Murder at the PTA Read online

  Maya plowed her way through the middle of the party, scooping up the discarded wrapping paper and ribbons and clearing the area so they could chat and laugh some more. Althea, the one with the fiery red nails, was in the middle of a story about going into labor while at a movie theater watching an Avengers movie that was so loud, no one around her could hear her screaming with labor pains, when the doorbell rang.

  Maya scanned the roomful of guests. Everyone on the guest list was present and accounted for, so she couldn’t imagine who it might be. She excused herself to open the door.

  It was Frances’s baby daddy, Vinnie Cooper, the football coach at SoPo High.

  He grinned knowingly. “Hey, Maya. I hope we’re not interrupting anything!”

  Vinnie wasn’t alone. Behind him was a muscled, bronzed man with an impossibly handsome face and radiant smile that threatened to melt hearts. He was a couple inches taller than Vinnie, not too tall, Maya’s perfect type of man, if she had one.

  Vinnie stepped aside so the man was directly in front of Maya. “This is my bro Mateo, Mateo Reyes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mateo,” Maya said, offering her hand.

  “Likewise,” he said, taking it and squeezing it ever so slightly, enough to send a shiver up Maya’s spine.

  “He’s a detective too, works homicide,” Vinnie boasted.

  “I’d like to go private someday, like you,” Mateo said, still slaying her with that sexy smile.

  “Well, there is a lot to be said for the steady paycheck you get at the department.” Maya laughed before ushering them both inside.

  She knew Frances had told Vinnie about the shower, and she strongly suspected Frances had encouraged him to crash it because if there was one thing Frances detested, it was frilly, giggly, girly affairs, where she feared she might get bored quickly. But Maya still couldn’t figure out why Vinnie would bother to enlist the aid of his handsome friend Mateo. What guy would ever want to drag a good buddy to a baby shower?

  The women’s lively conversation quickly halted at the sight of the two men ambling into the living room. All eyes were glued to Mateo, who nodded bashfully at the women staring at him.

  Althea picked up the Ladies . . . I Have Arrived romper and quipped, “I’ll say he has!”

  There was raucous laughter from the women, who made room for the two men to sit down and join the party. Vinnie excitedly started to pore over all the gifts.

  Maya leaned down to Vinnie. “Can I get you something to drink, Vinnie?”

  “How about a Maker’s Mark with a splash of ginger ale?”

  He noticed Frances eyeing him warily. “What? I’m not the one who’s pregnant!”

  There was more laughter from the women.

  “Mateo?” Maya asked.

  “Just some water, thank you,” he answered with a wink.

  Maya’s knees nearly buckled, but she kept her balance and hurried to the kitchen. On her way, she noticed Frances signaling Vinnie to help her stand up, since her giant belly made it difficult for her to do it on her own. Within moments, Frances had made her way to the kitchen, where Maya was pouring whiskey over a glass of ice.

  “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Frances whispered.

  “Who?”

  “You know who. Mateo.”

  Maya pretended to glance back into the living room and notice him for the first time. “I suppose so, yes.”

  “Come on, I saw the look on your face when you let him in. You think he’s gorgeous!”

  “What is he doing here? Did you tell Vinnie to show up and crash your baby shower just in case you hated it and wanted to go home?”

  Frances shrugged and smiled. “Maybe.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “Well, I told you not to throw me one, and I knew you were lying through your teeth when you promised me you wouldn’t.”

  “I spent a lot on that diaper tote bag, so damn it, you’re going to be grateful and enjoy it!”

  “I love it. And I’m very happy you didn’t listen to me. I got a great haul, and I’m psyched to see all the girls.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I know . . . ,” Frances said with a sly smile.

  The reality hit Maya like a splash of cold water. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I may have,” Frances said, picking up a chicken empanada, which was cooling on a tray on top of the stove, and stuffing it into her mouth.

  “This is a fix-up?” Maya groaned.

  “Why not? Look at him. He’s beautiful; he has a successful career, a car, his own home; and, get ready for the kicker, he’s actually single!”

  “No, I am not going to let you do this.”

  “Come on, Maya, you have to dip your toe back in the pool at some point. Otherwise, sooner or later you’ll forget how to swim.”

  “How many times have we been in the office, or out working a case, or at a bar having a cocktail, and I’ve told you in no uncertain terms I am not looking to date anyone right now?”

  “And I respected your wishes, but that was before I got the idea of putting you and Mateo together. You two are a perfect match.”

  “And how many times have I said I would never date, let alone marry, anyone in law enforcement ever again?”

  “You’ve got to get over that.”

  “My police-captain husband is in prison for corruption! I really think you should cut me some slack!”

  “Ex-husband,” Frances reminded her as she grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and handed it to Frances. “Now go serve your guests some drinks and wipe that gloomy look off your face. You’re the hostess of this shindig, and you are going to go out there and give the performance of a lifetime!”

