A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 9

  The conversation went on to a few other topics. The lunch period was almost over. While Bishop was munching on his carrots, he started thinking about Blake staying at the inn for two weeks. Even with a discount, he would probably spend all of his per diem stipend on food and lodging. He had to wonder why this guy would agree to come down here for just about nothing. Judging by his car and his clothes, money didn’t appear to be a problem. Maybe he really needed the experience to add to his resume. Maybe he thought that if he did well, he would be considered for any future openings. Regardless, it seemed foolish to waste his money that way.

  “Listen, Blake. Staying at the Weary Traveler is going to cost you a bundle even with a discount. Why don’t you stay with me while you’re down here? I live alone, and I’ve got plenty of room.”

  Everett looked stunned. “That’s awfully nice of you, but I really couldn’t impose.”

  “Nonsense. I eat out a lot, but you’re obviously doing that already. I really wouldn’t mind a houseguest, and Max will be thrilled to have a new pal.”

  “Max? I thought you said you lived alone?”

  Bishop laughed. “I do. Max is a Jack Russell terrier that I inherited a while back.”

  “You have a dog?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s a deal breaker. I am terribly allergic to animals, but I do appreciate your offer.”

  “I understand totally.” Just as the three men were getting ready to leave, Ron suddenly said, “Wait a minute! Why don’t you stay with me? I don’t have any pets, and I’ve got a spare bedroom in my apartment.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Ron. I told the owner that I’d be staying for two weeks. I’ll have to check with him first.”

  “Great! Let me know when you find out.” Jennings seemed pleased with the prospect of having a houseguest for a while. He probably felt that it would help him keep his mind off of losing Mary Ellen.

  “I’ll do that.”

  “One more thing,” said Ron before they went their separate ways. “What Mike said about eating out a lot? That goes double for me!” All three had a good laugh at that which was a good thing. There hadn’t been much to laugh about, especially given the events of that morning.

  As he walked back up to his classroom, he smiled and greeted a number of students making their way to their lockers, or to the cafeteria, gym, or next class. He couldn’t escape the thought that at least one of the girls in Everett’s homeroom had spoken harshly about Nick Borelli. He wondered if it had been Liz Atkins … or Ashley Barrington … or someone else.

  Chapter Eleven

  About forty-five minutes after the last bell, Bishop packed up his work for the evening and headed down to Ron’s office. He saw that Ron was alone, looking at his computer so he walked right in.

  “Ready?”

  Ron was so involved in what he was doing that he was a bit startled as he looked up at his friend.

  “Ready for what?”

  “I have an appointment to meet with Mrs. Urbanski in fifteen minutes. I thought that you agreed to come with me.”

  The confusion disappeared from his face as he shut down his computer, hopped up from his chair, and grabbed his sport coat.

  “Whose car are we taking?”

  “I thought that we’d take mine this time,” replied Bishop. Ron’s Nissan Sentra was comparable to his own Toyota Corolla, but taking the Corolla meant that Bishop wouldn’t need to contend with Ron’s penchant for loud country and western music and his tendency to stop at the nearest drive-thru for something to eat or drink.

  On the short drive, they chatted mostly about baseball. Both men followed the Mets rather closely, and they discussed the team’s chances of making the playoffs this year with their young and impressive starting rotation. For the moment, Bishop wanted to avoid talking about all that had happened that morning regarding Mary Ellen.

  Just on time, they arrived at 16 Laurel Ridge. It was a part of town that neither one had occasion to visit very often. As they proceeded down the long stone driveway, Ron took in the expansive well-manicured lawn and flower gardens, and the stunning colonial home with its attached three-stall garage.

  “Some place, huh?”

  “It certainly is. I remember driving around in this area with my wife. She sold a few homes for close to a million bucks, and that was probably ten years ago.”

  Ron just whistled a response. They parked in the circular drive and rang the bell at the stately front door. Mrs. Urbanski was obviously expecting them as she opened the door almost immediately. She greeted them with a warm smile. “You must be Mr. Bishop,” she said as she reached out to shake his hand.

