “Hello, Sister. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Are you dining alone?”

  “Of course not!” she snarled. “Sister Ann is in the other room.”

  Blake made a move to get up. “Excuse me, please. I was just about to leave.”

  Sister Pat didn’t budge. “Just a minute, buster. I’ve got something to say to you!” Her tone of voice was becoming increasing hostile.

  Bishop tried to stop her. “Sister, this isn’t a very appropriate place for a discussion. Perhaps you could sit down with Blake sometime tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you could mind your own business,” she snapped sarcastically.

  Bishop said nothing. There was little point in trying to stop her. If she insisted on making a fool of herself, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

  With Blake seated and trapped, she made the most of her rare height advantage. She leaned in over him, wagging her finger in his face.

  “Listen, buster! We’re already getting complaints about you from parents, so you better shape up fast!”

  Blake seemed to have regained his composure as he calmly responded, “If you will give me their names, I would be happy to call them to discuss any concerns that they might have.”

  “Never mind that!” She waved her arms dismissively. “I’ll be watching your classes tomorrow, and they better be good,” she threatened.

  Realizing that two could play her game of intimidation, he said, “Well, Sister, if my teaching isn’t acceptable, I would just as soon go back home tomorrow.” He made an attempt to leave the booth as if he had had the last word in the matter.

  “Quit?” she exploded. “You can’t quit! Who would we get to replace you now?”

  Sister Ann approached the booth. She must have heard her friend bellowing from the next room. She was also wearing jeans, but her crewneck sweater was dark green.

  “What is going on here?” she demanded to know. She looked around the restaurant, clearly worried that someone connected to Holy Family might be witnessing this embarrassing display.

  Before either of the participants in the confrontation could respond, Bishop volunteered a response.

  “It appears that Sister Pat doesn’t approve of the way that Blake is conducting his classes, so he just offered to resign effective immediately.”

  “What?” She kept her voice at a reasonable level. She looked directly at Blake. “You will do no such thing. You signed on for two weeks, and you will stay for two weeks.” She turned to leave. “Come on, Pat. We haven’t even ordered yet.”

  After they left, Blake asked Bishop, “Am I dreaming or did that really just happen?”

  Bishop tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “Sister Pat is known to be a bit gruff.”

  “Gruff? She’s nothing but a bully, and the principal seems to be an enabler.”

  Bishop couldn’t have phrased it any better, and the fact that he did not attempt to defend the administrators suggested his agreement.

  The two men left the restaurant and walked to their cars. Before Blake opened the door of his Sorento, he said, “I’ll bet that she made that stuff up about parents complaining.”

  “I bet you’re right,” said Bishop with a laugh as he unlocked his Corolla.

  As he drove home, Bishop realized that Blake was a pretty sharp guy since he had caught on to Sister Pat’s act so quickly. He also realized that although he had just spent a couple of hours with him, he really didn’t know much more about him than he did when he met him on Monday morning at the copy machine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He arrived at school early the next day as he always did. As the morning fog burned away, he knew that a warm afternoon would follow. He wondered whether or not today would be the day that the truth surrounding the circumstances of Nick Borelli’s murder would also become clear.

  He hoped that David Cavanaugh would be in attendance so that he could query him regarding the meaning of that note he passed to Nick. Perhaps he would also have a chance to talk with Liz Atkins regarding her overtly negative comments about Nick. Perhaps Hodge would discover evidence that Nick’s father was involved. He did, after all, appear to have a motive however twisted it might seem to others. But did he have the opportunity? And then there was Red Wagner. Was he telling the truth when he said that his grandson had filled the water bottles, or was he using the boy to deflect attention from himself? Hodge had asked him to talk to Bobby, but he hadn’t arranged to do that yet. He doubted that the boy was involved, or that he would have any information that would be helpful.

  Bishop walked into the building realizing that the murderer might not be any of those currently under scrutiny. If that were true, someone was on the verge of literally getting away with murder.

  “I haven’t seen that sorry excuse of a substitute come in yet. I do hope he’s not afraid to show up today.” Sister Pat chortled with satisfaction. She was obviously gloating at the prospect of having driven him away without considering any of the consequences. If she had better mobility, he thought she might actually start a victory dance right in the hallway.

  “I haven’t seen him either,” he admitted, adding to her satisfied expression. He paused momentarily, before adding, “But that is his Kia Sorento in the faculty parking lot.”

  “What?” she cried out as she looked in that direction.

