Murder at the PTA Read Online Free Page A

asked.
    “Just tell me what that woman is trying to do to our school this time.”
    I gave her a summary, then said, “I’ll send out minutes tonight. Is your e-mail address still debra at rynwood dot com?”
    She ignored my attempt to slide away from the subject of Agnes. “She’s trying to railroad us into this addition.”
    “Well—”
    “Anonymous donor, my aunt Fanny. We have a right to know who’s putting up the money. What if it’s some kind of drug lord? We don’t want dirty cash in our school.”
    “I suppose you’re—”
    “And how can that woman bypass getting a taxpayer vote? I don’t care where the money is coming from. The parents of Tarver Elementary should be at the table for this issue.”
    Her voice was stern but not strident. She was being assertive but not aggressive. The perfect balance. So of course I couldn’t help myself. “It would be nice to have a bigger library.”
    Debra’s expertly made-up eyes thinned. “You’re in favor of this?”
    I shrugged. “There are positives.”
    “That’s not the point. None of her plans has had public approval. She can’t just forge ahead making decisions without a consensus. This is the United States.” She stood tall in her outrage. “This is Madison!”
    It was Rynwood, five miles away from the hotbed of liberalism in Madison, but I didn’t say so.
    “I’ll be at the next PTA meeting,” Debra said, “and I intend to speak up.” Her blond hair bounced like something out of a television commercial as she strode outside and down the sidewalk to the bank where she was a vice president. The bells hanging on the door had barely stopped jangling when CeeCee Daniels came in. “Can you believe that woman?” she asked.
    “Debra?” Maybe if I paid seventy-five dollars for a haircut, my hair would bounce like that. Not that I was ever likely to find out.
    “No, Agnes! She’s shoving that project down our throats. She can’t do this!” CeeCee put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. I had a premonition about the rest of my day. Tarver parent after Tarver parent would march into my store, ask about last night’s meeting, complain about Agnes, and leave without buying anything. If I were more like Debra, I’d tell people I had a business to run and could they please contact me after hours. But I was Beth Kennedy, and I’d been raised to be a Nice Girl.
    “How can she do this without taxpayer approval?” CeeCee’s face was turning pink. “It’s our school, not hers!”
    I nodded sympathetically and prepared myself for a long, long day.
     
    The only customer who didn’t complain about Agnes was Randy Jarvis. Randy was one of the few male members of the PTA. He was also the committee treasurer. Why, no one seemed to know. Randy owned a gas station and convenience store two blocks away from the Children’s Bookshelf, and I spotted him parking his SUV in front of the store. He heaved his three-hundred-pound bulk down from the driver’s seat, and I opened the front door for him.
    “Afternoon, Randy. How are you?”
    “Middlin’, middlin’. I was passing by, so I decided to stop and chat instead of calling.” The short walk from vehicle to store interior had him out of breath.
    “Have a seat.” I pushed a chair out from behind the counter.
    “Hot out there,” he huffed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his temples as he sat. From his shirt pocket he withdrew a handkerchief, which he used and replaced. He smoothed his flyaway white hair with sweat-damp hands. “Winter can’t come fast enough. Nothing like a nice cold blast from Canada to set things right.”
    The bell jingled and I nodded at a customer. “What can I do for you, Randy? If you’re after the meeting minutes, I’m going to mass e-mail them tonight.”
    “Fine, fine.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves. “Good to have them out before Monday.”
    “Why?”
    “Erica is calling a special meeting. Monday at seven o’clock.