“So did I,” said the man at the end of the table. He came around and offered his hand to Wendy’s mom. “I’m Detective Mendez from the sheriff’s office.”
“Sara Morgan.”
“And you’d be Wendy,” he said, offering his hand to her.
Impressed, Wendy shook it. He was very cute. He looked a little like Magnum P.I. with the dark hair and the mustache-only he was shorter, and he probably didn’t drive a red Ferrari or live on a fabulous estate. And he was wearing a coat and tie instead of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. That was the difference between being a TV star and working in Oak Knoll, she supposed.
“I’m the detective assigned to investigate the case,” he explained as he motioned for everyone to take a seat. “So one of the first things I need to do is ask you and your friends some questions about what happened in the park yesterday. There’s nothing for you to be worried about. You’re not in any trouble.”
“I didn’t do anything to be in trouble for,” Wendy said, taking the chair nearest to the detective at the head of the table. She straightened her acid-washed denim skirt and matching jean jacket, wanting to look appropriately grown-up and hip. Copying the style from a picture of Madonna in a magazine, she had pulled half her thick wavy hair up into a ponytail on top of her head.
“Dennis touched her,” she said. “He should be in trouble for that, right? Touching a dead person. Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“That depends,” the detective said.
“It was all Dennis’s fault,” Wendy said. “If he wasn’t such a psycho and hadn’t been chasing us, we never would have cut through the woods.”
Detective Mendez stopped her to turn on his tape recorder and announce who was in the room.
“Did you see anyone else in the woods, Wendy?” he asked.
“No.”
“No one around the area where the body was?”
“No people, but there was a dog. He came out of the bushes and it was like he was guarding her or something.”
“What kind of a dog?”
“The scary kind with big teeth and beady eyes. You know.”
“A pit bull?”
“Maybe. But he didn’t attack us,” she hastened to add. “He just growled like he was telling us to stay away from the lady. Dennis said maybe the dog killed her and buried her like a bone, but that’s stupid-right?”
Her mother spoke up then. “She tells me that they didn’t touch the dog-”
“We didn’t!” Wendy insisted, mortified that her mother would bring this up again. Who cared if they touched the stupid dog?
“So it was just the three of you that found the body.”
“Four. Me and Tommy, and Dennis and Cody.”
“Cody was there too?” Miss Navarre asked.
“Who’s Cody?” the detective asked.
“Cody Roache,” Miss Navarre said. “I thought of him last night. He’s usually wherever Dennis Farman is, but he wasn’t in the park when I got there.”
“Because he screamed like a baby and ran away,” Wendy said with a certain amount of disgust. “The deputies came because of him.”
The detective looked at Miss Navarre. “I’ll need to speak to him as well.”
“Have you found out who the woman was?” Wendy’s mother asked.
“Not yet.”
“This is so awful. Nothing like this ever happens here.”
“The dog knows who she is,” Wendy said.
“Wendy,” her mother said impatiently, “enough about the dog.”
Mendez held his hand up to stop her talking, but his eyes were on Wendy.
“Did the dog have a collar on?”
Wendy shrugged. “I don’t remember. He had big teeth. I remember that.”
“What color was the dog?”
“White with big black splotches.” She turned and gave her mother her best so-there look, then turned back to the detective. “He was black all around one eye and ear.”
Detective Mendez scribbled that all down in his notebook. Obviously, these were very important clues.
“Could this really be important?” Wendy’s mother asked.
“If we can find the dog, and the dog has tags, maybe the dog belonged to the victim and we can find out who she was through the registration with the city,” Detective Mendez explained. “It’s probably a long shot, but you never know.”
“You’ve been a big help, Wendy,” Miss Navarre said. “It’s a good thing you’re so observant.”
“Thank you, Miss Navarre,” Wendy said, beaming. Detective Mendez reached out his hand to her again. “Thanks, Wendy. If you remember anything else, you can have your mother or Miss Navarre call me.”
Wendy had never felt quite so important. This was just like being in a Nancy Drew mystery. Maybe she would write this story herself and become famous. Maybe Tommy would want to be in on it with her. Now that the idea had come to her, she couldn’t wait to ask him.
Miss Navarre led the way out the side door to the dark, quiet hall, a place that called for whispers.
“I’m still not sure what we’re going to do about counseling,” her mother whispered to Miss Navarre.
Wendy intervened. “Mom, I’m fine. I saw a dead person. I’m not warped for life.”
“No, I am,” her mother said. “Maybe I’m the one that needs counseling.”
“Everyone is shaken up,” Miss Navarre said. “But if Wendy feels all right to come back to class, then that’s probably what she should do.”
“Yeah, Mom, don’t make such a big deal.”
Miss Navarre turned to her then. “It is a big deal, Wendy. So if you’re in class and find yourself suddenly feeling scared or upset, you have to promise you’ll tell me right away.”
“I will. I promise,” Wendy said and looked up eagerly at her mother, who was clearly not convinced.
“I’ll keep a close eye on her,” Miss Navarre promised.
“All right,” Wendy’s mother said grudgingly. She looked down at Wendy, worried. “But you do exactly what Miss Navarre just told you, and under no circumstances are you to walk home. I will be here to pick you up.”
So much for revisiting the scene of the crime so she could make notes about the setting for her story, Wendy thought. Oh well. It wasn’t like she was ever going to forget what had happened.
That was for sure.
She couldn’t wait to talk to Tommy.
10
Jane Thomas always began her day in the garden. This was her quiet time to think and reflect. Working in the garden was her version of meditation and the closest she would ever come to actually stilling her always-busy mind.
Even though she had gotten in late, driving up from LA after a long day of meetings, she had still managed to rise before most of Oak Knoll. The sky was that perfect electric blue of fall, the temperature comfortably in the low seventies. She made her way along the row, deadheading roses while Violet, her black pug, patrolled for mice among the overgrown patch of purple cone flowers.
Jane loved her home in Oak Knoll. She had purchased the 1928 Spanish hacienda-style house nearly five years before, after she had divorced her husband and Los Angeles. Oak Knoll had always attracted her with its interesting mix of people and small-town feel. The college gave it the sophistication of academia and the vibrancy of youth. Its proximity to Santa Barbara and to the northern parts of the LA sprawl made it a doable commute for young professionals with young families, promising a future. All of Oak Knoll’s attributes made it a desirable place for retirees with money, bringing affluence and support for the arts.
The college boasted a well-respected music program that attracted talented musicians and singers, both as students and teachers. Every summer Oak Knoll was home to a renowned festival of classical music.
Even though Jane still kept a condo in LA, Oak Knoll was her true home and the Oak Knoll Thomas Center for Women was her focus.
The Oak Knoll center was a scaled-down version of the original Thomas Center in Los Angeles. The centers, brainchild of Jane and her two sisters and started with money from the Thomas family philanthropic trust, were places for women to reinvent themselves.