Mayhem, Murder and the PTA Page 9

  Parker paused, reflecting on the moment. Her chest became warm. “When Maddy was around five years old, Kurt caught her fiddling on our piano – and something sparked inside him. The fire returned to his eyes. He started teaching her, and she picked it up really quick. The two of them were thick as thieves. Working with Maddy for years scratched a pretty big itch for Kurt, but he needed more. He missed that thrill of performing in front of a roomful of jazz lovers in a smoky downtown Chicago club. So, we talked about it and agreed that he should start playing professionally again – do a show now and then on the weekends. He was so excited, he started practicing with his old trio on the weeknights after I got home from work. He was in love with music all over again. He was alive, really alive, for the first time in years.”

  Bernstein smiled. “So why did your husband stop teaching Maddy?”

  Parker sighed. “His first night back at performing was at a club called the Blue Note. He’d been practicing for weeks to be ready for it. God, he was so nervous. He wondered if he still had what it took. A part of me wondered if he was going to back out. He said he would be more nervous in the beginning if I was there, watching. So, he asked me to come later. That way his nerves could settle. Funny. He wasn’t worried about impressing a club full of people – just me. So, I agreed to show up late. Which, honestly, isn’t too big of a stretch for me.”

  Parker exhaled out of her mouth. “So, I sent him off to go play the set. Took my time getting a dolled up. Waited for the sitter to arrive. Even stopped by work to check on things. I got to the club around midnight and caught the last hour of the set. From where I was sitting, I could only see three players. A bassist. A guitarist. A singer. And there, in the way back, was the upright piano. But I couldn’t see Kurt. He wasn’t there.

  “I texted him. And texted him. Annnnnd texted him. But there was no reply. And I thought, maybe, his nerves did get the best of him. Maybe he was hiding in the back somewhere, I didn’t know. When the set finished, I approached his band. They asked me where Kurt was. He never showed up to the gig.”

  “Cold feet?”

  Parker’s mind flashed to the morgue. “No.” Her eyes welled up. “He was hit by a drunk driver on the interstate hours before. He never made it to the club. I’d get the call hours later.”

  Bernstein swallowed. “I’m so – sorry.”

  Parker took another deep breath. “Yeah.”

  The two of them sat across each other in silence for a good minute, oblivious to the action of the diner around them.

  Parker cleared her throat. “My point is this – Kurt felt incomplete without performing. It was his life’s blood. It’s what made him whole. My daughter, Maddy, shares this with him. And I think, maybe you share it too, Mr. Bernstein. I think teaching and music are your life’s blood. I’m offering you an opportunity to keep it pumping.”

  Bernstein sighed. “Well, maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all,” he said as he tapped his coffee cup. “Maybe we could try it until I found another teaching position.”

  Parker’s eyes flashed. She was struck with a brilliant idea. “Another one? What if I got you your old one back?”

  Bernstein slowly sat up. “Excuse me?”

  “You say it’s all about money, right? Budget concerns?”

  “I’m most certain about it.”

  “What if I could raise the money to cover your salary? Save the whole music program?” Parker sat back in her seat. Oh, fuck, I am good! “How much money are we talking about? What’s your annual salary?”

  Bernstein sheepishly gave her the number.

  Parker’s eyes bulged. She couldn’t believe teachers lived off such a number. “Are you butt-fucking me?” she blurted out, grabbing the attention of all the diner’s patrons. Parker waved them off. “Don’t get excited people! I say that kind of shit all the time!”

  “No,” Bernstein answered. “I’m not—” he blushed. “Doing the thing you were implying.”

  “Well, shit!” said Parker anxiously. She clapped her hands together. “This is going to be easier than I thought!”

  Bernstein looked hopeful. “You really think you can raise that kind of money?”

  Parker found herself nodding. “I’m sure as hell gonna try. I mean, come on. How hard can it be?”

  22.

  “I’m here to see Principal Mendez,”

  Parker demanded later that morning to the Oak Creek Elementary receptionist.