  “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Urbanski. And this is Ron Jennings, Assistant Principal at Holy Trinity. I hope you don’t mind that I asked him to join me this afternoon.”

  “Not at all,” she said as she shook hands with Ron. “Please, come in.”

  The two men followed Mrs. Urbanski as they walked through a spacious hallway and to the left of a spiral staircase. She led them into the family room with its stone fireplace, vaulted ceiling, skylights, and French doors leading to the patio. Two plush cream-colored sofas faced each other with a marble-topped coffee table in between.

  Bishop and Jennings sat at opposite ends of one sofa, and Mrs. Urbanski sat in the middle of the other.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”

  They both declined. “I can only imagine how difficult all of this must be for you, Mrs. Urbanski,” Bishop said as he looked directly at Nick’s mother. She must have been in her early forties, but she could easily have passed for someone much younger. She was wearing a pale yellow cable knit sweater and jeans, both of which accented her well-proportioned figure. Her shoulder-length light brown hair with its blonde highlights was parted to one side and framed her oval-shaped face.

  “First of all,” she smiled, revealing her perfect teeth, “it’s Ms. Urbanski. I went back to my maiden name after my divorce, but Alice works just fine.”

  “Well, Alice, we don’t want to take up too much of your time. I mentioned on the phone that I was interested in looking through the things that were in Nick’s locker.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said as her look became more serious, “but I don’t understand why.”

  Bishop realized that he needed to tread very carefully here. He certainly didn’t want to give the impression that the case was about to be solved.

  “I believe that Lieutenant Hodge informed you that I am assisting him in this investigation in an unofficial capacity, of course. It came to my attention that there may be a note among his school papers that might provide some clue as to why he was killed. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that the note has absolutely no relevance. I made my request to you as a result of my desire to follow every possible lead.”

  “And I appreciate that, I really do,” she responded. “But, as I told the lieutenant, I think he should be focusing on my ex-husband.”

  “Did he ever threaten your son?”

  She paused before answering. “No … not directly, but he did promise to ruin my life,” she said as she fought back tears, “and … ” She stopped mid-sentence to get a tissue from her pocket and dab at her eyes. After taking a moment to compose herself, she continued, “You see, Vic, Nick’s father, can be charming at times, but he also can be … a monster.”

  For Bishop, her choice of words brought to mind the character of Cathy in Steinbeck’s East of Eden. Was it true that only a monster was capable of such a horrific crime?

  “Is that why you moved here?” asked Ron. Bishop was surprised by his question. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of asking that question himself. Usually, when a student transfers into Holy Trinity during the year, there is a reason why. Sometimes, the student’s family moves into the area because of a job offer or a job transfer. Other times, they move because they are running away from something or someone.

  Alice looked directly at Ron as she answered, “Yes. This is my parent
s’ home. They left for their home on Amelia Island shortly after the funeral, but they’ll be back this summer.” Her mind seemed to drift for a moment as she began to gaze out one of the oversized windows that flanked the fireplace. “I don’t know what I’ll do now,” she said softly.

  “Alice, would we be able to look through the contents of Nick’s locker?” His words shook her out of her reverie.

  “Of course. Everything is in his room. It’s upstairs. The second door on the left.”

  “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “No. I haven’t stepped foot in that room yet. My mother spent one afternoon straightening up in there. Please, go on up yourselves. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

  “Thank you. Hopefully, this should only take a few moments,” Bishop said as both men stood to go upstairs.

  ***

  When Ron reached the second floor, he looked down the long hallway at a majestic grandfather clock. He whispered to his companion, “I wonder how many bedrooms there are in this place.”

  Bishop didn’t respond. He was thinking about what Ms. Urbanski had just said. If she believed that her husband was a serious threat, did she really think that moving a hundred miles away would solve her problem? And why would she pull her son out of the Dunhill Academy? That was in Maine. Wouldn’t he have been much safer there?

