Matt paused at the entrance to the teachers’ lounge at Faircrest High School a few days later. The door was ajar, something that volleyball coach and psychology teacher Donna Lee must not have realized, considering the volume of her voice.
Donna sat at the only occupied table, her back to the door. She was flanked by school librarian Fran Van Houten and Tom Dougherty, who’d taught PE and coached football at Faircrest for almost twenty-five years. Fran’s body was angled forward, her mouth slightly agape as she focused on Donna. Tom leaned back in his chair, cradling a cup of coffee in his large hands. He met Matt’s eyes and rolled his.
“If Carter hadn’t given notice,” Donna continued, “the school board would be investigating him as we speak.”
Carter Prioleau was leaving Faircrest after eleven successful years as the athletic director. He’d been instrumental in improving the school’s athletic facilities and helping to build a stable of winning coaches.
Tom cleared his throat and nodded to where Matt stood. Donna kept talking.
“It makes you wonder if Matt’s qualified to run the athletic department,” Donna said. “He should be distancing himself from the whole mess.”
Tom drew a circle in the air with his finger and pointed at Matt. Donna finally turned, her sleek dark hair swinging with the movement. Her face lost color until it was nearly the shade of the white Formica on the tabletop.
“Good morning, Donna.” Matt advanced so he was standing just steps from her. “Am I interrupting?”
She shook her head mutely.
“I thought I heard my name,” Matt said.
Donna mumbled something unintelligible, then rose. “I’ve got to get to class.”
“Me, too.” Fran got up so fast she bumped her knee on the underside of the table. “Except I’m going to the library. That’s where I’ve got to get to.”
The two women hurried off, their heels clicking on the linoleum, leaving Matt alone in the lounge with Tom. The other man was dressed in shorts and a maroon Faircrest High T-shirt, his standard work clothes. At over fifty, with muscle packed onto his short frame, Tom was a walking advertisement for the weight room.
“What was that all about?” Matt asked.
“If you’ve got a couple minutes, I’ll tell you,” Tom said.
Matt mentally went over his schedule and determined there was nothing that couldn’t wait. He started to pull out a chair and sit down.
“Not here.” Tom drained the rest of his coffee. “Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”
“That leaves out the athletic office,” Matt said. “It’s a beautiful morning. Let’s go outside.”
To get there they needed to navigate a sea of teenagers, most of whom greeted them. When they finally walked through the double doors into the crisp morning air, yellow buses were lining up at the curb. Tom veered around the side of the school building toward a four-hundred-meter running track that Carter had successfully lobbied to have resurfaced.
“It’s quiet out here in the morning,” Tom said as they stepped onto the springy surface of the deserted track. Beyond it was a thicket of woods that separated the school property from a surrounding neighborhood. “Nobody will overhear us.”
“I appreciate that you’ve got my back, T.D.” Matt used the nickname Tom had gotten long ago when his teams started racking up touchdowns. “But I can handle the Donnas of the world.”
“That woman’s got a bigger mouth than a hippopotamus,” Tom said. “But it’s not just her. Everybody’s talking about Carter and that summer school teacher.”
“Carter told me she accused him of sexual harassment.” Matt had worked closely with the A.D. since being hired as his assistant. “He said it was blown way out of proportion.”
“Not according to the gossips,” Tom said. “Donna says it’s why Carter resigned before the school year started.”
“No way!” Matt’s exclamation startled into flight some sparrows foraging for insects in the infield grass.
Tom put up a hand. “Just telling you what I heard.”
“But that’s bull,” Matt said. “Carter had a tough summer, with his marriage breaking up like it did. He’s leaving town because he needs a change of scenery.”
“You can figure out why people think he’s getting a divorce,” Tom said.
It didn’t take much brain power. If the gossips believed Carter was guilty of sexual harassment, it followed they’d think he cheated on his wife.
“School started two weeks ago,” Matt said. “Why didn’t these stories come out then?”
“They did,” Tom said. “Everybody’s talking about it. Teachers. Parents. Students.”
“I haven’t heard much about it,” Matt said.
“That’s because everybody knows Carter recommended you to take over his job,” Tom said.
“Then why did you tell me?”
“Because your dad and me, we go way back. And because I like you.” Tom cleared his throat. “You’ve got to be smart, Matt.”
“What do you mean?”
“That party you’re throwing for Carter, you should think about canceling.”
“I’m not turning my back on Carter because of gossip,” Matt said. Not to mention he’d lose his excuse to see Jazz again, although he could come up with another reason. He’d been working on a plan when he’d had the good luck of running into her at the park on Labor Day.
“Fair enough,” Tom said.
They walked without speaking until they reached the point on the track where they’d started. “You’re coming to the party, right?” Matt asked.
“Can’t. The wife’s got me booked all day.” Tom avoided Matt’s eyes, telling Matt everything he needed to know.
Tom hadn’t only relayed the gossip. He believed it.
JAZZ WHEELED HER grocery cart into a line that was three-deep on Friday afternoon, relieved that for once she didn’t have to mentally add the prices of her items.
Crab. Artichoke. Fruit. Ground beef. Sausage. Spinach. Mushrooms. Eggs.
If Matt hadn’t dropped off an envelope of cash by Pancake Palace, she wouldn’t have had enough money in her checking account to cover the bill.
“Buy whatever you want,” he’d told her when he filled her in on the specifics. Guests were dropping by between two and six o’clock on Saturday, so they wouldn’t expect a full meal. He was anticipating as few as a dozen people and as many as twenty-five. She should err on the side of too much food rather than too little.
The envelope had contained two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, which seemed excessive. She wondered why Matt hadn’t bought some party trays from the super-market’s deli department. He could have added precut fruit and veggies and been all set for much less than he was paying her.
“Hey, Jazz!” Sadie came up behind her, still wearing the Pancake Palace waitress uniform that was a size too tight. “Looks like we had the same idea.”
The grocery store was two doors down from the restaurant, making it a convenient after-work stop.
Sadie held up a green plastic basket filled with groceries. “Benjy wants sloppy joes for dinner.”
Benjy was Sadie’s six-year-old son and the reason the waitress didn’t work nights. The boy already had a deadbeat dad. Sadie refused to saddle him with an absentee mom