  The Silver Fox, as Parker had named the receptionist upon their first meeting, slowly swiveled on her chair to perfectly direct her eye daggers at Parker.

  “No,” answered Parker pre-emptively. “I do not have an appointment. Yes, I did just watch Principal Mendez enter the building, so I know she is present. No, that’s technically not stalking. And hell no, I do not want to speak with the Vice Principal instead. I want the top banana.”

  Silver Fox swallowed before answering – a strategy Parker recognized when people wanted to buy time to formulate an answer that sounded helpful but would ultimately prove not to be. “And what is the purpose of this meeting?” asked Fox.

  Parker had only one shot to get Mendez’s attention. “Tell her I found a way to bridge the negative gap in Oak Creek Elementary’s operating income for the coming fiscal year without having to sacrifice headcount.” Yup. I know financial terms, bitch.

  Silver Fox took a moment to process what she’d just heard, then slowly reached for the phone on her desk.

  Parker leaned in. “Please be sure to use those exact words.”

  Much to the Silver Fox’s dismay, Parker’s gambit worked. Parker was soon granted permission to enter Mendez’s office.

  Principal Mendez sat at her desk, hammering ferociously at her laptop’s keypad. Her head turned back and forth from hand written notes to her screen. She didn’t bother to look up as Parker entered. “Ms. Monroe,” greeted Mendez with the minimal amount of inflection one could put into vocalizing a sentence. “I found your attempt at financial jargon most amusing.”

  “I like your top,” replied Parker. “Did you raid my closet?”

  Mendez’s fingers suddenly froze along with the clatter of her keyboard. She looked up with a confused expression, just as Parker had hoped.

  “We’re wearing the same top,” Parker explained with a chuckle. Again. And you look way hotter in it than I do, but whatever, Mendez. Youth fades.

  “I see,” Mendez tried smiling. “Why are you here, Ms. Monroe?”

  “I want to put together a fundraiser for the school and bring back the music program.”

  Mendez closed her laptop. She tapped on it with her perfectly manicured nails. “No,” she answered.

  “No?” Parker scrunched her face. Seriously? “No? And why not?”

  “Say you succeeded.”

  “Yeah, that would be the plan.”

  “Say you raised the funds for this year.”

  “Still the plan.”

  “What about next year?”

  Parker resisted the urge to throw up her hands. Instead she calmly answered, “We make the fundraiser an annual thing.”

  Mendez leaned forward and kneaded her hands together. “That’s quite a commitment. We already have fundraisers in the Fall and the Spring. We can only hold out our hands so many times before parents get annoyed, Ms. Monroe.”

  “Then we engage sponsors. And besides, parents and students won’t get annoyed. They’ll want the music back. They’ll want Bernstein back.” assured Parker.

  “Bernstein?” asked Mendez. “You spoke with him?”

  “I happen to know he’s available.” Parker nearly shot at Mendez with a wink and a finger gun, but considering her prior offense decided against it.

  “Uh huh,” answered Mendez. She buzzed the Silver Fox. “Pam, can you get me Vice Principal Heller, please?”

  Fuck. “Why are you bringing her into this?”

  “She needs to make this decision.”

  Parker’s blood began to boil. “But you are t
he principal. You’re her boss.”

  Mendez leaned back in her chair. “It was on Heller’s recommendation that I terminate the music program.”

  Parker’s eyes narrowed. Bernstein told me that Heller was a supporter of the arts. Why would she choose to end the program? Parker wanted to poke at Mendez more on the issue, but the office door suddenly swung open. Vice Principal Heller stood in the doorway, alarmed to see Parker in the office.

  Heller straightened the cuffs of her suit. “You called for me?” asked Heller.

  “Yes,” Mendez extended her hand to invite Heller in. “You are, of course, familiar with Ms. Monroe.”

  “Of course,” Heller’s answer dripped with utter disdain.

  “Parker has offered to create a fundraiser to bring back the school’s music program,” explained Mendez. She eyed Heller carefully. “Along with Mr. Bernstein.”

  Heller swallowed. “That’s very -- thoughtful of Ms. Monroe.”