  Blake obviously had had the good sense to arrive before she had a chance to ambush him again as she had done at the restaurant.

  As Bishop walked away, he thought that this was the beginning of what might turn out to be a very good day.

  ***

  When Bishop walked into the faculty lunchroom, he found Ron and Blake seated at the same table as they had been since the sub’s arrival on Monday. After heating up his leftover chicken parm in the microwave, he sat down at their table. He had a question for each of them.

  “How was dinner with Mary Ellen last night?”

  Ron
was working on a hot dog smothered with mustard and relish and a rapidly dwindling batch of French fries. “Hmm,” he said with his mouthful. “Perfect!” he added after swallowing.

  “I’m glad that you two are back together.” Bishop knew that he had been in a few relationships that ended badly. Mary Ellen seemed like a nice young lady.

  “She wanted me to ask you if you would be available for dinner at Christy’s this Friday night. As you recall,” he said confidentially, “she was a bit tied up with school business last time.”

  Never one to miss an opportunity to avoid having to cook for himself, he accepted immediately. “That sounds great!”

  “And she insisted that it’s her treat,” Ron added.

  “Even better!” said Bishop with a laugh. He did wish, however, that Ron had not made the invitation in front of Blake. Ron must have sensed that awkwardness since he turned to him and asked, “What are you doing this Friday night?”

  “Nothing special.”

  “Why don’t you join us? I’m sure that Mary Ellen won’t mind.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  With that settled, Ron dug into his second hot dog. He glanced around the room to see who was there. In between bites, he commented, “I hear that you guys had an interesting dinner last night.”

  Bishop and Blake laughed at the same time.

  “If you call witnessing your fellow administrator harass this poor guy in public ‘interesting’, then yes, it was indeed,” replied Bishop. Turning to Blake, he said in a mock-serious tone, “You know, Sister Pat was very disappointed that you entered the building before she had taken up her position as keeper of the gate. I imagine that she had rehearsed a special greeting for you.”

  “I had the same thought. That’s why I arrived early,” he grinned.

  “She didn’t barge in on any of your classes this morning, did she?” He hadn’t heard of any new incident, and since news of that sort travels like a wildfire in a gusty wind, he was fairly confident of the answer.

  “No, thank God, but I did notice her lurking in the hall outside of my room.”

  Ron had finished his second hot dog and was using the last few fries to mop up the ketchup remaining on his tray. “Don’t thank God. Thank Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  Bishop and Blake both gave Ron a quizzical look.

  “What do you mean?” asked Blake.

  “I had a call this morning from Mayor Fitzgerald. He’s the father of the boy she pulled out of your class yesterday.” He lowered his voice to make sure that no one else would hear him. “He wants Sister Pat to apologize to his son … in front of all of the students in that class.”

  “She’ll never do that,” said Bishop dismissively.

  “You’re probably right, but if she doesn’t, the mayor is threatening to pull his son out of school.”

  Bishop hated the thought of siding with Sister Pat, but that type of ultimatum was ridiculous. “Sounds as if you have two adults acting like children at the expense of the boy.”

  “I agree,” responded Blake as he got up to leave. “At least I’m not directly involved in that one,” he said with a sigh of relief.

  After Blake left, Ron confided to Bishop. “Blake’s a great guy.”

  “Sister Pat has put his feet to the coals, but he’s responded like a veteran.”

  “We had some time to talk after he got home from dinner last night. He had quite a few questions about Trinity.”

  “Really? What sort of questions?”

  “I don’t know. Different things. I answered them honestly. What the heck? He’ll be gone in another week.”

  As the two men prepared to leave the lunchroom, Bishop asked, “Did you have a chance to ask him some questions?”

  “Come to think of it, not really. He seemed more focused on me and Mary Ellen and stuff about school. I do remember one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “His wife’s name is Brenda.”

  ***

  As he waited for his first afternoon class to arrive, Bishop thought back to his first skirmish with Sister Patricia Meehan many years ago. She was somewhat slimmer then, but no less combative. Shortly after she had arrived at Holy Trinity, Bishop noticed that she seemed to pass by his classroom door quite frequently. Even the students recognized that she was lurking in the hallway. When they asked him why she was doing that, he told them that since she was new to the school, she was probably just trying to familiarize herself with what went on in the various classrooms.

  He remembered that members of the faculty questioned among themselves the reason for her appointment as an assistant principal. It had quickly become obvious that she had no specific duties and no discernible skills. What she did have going for her was her strong friendship with the principal who seized upon the chance to bring her friend to Trinity by creating a new position and not bothering to seek out any qualified candidates.