  “What happened to just be yourself?” Maya asked.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” Frances said.

  Maya stared daggers at her and then whipped around and marched back to the living room, carrying the whiskey and water.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Sandra pulled into her driveway at dusk the next day, she was relieved to find that the swarm of reporters who had been camped out on her lawn and sidewalk, along with their big trucks and vans, had all finally packed up and gone. Thankfully the erupting scandal had receded a bit, at least for now, especially after Stephen had issued a full-throated and passionate denial that any taxpayer money had been used in any kind of nondisclosure agreement with a mistress. Stephen said in no uncertain terms that he was a faithful husband to his wife and was outright aghast that anyone would suggest otherwise. But Sandra had no illusions that there were dozens of dogged, determined reporters out there painstakingly searching for concrete evidence that would prove Senator Stephen Wallage was a liar.

  She couldn’t think about that now. She was too busy putting out her own fires. The late-afternoon meeting with Principal Hicks had lasted two hours, and although it was awkward and uncomfortable discussing her personal life, she had assured Hicks that the salacious headlines on the Dirty Laundry website were absolutely false. She was ready to put the baseless accusations behind her and move on planning for the school year.

  Hicks seemed mostly appeased by Sandra’s persuasive presentation, and he took the opportunity to stress to her after she had finished that she had his full support. But still, Sandra noticed he was a little more reserved than usual, and there were worry lines on his face that she hadn’t noticed before. She didn’t blame him at all, because more often than not, eventually the stories posted on the site were proven to be true.

  She got out of her car and walked toward the front door of the house. Sandra hadn’t even thought about what to make the boys for dinner. She was so eager to get home from her meeting that she drove right past the grocery store. Maybe she would just order them all Chinese food or have a pizza delivered. As she entered the foyer, she stopped suddenly. The familiar smell of a rich marinara sauce wafted in from the kitchen.

  She knew it was her husband’s signa
ture turkey meatballs, a recipe his Italian grandmother on his mother’s side had taught him to make when he was a boy.

  Stephen was home from DC.

  She marched into the kitchen to see her husband and two sons crowded around the counter and stove, making dinner. Stephen was stirring a bubbling pot of sauce on one of the front burners with a wooden spoon. His sleeves were rolled up; his pale blue Brooks Brothers dress shirt sported a few tomato stains. He didn’t like wearing aprons, so she always had to take his shirt to the dry cleaner’s after he took it upon himself to cook a meal. Jack was busy tossing a salad in a large wooden bowl, while Ryan ripped open a package of organic spaghetti to dump into a boiling pot of water on one of the back burners.

  “What are you doing here?” Sandra asked, a little flummoxed.

  Stephen looked up, eyes twinkling, then he wiped his hands on a towel and sauntered over to his wife, enveloping her in a bear hug. “I caught a late-afternoon flight home at the last minute. They’re always overbooked on Fridays, but I got lucky today with a cancellation.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you—” Sandra said.

  Still hugging her, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. “I know. I wanted to surprise you.”

  His body felt warm. She could smell garlic on his breath from taste-testing his homemade sauce.

  “He’s here for the whole weekend,” Ryan said, beaming.

  Sandra gently pulled out of his hug. “I thought there was a fund-raiser in Georgetown you couldn’t miss on Sunday . . .”

  “I got out of it,” he said, winking at the boys.

  “He’ll be able to come to my game tomorrow,” Jack said as he popped a grape tomato from the salad into his mouth.

  This was certainly a rare occurrence, having Stephen home for a full weekend. She could see how happy the boys were, and so she kept mum and didn’t press him for any more details as to why all of a sudden he felt the need to be at home with his family. She didn’t have to, because she knew full well what he was doing there. With all those nasty rumors flying around, it was important to show the world that he was a staunch family man, willing to put his fast-track career in the United States Senate on hold in order to spend quality time with his wife and two teenage sons. It was a calculated and necessary move, and Sandra didn’t blame him for it. As a politician’s wife, she had long come to accept the importance of optics.

  After going to her bedroom to change out of her business suit into more casual attire, she descended the stairs just as Stephen and the boys were sitting down at the dining room table to enjoy their Italian feast. Before they had finished their salads, Stephen was putting down his fork to make an announcement.

  He adopted a grave face and serious tone. “I want to get this out of the way so we can have a fun weekend together, okay?”

  The boys nodded, both gnawing on large hunks of buttery garlic bread.

  Sandra braced herself.

  She knew what was coming.

  “What they are saying on that muckraking, libelous website—what’s it called again?”

  “Dirty Laundry,” Ryan answered.

  Another calculated move, Sandra thought. Of course Stephen knew the name of the site. He had probably pored over the article multiple times in order to strategize a response.