  Parker folded her arms. What the hell is going on right now?

  Mendez went on. “I explained to Ms. Monroe that you were the one who decided to end the music program.” The comment almost sounded like an accusation and invited a lengthy stare from Heller. “I think it’s only fitting that you decide whether we should proceed with the effort to bring it back.”

  Sensing blood, Parker jumped in with an innocent smile. “Mrs. Heller, Mr. Bernstein mentioned you started the music program. He praised you as a great supporter of the arts.”

  Heller’s eyes flashed. “You – spoke, with Mr. Bernstein? After I explicitly told you to stay out of the matter?”

  Mendez turned to Parker.

  Parker stood her ground. Nice try. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” I also don’t give a flying fuck if I did. “I’m simply trying to help this school get its music program back. I’ll do all the work. I’ll raise all the money. You won’t have to lift a finger. It’s important to me. I thought music was important to you too.” Unless there is something going on here that you’re not telling me. Or you hate me as much as I hate you. Come on, Heller. Dance with me.

  “Of course, it is important to me,” said Heller breathlessly.

  “Then help me bring it back.”

  Heller’s jaw dropped. She shot Mendez an incredulous look but was unable to formulate any words. After an awkward silence, she finally pushed some out. “Putting on a fundraiser is far more complicated than you think, Ms. Monroe. There are permits, school and district by-laws to consider, parental approvals, petitions and of course –” Heller finally smiled as the idea came to her. “the PTA.”

  “Sure. The PTA. Of course.”

  Heller was practically smacking her lips now. “You’ll need to get approval from them first. They’ll want assurance you aren’t competing with their other fundraisers.”

  You’re going to throw as many barriers at me as you possibly can aren’t you, Heller? Parker kept her eye on the prize. “So, you’re essentially saying, if I get the PTA to sign off on this fundraiser that you’ll give me your full support?”

  Heller’s smiled widened. “Of course, I will support you.”

  “Your full support.” Parker wanted to clarify.

  Heller held her head high. “Oh, Ms. Monroe. When I commit to something. I give it my absolute full attention.”

  “Fantastic.”

  It’s on, Heller. I’m bringing music back. And whatever you’re hiding? I’m exposing it. You’re about to get “Parker-ed.”

  Yup. I made myself a verb.

  23.

  To get ahead of the PTA issue…

  Parker opted to engage members immediately and assess the battlefield. For days, during pick-up, she’d noted women sitting at a folding table outside the school’s front office armed with a barrage of home-made signs that shouted “Support your school! Support your PTA!” in neon letters. Despite the bold colors, most parents simply ignored the pleas, while others took the time to explain they “didn’t bring their checkbook, they “gave last year,” or they “already pay taxes.”

  Those working at the table varied day to day. When Parker showed up early to pick up her kids, she found a young diminutive blonde woman working the table who greeted her with a smile that devoured nearly her entire face. Remembering what Julie had said about the PTA always wanting money, Parker pulled the forty dollars in cash she’d earmarked for this first meeting from her wallet.

  “Hello! I’d like to donate to the PTA,” hailed Parker.

  “Oh, wonderful!” the woman gleefully clapped her hands together. “The PTA thanks you! Are you donating at the twenty-five, fifty or one-hundred-dollar level?”

  Parker paused. “Um, I’ve got forty,” she answered displaying her thin roll of twenties. “So, I guess, the twenty-five level. Can you make change?”

  The woman’s enormous smile shrunk as her eyes searched for meaning. “Change?”

  Not wanting to lose any momentum, Parker thrust the cash at the woman. “Just take it all. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “Oh, the PTA thanks you!” The woman grabbed the cash and carefully placed it in a money box. “And the children thank you!”

  “Yes, the children,” echoed Parker. If children ever thanked anyone for anything, I’d believe that. Parker rubbed her hands together. “Say, I’m hoping you can help me out. I need to meet with the PTA to get a fundraiser going to bring the music program back to school. How exactly would one do that?”

  The woman’s smile all but disappeared as she processed the question. “You want to do – what?”

