Maybe Bledsoe had a point, Hayes thought, tossing his pencil onto the desk. It might be best if Bentz dug up Jennifer’s corpse, had a DNA test done, and settled the matter once and for all.
If Jennifer Bentz was buried in that casket, all well and good. And if she wasn’t?
He figured it was nothing short of the damned gates of hell opening.
The school was a long, low brick structure that could have been a county building in the Midwest except for the shady row of royal palms lining the drive. Also, one of the two flags gave the location away. Alongside the stars and stripes of Old Glory waved the flag for the state of California with its field of white and large grizzly bear in the foreground.
Bentz drove slowly past the main doors of the school. He avoided the bus-only lane and passed a long porch designated as the student pickup and drop-off area. On the far side of the drive he located a parking lot marked FACULTY ONLY.
Ignoring the sign, he pulled into an empty spot, cut the engine, and waited. From his vantage point he viewed one long wing of the school and beyond it caught a glimpse of the curved end of a track.
He had a hankering for a smoke. Maybe it because of the butt he’d smoked last night on the beach. Or maybe it was because he was so close to a middle school, where, at twelve, he had coughed his way through his first cigarette.
School was out, the area devoid of any but a few kids with backpacks or skateboards making their way across the adjoining lots and sidewalks.
Bentz figured most of the teachers and administrators were still inside finishing up, making lesson plans for the next day, correcting papers, or whatever it was that teachers did.
In groups of two or three, or even singles, members of the staff filtered out. They were chatting, laughing, rattling keys, and putting on sunglasses. A few looked at him quizzically, probably making note of his license plate and features…a lone guy hanging around near a school.
One prim woman dressed in a red skirt, white shirt, and blue over-blouse seemed ready to accost him. Even her sandals had the patriotic theme down, straps of red, white, and blue surrounding her feet. However instead of confronting him, she gave him an icy glare reserved for the likes of a pedophile, then climbed into her green Honda and roared off. She was adjusting the earbud of her cell phone, ready to make a call. Bentz figured she might be dialing 9-1-1 and the police might show up to question or arrest him at any second.
Have at, he thought watching a scrap of paper kick up in her wake.
Before the cavalry arrived, though, Bentz noticed Tally White emerge through the glass doors. She was walking alongside another teacher and they were engrossed in their conversation. Tally was tall, nearly five-ten, and had put on a few pounds over the years. She’d always been a little too thin, runner-lean, but now curves were evident beneath her peach slacks and matching shell. Her brown hair showed bits of gray and was cut into one of those wedge hairdos, where the back is shorter than the sides.
Her friend was a good five inches shorter than she, a square-bodied black woman whose oversized sunglasses hid half her face. Wild corkscrew curls were untamed by the headband that forced them away from her forehead. The two teachers were laughing and talking, lugging book bags and heading toward cars parked a few spaces from him.
“Showtime,” he told himself as he stepped out of the car and said, “Hi, Tally.”
She looked away from her companion, and upon spying Bentz, nearly tripped.
“Oh, God. Rick?” She wasn’t sure and squinted, as if she needed glasses. “Rick Bentz?”
“Good to see you.”
“But why are you…? I mean I know you called and I should have phoned you back, but I didn’t know you were here, in California.” She glanced nervously around the parking lot, as if looking for an escape route, or that she was afraid someone might see her speaking with him. She visibly squared her shoulders as if ready to take on the world. Or at least Bentz’s part of it. “Wow. I…I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About Jennifer.”
Beneath her tan she seemed to pale and she glanced around the emptying parking lot. A minivan with two men in the front seat slid out the gate. “Here?”
“I’d buy you a cup of coffee. Or a glass of wine?”
“Uh, no…” She suddenly remembered her coworker. “Oh. Sherilou,” Tally said, motioning toward Rick with the fingers of the hand holding onto the book bag. “This is Rick Bentz, an old…the husband of one of my friends. Rick-Sherilou. She and I both teach English.”
Sherilou shifted her purse and books, then shook hands with Bentz. “Glad to meet you,” she said, though it was a patent lie. Her eyes were filled with suspicion and her handshake was weak. Unsure.
“I’d better scoot,” Sherilou said with a false smile at Rick.
“Nice to meet you,” Bentz said as sun glinted off the hood of Tally’s VW.
“You, too.” To Tally, she added, “Look, I’ve got to get going.”
“See you tomorrow,” Tally said and Sherilou hurried off, easing her book bag into the back of a blue Prius before sliding behind the wheel. Tally watched her go, then turned to Bentz and squinted up at him. “How’s Kristi?” she asked. “She and Melody lost touch.”
“Good. Getting married later this year.”
“I’ll pass that along to Melody. She’s married, too. Has a three-year-old and expecting another.” Tally rolled her eyes as she pulled pictures out of her wallet and proudly showed Bentz two snapshots of a towheaded little girl. The smiling imp posed with a stuffed animal, a white rabbit, in front of a blue backdrop.
“Cute,” he said and meant it.
“Yeah. Who would have ever thought of me being a grandma?” She stuffed the wallet back into her purse, but her eyes twinkled. “It’s so weird. I love it.”
“I’ll bet.”
She caught his sober tone and let out a long sigh. “So. Tell me. What do you want to know and why?” As she loaded her book bag and purse into her Volkswagen Beetle, Bentz told her. While the sun lowered and a few straggling kids hurried from the school, he explained everything. Except about the fact that he thought he was actually seeing his dead ex-wife again; he kept that little detail to himself.
She was quiet. Stunned as he passed her the copies of the pictures he’d received as well as a copy of the marred death certificate.
“For the love of St. Peter.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Tally held the photograph of Jennifer sliding into her car up for closer inspection. “It-it can’t be Jennifer,” she said, slightly unsure, squinting up at Bentz for confirmation. “You and I both know that. We were there…at the funeral. She was in the coffin.” The picture in her hands began to tremble as Tally stood at the open door of her car. “I mean, it’s just not possible.” But her voice was faint, a whisper. She cleared her throat; squared her shoulders, took control again. “This woman in the picture, she, um…she’s a dead ringer.”
“It appears.”
“But not Jen.” Tally didn’t sound convinced. “Someone…someone’s playing a game with you. Yeah, I get that, but honestly, I don’t know what you want from me, what I can tell you.” She glanced down at the picture again. Visibly shivered.
“Just anything in the last few weeks of her life that you thought was incongruous. Out of character. Any confidences.”
“Oh, God…this is so weird. Surreal, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know, but is there anything you remember about Jennifer that I might not, anything that happened the week before she died?”
“Oh, Lord, it’s been so long…” She let her voice trail away and he thought for a second she might not answer, but she finally said, “Jennifer was nothing if not incongruous. You know that. One day she was this way, the next, another, and the third something different still. I’m not sure she was happy,” Tally added wincing.