Murder at the PTA Luncheon Read online

  “Careful, I think. The best way to get caught saying something you don’t mean is to keep talking. He made his points and shut up. It’s smart.”

  “You think he has something to hide?”

  “I don’t know. But if he does, we’re going to have a more difficult time finding it out than with someone else. He said all the right things about Mrs. Ick, but he also remembered his job and to protect his teachers in what must have been an emotional, if not hysterical, atmosphere. He doesn’t lose his head easily. That’s all that statement says … Do I turn left here?”

  “No. Right. That’s it. Looks like we have about five miles on Route 78 and then we turn off to Barnes. I hope there’s a sign.”

  “I wonder what Dr. Tyrrell thinks about Julia and Charline?”

  “You think he might not like them or something?” She put down the map. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I get the impression that the PTA presidents are pretty powerful people in the parent group. Remember how Julia Ames got the grant for her daughter’s art teacher? And that table was filled with the teachers of Mrs. Ames’s children.”

  “You think the parents are using their positions on the PTA to help their kids get something the other kids don’t?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but I would love to know what Dr. Tyrrell thinks.”

  “You’re never going to find out if you turn left. Barnes is to the right. That’s it. And then left here. It should be along this street somewhere …”

  “He said it was a small Cape Cod sided with light green aluminum siding. Number 208. That’s it. I’ll just pull into the driveway.”

  “That must be him coming out of the house now. Heavens, he looks like an elementary-school principal.”

  The man coming down the walk to their car did, Brett agreed, look like a school principal: tall, gray-haired, and with a certain academic dignity that was evident although he was wearing a sport shirt and Bermuda shorts rather than a Harris tweed with leather patches on the elbows. It was easy to picture him sitting behind a desk waiting to find out from little Johnny or Freddy or even little Brett just how that ball happened to go through the window of the classroom when everyone knew that there was no ball playing allowed indoors.

  “Detective Fortesque? Detective Somerville? I’m Dr. Tyrrell. Come in, won’t you?” He led them both toward the house. “My wife has left for the party without me, so there’s no one home and we won’t be disturbed. Please come in.”

  “We’re very sorry to have upset your evening, Dr. Tyrrell. We certainly never planned to split up your wife and yourself. If you would like us to come back another time?”

  “Certainly not. We’ve got a serious problem and the sooner it is solved, the better. Now come in and sit down and tell me what I can do for you.”

  Kathleen looked around the book-filled living room with delight. It might not be fancy and someone else might scoff at the lack of pretense, but to her this was charming: deep armchairs, just a little grubby and worn, lots of pillows, needlepointed by hand, footstools, pictures, a lamp and a table at your elbow no matter where you might sit. At the far side of the room in a window alcove, a large loom had been left in the middle of a project. Yarn was piled in baskets around and under the equipment. But the most important thing about the room were the books. Books on shelves, around the walls, and under the windows; books piled on tables and chairs; books even stacked up on the floors. “What a wonderful place,” she exclaimed.

  Dr. Tyrrell’s smile was warm. “The books are mine, but the silk screens on the wall and the loom all belong to my wife. She’s an enthusiastic amateur craftsman. It does make for a nice mixture, I’ve always thought. And it never hurts for a person who deals with things intellectual to be grounded by someone involved in the material. But you’re here about these murders. What can I do for you? Do you have any suspects?”

  “Then you do know about Paula Porter’s death,” Kathleen said.

  “Yes, I was at the Field Club yesterday, in fact.”

  “At the time of the death?”

  “Yes. I didn’t go out near the pool, but of course you’ll have to verify that in your own way.”

  “Do you mind if I ask if you’re a member of the Field Club?” Brett asked.

  “It’s your job to, isn’t it?” responded Dr. Tyrrell.

  “Yes, of course it is,” said Brett, trying to shake himself of the feeling that he was the little boy and this man the authority figure.

  “Well, for your information, I am not a member of the Field Club. School principals aren’t affluent enough for things of that sort. But I was there at the time Mrs. Porter was killed, to answer your question. I had met Martha Hallard for lunch yesterday around noon—at her invitation. We were still talking when Mrs. Porter’s body was found. Naturally, we hurried to the pool area immediately upon hearing the news.”

  “And the reason for the meeting?”

  “The stated reason was because I’m looking for a new house. Oh, we wouldn’t leave here unless it was necessary,” he added, seeing the startled look on Kathleen’s face. “But this is a rental property. We have been very lucky in our landlord and we’ve been here for sixteen years, but the owner died last winter and his heirs are interested in selling. And we’re not interested in buying. I’m going to retire in three years and then we’re moving to Maine. We’ve a home on Deer Isle that we’ll move into. So a rental is what I need. And soon, I might add. There is a buyer with cash in hand waiting to close on the house. The new owners are very considerate and they haven’t been pushing too hard, but I’m sure they will be pleased to see the last of us.”

  “And Mrs. Hallard, being a real estate agent …”

  “Is looking for a home for us. Exactly.”

  “You said that was … I believe you called it … the ‘stated reason’?” Brett pressed on.