  One day, she accosted him in the hall.

  “Listen, Bishop. I’ve noticed that there is very little student participation in your classes. Better shape up, buster.” Bishop was always open to suggestions on how to become a better teacher. However, this sounded more like a threat than a helpful suggestion. In fact, most of his students participated fully. He had made it a priority to try to hear from each student at least once in every class discussion even when the class sizes sometimes exceeded thirty students. He had been so stunned by her unprofessional approach that he said nothing.

  The next time that he noticed Sister Pat spying on his class, he quickly rushed to the door and invited her in. She had no choice but to accept. When she saw that all of the seats were occupied, she whined, “Well, where am I going to sit? You don’t expect me to stand in the back of the room, do you?”

  “Of course not, Sister.” He was always on his feet when teaching unless he was conducting a seminar, so he offered her his chair. She grabbed the swivel rocker by the headrest and proceeded to push it between two rows of desks. “Coming through! Watch out!” she barked as she barreled down the aisle, banging into desks, knocking over books, and barely missing some elbows that hadn’t been tucked in fast enough.

  When she reached the back wall, she plunked herself down, and made a motion with her hands for Bishop to get back to teaching. He had been discussing excerpts from John Milton’s Paradise Lost. When he asked the first question, the hand of every single student shot up in the air. Several additional questions yielded the same result. At that point, by pushing down on the armrests, Sister launched herself out of the chair and left the room without saying a word. Bishop thanked her for stopping by. He noticed that her face was flushed, either from the physical exertion or from anger.

  Knowing that Sister Pat would make an appearance sooner or later, he had asked the students to raise their hands for every question he asked during her visit. They were more than happy to serve as co-conspirators in his scheme since the new assistant principal had quickly alienated herself from the students. One of the young men voiced a concern, however.

  “What if I raise my hand when I don’t know the answer, and you call on me?”

  “Not to worry,” urged Bishop. “If you know the answer, raise your right hand, and if you don’t know the answer, raise your left hand.”

  “What if we’re not sure whether we know the answer or not?” asked another concerned student.

  “In that case, raise both hands!”

  His strategy had worked to perfection. Once she left, he gave the students a thumbs-up signal and continued the lesson.

  Sister Pat never raised the issue of class participation again. He had sent the message early on that he would not be intimidated, but he had also placed himself at the top of her list of troublemakers.

  ***

  The final bell of the day meant that everyone was one day closer to spring break. Students had begun to chatter about their plans for vacation … Myrtle Beach, Daytona, Cancun … among others. Bishop hadn’t made any plans to get away. With each day
that passed, he felt that the chances of finding Nick Borelli’s killer diminished. Lieutenant Hodge hadn’t had any more luck than he had. They needed some sort of a break in the case, and soon.

  Just then, someone knocked on his open classroom door. He looked up to see David Cavanaugh standing there. He had forgotten that he had asked Terry that he wanted to see him if he was in school today. Fortunately, Terry had not forgotten.

  “Did you want to see me, Mr. Bishop?”

  “Yes, I did. Please, come in and have a seat,” he said as he gestured to one of the desks near his own.

  Dave placed his backpack on the floor and sat down. Bishop got up from behind his big wooden desk, swung one of the other desks around, and smiled as he spoke.

  “Thanks for stopping by. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “About what?” Dave asked somewhat apprehensively.

  “As I’m sure you are aware, I’m helping Lieutenant Hodge in the investigation of Nick’s death … unofficially, of course.”

  The mere mention of his friend’s name caused him obvious discomfort.

  “Why talk to me?” he asked defensively. His entire face seemed to tighten.

  It was exactly the type of response that he didn’t want. Dave would never cooperate if he felt threatened. He tried to diffuse the tension by saying, “I understand that this is a difficult topic for you. I was very impressed with your tribute to Nick at the memorial service, and I know that many others were as well.”

  His anxiety somewhat abated, he replied, “Thank you. But I still don’t understand what questions you expect me to answer. I don’t know who did that to Nick.”

  “I’m sure that you don’t,” Bishop responded quickly, “or you would have spoken to the authorities.”

  Dave said nothing as he obviously agreed with Bishop’s assessment.

  Bishop leaned forward as he spoke. “The question I have for you probably has nothing to do with Nick’s death, but it’s just one of those little details that I’d like to clear up with your help.”