Ross drove into the staff parking lot just before the first bell on a Wednesday. He saw no point in getting there any earlier. As he strode up the sidewalk to the front door, he noticed a clump of students pointing and looking up. Naturally, he looked up too. The banner (which had started life as a white sheet) hanging between the US flagpole and the state flagpole had blue painted writing; it looked the same as the pictures of the one left for Anne DeWitt, Ross remembered. ROSS DATES DONKEYS, this one read.
Ross had had a few belly laughs about Anne DeWitt’s problem, along with a lot of other people. Now the shoe was definitely on the other foot.
Though the damn kids weren’t supposed to have cell phones, of course some did. Before Ross could confiscate the phones, at least three children had taken pictures and sent them. There was never any way to hide anything now!
In the ensuing week, Ross Montgomery received ten fifty-pound bags of manure, dumped in the schoolyard despite his protests. Ross loathed the Clemson Tigers with a mighty passion, which was no secret. He found stuffed tigers of all descriptions hanging from the trees in his front yard when he got up on Monday morning. One was glued to his front door.
Ross called Anne DeWitt later that day. She was the one person uniquely qualified to sympathize with him, he figured. Ross forgot all the sly remarks he’d made about Anne’s “first husband,” her black bouquet, and the sign over the high school entrance… and of course, the stripper. If he expected Anne to exhibit some collegial feeling, Ross was sorely disappointed.
Not only did Anne DeWitt offer no sympathy, she barely responded to his complaints. “Sorry, Ross. I’m really snowed under today,” she said. “It won’t last forever.” Ross didn’t know if she meant the work or the persecution.
The same police detectives visited Ross, Nedra Crosby and Leland Stroud. They reviewed security footage of the middle school and only discerned a slim person about five foot eight, swaddled in sweat pants, a ski mask, and a hoodie. The person arrived with a step stool and all the other materials needed to hang the banner, and that was that. Quick in and out, no shot of the face. During the tiger-hanging incident, Ross’s neighbors had seen nothing. And the individual who’d paid for the manure had left a note and cash to book the delivery. The note had been signed in a good imitation of Ross’s signature.
The smart-ass remarks and the derision switched from Anne to Ross Montgomery. As all the other school principals in the area realized they could be targeted next, the laughter died down and the worry started up.
After four days, Anne judged the right effect had been achieved.
She’d been gathering information about Lois Krueger, Carrie Ambrose and Melayna Tate, of course, including a look at their employment records. She laid her plans. She would set them in motion the next day, after she attended the funeral of the husband of one of the bus drivers.
Anne was definitely in the mood to tackle a problem. The funeral home director had caught Anne in a corner to urge her to make “pre-need” arrangements.
So Anne requested that Carrie come in to Anne’s office to talk about the lab equipment, which Carrie had complained was inadequate.
Their discussion was short and to the point. Though Carrie was not the brightest teacher at Travis High, she knew her math. Carrie could prove that there wasn’t enough basic equipment to go around, and knew the percent of breakage every year. Anne agreed to find enough money in the budget to bring the lab up to par. It was a cordial meeting. Anne carefully maneuvered the conversation to cover first husbands, dating, and Carrie’s hometown.
“Bowling Green,” Carrie said. “My former husband got a job here, so off we went.” She shrugged. “But I’m not sorry. It’s nice in Travis.”
“You’ve taught in Bowling Green and Travis, nowhere else?” Anne said casually.
“No,” Carrie said. “Seven years altogether, though.”
As Carrie got up to leave, Anne said, “Didn’t you date Holt Halsey?”
Of course Carrie knew that Anne was seeing Holt now; everyone at the school knew that. But Carrie’s expression stayed uninterested. “Oh, for about five minutes,” she said. “I’ve been seeing Mack McCormick for a year now. You know him? The manager at Chili’s?”
Anne was convinced she could strike Carrie Ambrose off the very short list, unless Carrie turned out to be a superlative actor.
That left Lois Krueger or Melayna Tate. Anne had read every word of Lois’s record, and the nurse’s office was close to Anne’s. It was easy to find a chance to talk to Lois, and Anne felt the time was right when Lois came into the office to report a student who’d developed symptoms of what looked horribly like measles. Lois had called the boy’s mother, who’d come to get him to take him straight to the doctor. They’d find out later.
“Good call, Lois,” Anne said.
Lois looked at her doubtfully. “Anne, what else was I going to do? Tell him to go back to class?”
Anne had hit a false note. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m so used to cheering on the kids that it’s leaking over into my conversation with adults.”
Lois relaxed. In a moment, they were laughing together over Ross Montgomery’s takedown.
Anne just couldn’t picture Lois doing everything her persecutor had had to do. For one thing, Lois had a child, a ten-year-old girl. That would make it hard (though not impossible) for Lois to sneak around with secret payments or a stepladder.
If the persecutor wasn’t Carrie or Lois, barring the discovery of some secret, ardent Holt fanatic, Anne was reasonably sure that Melayna Tate was the woman she was after. Anne could think of no justification for calling Melayna to her office. The basketball coach was popular with her talented team, and she was a competent teacher; more than Anne could say for most coaches.
To make absolutely sure she had treed the right raccoon, Anne arranged for her path to cross Melayna’s when they were on outside duty during the senior lunch period. The weather was beautiful, so most of the kids went to the covered picnic table area in the few minutes they had after eating in the cafeteria. Anne wandered over to the coach, who was staring into space.
When Melayna woke from her daydreaming to find Anne was standing beside her, her whole posture altered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Melayna snapped. Obviously, she thought better of her words the minute they left her mouth. She looked away, her jaw hard because her teeth were clenched. Anne knew that body language.
It was something of a revelation to Anne, all the feelings that welled up inside her at that moment of clarity.
“I believe I can go where I like in this school,” Anne said calmly.
After a visible struggle, Melayna regained control. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was off in the clouds somewhere. You startled me.”
“Yes,” Anne said, and moved away at a calculated angle. Anne could see Melayna’s face reflected in a classroom window. It was tense and taut with strong emotion. One of Anne’s instructors had called such an open display of feeling “showing your ass.”
Anne strolled away, suppressing her smile. Objective acquired.
Anne called Melayna Tate’s previous school at a tiny town in South Carolina. She talked to the principal, a cordial man who knew Melayna’s whole extended family. “Melayna’s volunteered to be on the staff counseling service,” Anne said. She’d just made that service up. “We just wondered if she were strong enough?” Anne let the question trail off. “Since she was in therapy herself, she told me,” Anne said, following a hunch.