  “I’m afraid there were ulterior motives. Not that I don’t need a place to live. I do, and I have complete faith in Mrs. Hallard’s finding something for us. She’s a very efficient person. And she’s a wonderful source. She knows an amazing amount about what is going on in Hancock. And I was looking for information.”

  “About anything in particular?” Brett asked and immediately wished he had asked slightly differently.

  “Of course,” came the decidedly indignant reply. “I was interested in the investigation of Mrs. Ick’s murder. I thought that having the case unsolved in the fall would have a definite effect on my school.”

  “In what way?” Kathleen asked.

  “Firstly, our concern is the children. Mr. Ick and his children Robbie and Sandy have remained in town and will be attending school in the fall. That could be awkward, of course.”

  “Because of what the other kids might say to them?”

  “That, yes, but children are creatures of the moment. A murder that happened three months ago isn’t likely to interest most of them, but there is my staff to consider.”

  “In what way?”

  “It would seem to me that they are all suspects in a murder case.”

  Kathleen and Brett exchanged glances.

  “Well, sir,” Brett began, “I have good news and bad news for you.”

  “Good news and bad news, eh? Now where have I heard that before?”

  Kathleen thought she detected a twinkle in his eye. If so, Brett missed it.

  “Good news first, I always say,” Dr. Tyrrell continued.

  “Well, sir, unless your teachers were at the Field Club yesterday, they’ve pretty much been eliminated from our list of suspects.”

  “You mean that the same person committed both crimes?”

  “We’re not absolutely sure, but it’s a reasonable guess.”

  “Please explain, Detective Fortesque.”

  “The poison, cyanide, that was used to kill Mrs. Ick, was from the same batch as that used to murder Mrs. Porter. You see, our toxicologists tell us that there was an extra ingredient, a contaminatio
n of the pure poisons, in both the stomach of Mrs. Ick and in the packet of cyanide that was masquerading as sugar substitute. It’s not all that unusual to find trace elements of other chemicals in cyanide. It’s not meant for ingestion, after all. Now, it is just possible that two people got the poison from the same place with the same contamination and then proceeded to kill off two different people within the same two months, but …”

  “Of course, it’s very unlikely. So you’re saying that yesterday’s murder of Mrs. Porter eliminated from the list of suspects everyone who was not present in both places. I assume you possess lists of those present at both events?”

  “Yes, and they indicate that none of your teachers was at the Field Club yesterday. Your phys-ed teacher, Mr. Johnson, is employed there in the summer, but he was in New York City at a sports equipment show for the entire day. So, unless someone hid from the police who compiled the names of those present, your faculty is cleared of all suspicion.” As he spoke Brett had a sudden image of Miss Pinksnap, his own third-grade teacher, crouching low in the shower of the ladies’ locker room of the Hancock Field Club.

  “I agree that’s unlikely, but you, of course, must consider all the possibilities,” Dr. Tyrrell urged.

  “But for all practical purposes, we’ve eliminated your teachers from our investigation. Of course, things may change, but for now I think you can stop worrying about them.”

  “That is the good news? And the bad news, I gather, is that you can’t eliminate me from the list of murder suspects. Am I correct?”

  “Yes.” Brett couldn’t think of anything else to add.

  “Well, this will be a novel experience. I’ve never been a suspect in a murder case before. Is that what you want to talk to me about? You want me to make another statement?”

  “Do you have anything to tell us about Paula Porter’s death that you haven’t already?”

  “No, Detective Fortesque, I don’t. As I told you, Mrs. Hallard and I were inside for the afternoon.”

  “Did either of you leave the table? You were there for about … ?”

  “At least three hours, I’d say. And yes, we both left the table, although at different times. Mrs. Hallard went to the ladies’ room between lunch and dessert. I myself went to wash up after the entire meal was over. We did have another cup of coffee somewhat later in the afternoon. But neither of us was gone from the other for more than ten minutes. And that, of course, is time enough to slip poison into someone’s drink. I assume that’s what happened?”

  “Possibly.” Brett saw no reason to elaborate. “The local police are looking into the facts of the crime. They haven’t been here?”

  “No, not yet. Is this all you want?”

  “No, Dr. Tyrrell. We’re hoping you’ll be willing to tell us some more about the PTA and the women in it. Of course, everything will be confidential.”

  “I don’t understand what you want. Are you looking for some sort of personality profile on each woman who was on hand for both murders? Or are you looking for a description of the PTA and its offices?”

  “Well, both,” Kathleen answered.

  “I still don’t understand, but I’d be glad to help you. But this is going to take a while, and if you don’t mind, I’ll call my wife and let her know that she’s going to be the lone representative for the Tyrrell family this evening. The phone is in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  He was barely out of the room when Kathleen slipped out of her chair and went over to Brett, but any idea she had of a hurried conference was squelched as he got up and began to peruse the largest of the bookshelves in the room. Kathleen, not wanting to show any hurt feelings, picked up the closest magazine and feigned an interest in it. Unfortunately she had chosen Early Childhood Education. She was trying to figure out some graphs about math problems when Dr. Tyrrell returned.