  “Meet with the PTA to raise funds and bring the music back!”

  The woman’s left eye began to twitch, as if the very idea were stabbing at it somehow. “Another fundraiser?”

  “Yes. Vice Principal Heller said I need PTA approval.”

  “Oh,” said the woman nervously. She tried to maintain her smile as her eye twitching grew in strength. “Interesting. Heller never mentioned anything to me about it. Who are you?”

  Parker extended her hand. “Parker. Parker Monroe.”

  The PTA woman gently shook Parker’s hand. “Holly Hopesmith. I’m PTA President.”

  “You’re President? Great! You’re exactly who I need to talk to about the fundraiser!”

  Holly coughed out a laugh. “Yes! Wow. Another fundraiser! Ha! And yet we have so many already!”

  Parker got the sense Holly was strung so tightly she might snap like a rubber band at any second. “Oh, I would handle everything,” Parker tried to assure the woman. “It wouldn’t be any trouble for you, I promise, I just need PTA approval. Remember the children? This school is full of those little bastards. Let’s do it for them.” Parker lifted her fists. “Children! Yay!”

  “Ha!” Holly released a melodic string of awkward laughter. “Yes, the children!”

  As a former world-class journalist, Parker had interviewed murderers, corrupt politicians, gang leaders, tyrants and warlords, and yet something in Holly’s laughter made her appear more dangerous and unbalanced than any of them. “Is this a bad time?” asked Parker. “Shall I come back?”

  Holly wiped the moisture from the edge of her twitching eye. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Monroe, there’s just a lot to consider. Things are never simple around here. There are rules. Procedures! To get approval you’d have to join the PTA, make an official motion at our next meeting and then get a majority vote of the present members for it to pass.”

  Parker hunched her shoulders. “That sounds rather simple.”

  Holly paused, as if astounded by the revelation. “It – does, doesn’t it?”

  “When’s the next PTA meeting?”

  “Next Thursday night.”

  “Then sign me up! I’d like to volunteer for the PTA.” Parker’s mind began to race with the amazing power point presentation she’d put together to sway the PTA into approving her motion.

  Holly’s enormous smile returned as her twitching suddenly lessened. “Lovely,” she pushed forward a ledge
r and a pen across the table. “Just fill out your name, address and phone number, sign and date, and pay your one hundred dollars.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need to pay a hundred dollars to join the PTA.”

  Parker looked inside her empty wallet. “Um, isn’t the PTA a volunteer organization?”

  “Of course!”

  “So, I’m paying a hundred dollars to volunteer?”

  “No, silly, you’re paying a hundred dollars to join the PTA. You volunteer for free. It’s all for—”

  “—the children.” Parker’s enthusiasm was fading rapidly as she pulled her checkbook from her purse, hoping it still had blank checks in it. “Will you count the forty I already paid toward the—” Parker watched as Holly’s left eye begin to twitch again. “Never mind.” Parker scribbled her check and was about to hand it over when a large set of hands and muscular forearms slammed a box onto the table in front of her.

  Startled, Parker took a step back. She traced the forearms to the bulging biceps attached to the V-shaped torso of a man with a chiseled jaw and coach’s whistle draped around his thick neck. “Here are the member packets you asked for, Holly,” said the man with a smile.

  Holly gleefully clapped. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Joe, you’re just in time!” Holly reached into the box, pulled out a thick red folder and handed it to Parker. “Here is your orientation packet, Ms. Monroe! Welcome to the PTA!”

  Parker had barely heard Holly. Her attention was entirely transfixed on the handsomely rugged man before her. Parker couldn’t get over how familiar he looked, and yet, was certain they’d never met.

  Holly took it upon herself to make introductions. “Joe is our new physical education teacher,” she explained to Parker. “Joe, meet our newest PTA member -- Parker Monroe!”

  “Parker Monroe,” Joe’s eyes narrowed as he offered a half smile. “The journalist?”

  Parker’s jaw dropped. Holy fuck! Someone actually knows who I am because of my work! “Yes,” she answered in shock. “Yes, that’s me! How did you know that?”