  Ron stopped in front of the closed door of Nick’s bedroom. Bishop pressed on the handle, and the door opened soundlessly. It was unlike the bedroom of what he imagined of most high school boys in that it was immaculately clean. At the far side of the room, sunlight from four large curved windows flooded a neatly made double bed. To the left stood a large wooden desk and high-backed upholstered office chair.

  A laptop computer sat in the middle of the desk, its lid closed as if protecting whatever information it might contain. Bishop was cognizant of the specific permission that had been granted, and he intended to honor that. He planned to look for that piece of paper in his chemistry notebook, and nothing else.

  Nick’s backpack was on the floor to the right of the desk. The veteran teacher hesitated before picking it up. Just a few weeks earlier, that young man had carried that bag around with him without giving it a thought. Did it now contain the key to solving his mysterious death? Both men knelt on the plush carpet as Bishop undid the buckle and began removing the contents. He examined each item as he placed it on the floor between them, identifying what each was as he did so. After pulling out an assignment pad, a binder with loose-leaf paper, and a couple of notebooks, he let the backpack flop as he announced, “This is it.”

  Nick had printed the word “Chemistry” in large letters diagonally across the dark blue front cover of the spiral notebook. He fanned the pages to see if any loose papers would fall out. Three folded pieces of paper fell to the floor.

  “Bingo!”

  “Not necessarily,” cautioned Bishop as he unfolded the first sheet. It was a quiz on which he had received a grade of 70 with the comment in red pen, “You can do better!” He recognized the careful penmanship of Sister Pascala. After placing that quiz back in the notebook, he flipped open the second sheet.

  “Well?” asked Ron impatiently.

  “It looks like a homework assignment … just a bunch of formulas and definitions.” He passed it to Ron.

  “Or a cheat sheet,” said Ron ominously. “If it had been a homework assignment, he would have put his name on the paper.”

  It was a possibility that Bishop hadn’t considered. As assistant principal, Ron dealt with more instances of that sort of thing than he did. Whatever it was, it wasn’t what he was looking for, and Bishop refolded it and put it back within the pages of the notebook. He stared at the last piece of paper on the floor.

  “Last chance,” he said, verbalizing the obvious. There were only five words scrawled on the page without regard to the lines. I know what you did!! He passed the note to Ron as he replaced everything else in the backpack and stood up.

  Ron jumped to his feet. As if they had been on a treasure-hunt, Ron proclaimed excitedly, “This is it!”

  Bishop didn’t share his friend’s enthusiasm. Finding the note simply proved that Sister Pascala was correct in describing what she witnessed which he had assumed from the beginning. The difficult part remained. What did Dave Cavanaugh know? Why did he pass that note to Nick? Since Nick couldn’t respond in class, had he responded later, and if so, how? Finally, there was the most disturbing question of all. Did this note have anything to do with Nick’s murder that occurred only a few days later?

  ***

  When they returned to the family room, Ms. Urbanski was just coming in from the patio. “It’s lovely out there. Would you care to join me for a glass of wine?

  Before Ron had a chance to accept, Bishop hurriedly said, “No, thank you. That’s a very kind offer, but we really must be going.” He held up the piece of paper and handed it to her. “I did want to show you this.”

  She glanced at it for a second, flipped it over to see if anything was written on the other side. Her face suddenly reddened as she asked, “Do you know what this means?” Her tone was markedly colder than it had been just a moment earlier.

  “No,” Bishop replied, “I was hoping that you might have some idea.”

  “None at all,” she said sharply. “Do you know who wrote this?”

  “I have a good idea, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure of that at this point.”

  “Do you think that this has something to do with Nick’s death?”

  “I honestly don’t have any idea whether it does or not. Lieutenant Hodge asked me to follow up on any possible leads, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  Ms. Urbanski handed the note back to Bishop. She didn’t appear to have any more questions. “Well, we don’t want to take up any more of your time. Would you mind if I kept this note?”