  “My wife is having a wonderful time without me, so I thought we might have a little treat without her. I’ve brought tea and brandy.” He placed a tray containing both on the buffet under the bookshelves and turned back to them. “Who would like what?”

  “Brandy,” Brett answered firmly.

  “Brandy, please,” Kathleen echoed. She needed it.

  “Good. Three brandies.” He passed out the snifters and resumed his seat. “You’d better start with the questions because I don’t know how to begin.” He sipped his drink and looked at Kathleen.

  But it was Brett who answered. “Does the PTA help you or cause you trouble, Dr. Tyrrell?”

  “Whew. That’s some question. You did say all answers would be confidential?”

  “Meaning that they cause problems?”

  “All groups cause problems.”

  “But this group more than others?” Brett persisted.

  “This group has raised major amounts of money for my school, Detective Fortesque. They have caused things to happen that have been of great educational importance for our students …”

  “We’re not interested in a press release on the wonderful things the PTA does, Dr. Tyrrell. We need to know how they function and why these particular women have chosen to become involved in this group instead of spending their time on something else.”

  “That’s easy to answer: their children. They’re involved in the PTA because they are interested in getting the best education possible for their children. That’s almost always the reason for the initial commitment.” He paused.

  “And later?”

  “Well, there are always people who feel the need to run for office, not necessarily because they want the responsibility but because of what the office brings with it.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, some people need to be in control, of course. And some people are looking for benefits from the position—for professional contacts or even just acceptance by the ‘in group,’ if I may use a colloquialism.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Voos being elected for a second term?” Brett asked.

  “Oh, you’ve heard about that, have you? I’ll give you credit for having good sources. I thought the women involved were keeping quiet.”

  “We know that there was some discontent, and that Mrs. Porter was chairperson of the nominating committee,” Brett said. “We would appreciate knowing the whole story.”

  “The whole story. Well, I’m not sure that I know the whole story, but I’ll be glad to tell you as much as I do. But not everything gets back to the principal of the school. The PTA is an autonomous body, although they very kindly defer to my judgment about many things.”

  “But about the nominating committee?”

  “Well, first you have to understand that while the nominating committee’s job is to search out the best candidates for each position, in reality they sit and take volunteers for the various offices as well as suggestions from members. For instance, who has some training in accounting for treasurer?—things like that. Some years this works out well. Most years, in fact, groups will get together and decide who wants what job and they will call the chairperson of the committee and then the committee will meet and vote to elect those people to the jobs that they want. Some years it works less well; a few years ago, no one wanted to be president and the nominating committee had to beat the bushes, as it were, to find a person willing to put in the time and effort. The job may be unpaid, but it is hard work and everyone who does it puts in many, many hours. The organization of the PTA is terrific, and in some ways, the president is responsible for everything that happens during her term in office.”

  “But this last year?”

  “This last year, when the time came to set up the committee—that happens at the last meeting of the year—Charline or Julia, and I don’t remember which, asked for volunteers to chair the nominating committee and Paula Porter raised her hand. No one else said anything about wanting that particular job and so she got it. I don’t think anyone thought anything about it at the time. Well, I shouldn’t say that. It is possible that Paula had be
en prompted to volunteer ahead of time …”

  “By whom?”

  “Possibly Charline Voos. She and Paula are—were—good friends. But I don’t know about that. You’ll understand, if you let me finish.”

  “Certainly. Go on.”

  “Well, there were four volunteers for the office of president: Julia Ames, Charline Voos, Ellen Cooper, and Susan Henshaw. They volunteered in pairs: Julia and Charline and Ellen and Susan. So, although it is nice to find such enthusiasm in our parents, the nominating committee had a mess on its hands. I don’t think that Paula expected to find herself in this situation; she came to see me in my office at the school and she seemed honestly confused at the time. And she did what I thought was the sane thing. She got her committee to offer the candidates a compromise: two co-presidents and two co-vice-presidents.”

  “And who was suggested for each office?” Brett asked, looking at the loom.

  “I think Julia Ames and Ellen Cooper were offered president positions and Susan and Charline the VP jobs. By mixing them up, I think the committee thought it was being fair.”

  “But that didn’t suit them?”

  “No, not at all. But you know, there was something interesting. Ellen really wanted the job and I think Susan just went along as a friend. And Ellen absolutely refused to work with Julia. But …”

  “But?” Brett pushed.

  “Well, by insisting that she work only with Susan, it was Ellen who really refused to accept a compromise and thus, in the long run, gave the jobs to Julia and Charline. But that’s not what bothers me.”

  “What does bother you, Dr. Tyrrell?” Kathleen asked, wondering why this could possibly be important.

  “This is just a gut feeling, you understand. But I thought that Julia and Charline wanting a second year in office didn’t make sense. They had had a good year, but nothing spectacular. I didn’t get the feeling that they were having a great time. I honestly don’t know why they would want to be co-presidents again.”

  “Possibly they don’t like anyone having something they don’t have,” Kathleen suggested, thinking that she had summed up the personalities of these women pretty well in that sentence alone.