  “No, of course not,” she said as she regained her composure. “There’s no reason for me to keep it. It’s not even his handwriting.”

  The two men thanked her again as she walked them to the front door. Bishop promised to keep her informed of any progress in the case.

  ***

  As soon as Ron buckled in, he pulled out his phone. Bishop figured that he might be hoping to have received a call or a text from Mary Ellen. It was obvious that he hadn’t when he announced that Blake had squared things away with Mr. Proulx, and that he would be staying at Ron’s place starting that night if that was all right. He responded to that message with a few quick taps on his phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

  “That’s good,” Bishop replied as he put the car in gear and headed down the long driveway. He thought that having a houseguest would help Ron keep his mind off of his troubles. “Blake is an interesting guy. I just can’t quite figure out why he would take such a short-term position in a place nowhere close to home.”

  “You don’t think he’s an escapee from a mental institution or a murderer, do you?” Ron’s question was facetious, but clearly there was also a flash of genuine concern regarding the person he had just invited into his home.

  “No, no, nothing like that.” Bishop laughed off the question as absurd. Knowing his friend’s penchant for worrying, he shouldn’t have said anything about Blake. Fortunately, Blake didn’t arrive at Trinity until weeks after the murder. He couldn’t possibly be involved.

  When he reached the end of the driveway, he encountered a silver Lexus with its turn signal on. As the two cars passed each other, Bishop waved at the driver who was wearing dark-rimmed sunglasses and sporting a bow tie. The man hesitated, then minimally returned the greeting.

  “Say, isn’t that the doc who tended to Nick Borelli that night?” asked Ron with a hint of confusion in his voice.

  “You are quite right, my friend.” Bishop realized that he had forgotten to ask either Terry or Sarah what they knew about Dr. Andrews and Ms. Urbanski. His appearance at her home added some urgency for Bishop not to forget again. He recalled th
at Ron had expressed some concern about the doctor’s apparent lack of urgency the night that Nick died. Why was he even at the game that night?

  As he drove back to school so that Ron could pick up his car, Bishop replayed the scene at Alice Urbanski’s home. He had found the note that David Cavanaugh had passed to Nick in Chemistry class. “I know what you did!!” What could he have meant? It probably was totally irrelevant to Nick’s death, but there was only one way to know for sure. He would have a chat with Dave tomorrow. Something else bothered him.

  “Ron, did you notice anything odd about the way Ms. Urbanski reacted when I gave her the note?”

  He thought for a moment before answering. “Now that you mention it, she did seem a bit … I don’t know if this is the right word … defensive … when you asked her if she knew what it meant.”

  “I thought so, too. I have the feeling that she knows more than she wants us to know.”

  Ron replied, “And I have a feeling that you just missed that turn on Madison,” he said as he burst out laughing.

  “Oops! That happens to me all the time, but I usually don’t have any witnesses on board except Max. No harm done. I’ll just …”

  Ron interrupted. “Look! Dairy Delight is open! Let’s stop and get the first real ice cream of the season. My treat.”

  Ron ordered a king-sized banana split, and Bishop a small dish of black cherry. Bishop knew that indulging now would affect his interest in dinner. Ron, he was sure, harbored no such concerns. That man could and would eat whatever he wanted whenever he wanted without worrying about losing his appetite or gaining weight.

  The two didn’t talk much as they dug into their desserts. Bishop thought that Ron might bring up the subject of Mary Ellen, but he didn’t which was just as well. Bishop’s mind drifted to a number of unanswered questions. Was it possible that Ms. Urbanski was correct in describing her ex-husband as a monster? How would David Cavanaugh react when he questioned him about the note that he had found in Nick’s notebook? Who was the girl that had spoken harshly about Nick in Blake’s homeroom? What had Nick done to cause such a strong reaction? And what about Blake, Ron’s houseguest for the next two weeks? Something about his story just didn’t add up.