  “Right. Dirty Laundry. I want to assure all of you that there is not one word of truth to it. What they’re claiming is categorically false. It never happened. I was not having an affair, and there was no hush money. Ever. Take my word for it.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Dad. We believe you,” Jack said.

  Ryan nodded in agreement. He couldn’t talk because he was busy chewing, his mouth full of garlic bread.

  “Actually I do have to do this, Jack. Because someone is out there questioning my honor, and that’s not okay with me. And I couldn’t stand the fact that my family might take any of that trash seriously.”

  But the boys didn’t seem to care. They knew in their hearts their father would never do anything so dumb. But as Jack and Ryan continued to reassure Stephen that they loved him and had his back, Sandra quite noticeably refrained from comment.

  Mercifully the topic quickly changed to Jack’s upcoming football game against a fierce rival team the next day and Ryan’s audition for the fall musical, which he felt went pretty well. He would know if he snagged the lead on Monday and was feeling nervous. But Sandra was confident he would be cast because he was the most talented actor in the entire school. Yes, there was a little motherly bias in her opinion, but the kid was good.

  Sandra offered to clean up, since Stephen and the boys had cooked, so they retreated to the living room to watch a horror movie on Netflix. It gave Sandra the opportunity to decompress from the day and be left alone with her thoughts. After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the stovetop with some surface cleaner and a rag, she disappeared upstairs, where she quickly brushed her teeth, undressed, and crawled into bed. It was only a few minutes after ten o’clock, but the movie was in the midst of its harrowing climax and would be over soon, and Stephen would be coming up to bed.

  She heard the suspenseful score swell and assumed the end credits were rolling. The TV was shut off, and she faintly heard Stephen saying good night to the boys as he came up the stairs. She could hear him coming, so she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. He quietly walked into the room and headed into the master bath, closing the door. She knew his routine. He would be in there for ten minutes. She buried her head deep into the pillow.

  When he finally emerged, probably shirtless and in his silk pajama bottoms, he knelt down and kissed her forehead, waiting to see if she would respond.

  She didn’t.

  He circled around to the other side of the bed and climbed in, slipping under the covers and wrapping his strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

  “You still awake?” he whispered in her ear.

  She moaned and shifted her body, hoping that would be enough to discourage him.

  He started nuzzling the back of her neck.

  He was not about to give up.

  She didn’t have a choice.

  Sandra opened her eyes and turned around to face him. He had the look of an expectant puppy hoping if it was good it might get a bone or a chew toy.

  “I’m not there yet,” Sandra said.

  The color drained from his face, and he nodded. “I understand.”

  He backed away from her, moving slowly, closer to the edge of his own side of the bed.

  “I didn’t do it, Sandra. I want you to know that,” he muttered.

  “Yes, Stephen, you’ve made that quite clear to me and the boys tonight, but you must realize how difficult it is for me to so readily accept your adamant denial.”

  “I know . . . ,” he said, a twinge of guilt in his voice.

  She could have left it at that, but she wasn’t feeling generous. “Since it’s happened before . . .”

  She waited for his response. As a politician, he was an expert at putting out an appropriate response.

  But this time, he had nothing. After a few moments, she could hear him turn over so they were now facing away from each other, back to back.

  “Good night, honey,” he said quietly.

  “Good night, Stephen.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The numbers were just not adding up. After investing in a monthly budget app for her phone, Maya thought she would finally be able to get a handle on her mounting bills, but the math didn’t lie. She slumped over, frustrated, at her kitchen table, staring at the final number. She was going to be more than two hundred dollars short this month.

  It had been a struggle ever since Frances announced she was pregnant. Maya was working double time to make up for Frances’s frequent absences, but they were still splitting the money the agency took in, fifty-fifty. Maya simply could not imagine suggesting that she take a bigger cut from their monthly haul for doing more work because she knew Frances was having a
tough time financially too. Frances’s insurance covered only a percentage of her medical bills, plus she had invested a lot of money in a series of Lamaze classes to help prepare her for the childbirth.

  So Maya had decided to just keep her mouth shut and continue carrying the burden of running their detective agency and handling the majority of their caseload. She didn’t tell Frances that they had already lost three top-paying clients to bigger firms because they wanted faster results, or that the office rent check had bounced and she had to do some fast-talking to avoid an eviction notice. The landlord was eager to boot them out because then he could raise the rent for a business that was more flushed with cash. It took a lot of cajoling and pleading for him to give Maya an extra week, but eventually he begrudgingly agreed.

  Maya decided to crunch the numbers again. Maybe in her haste, she had typed a few wrong digits that might have thrown everything off. She carefully went through the list of bills—mortgage, health insurance, utilities, credit cards (at least the ones that hadn’t been canceled yet), groceries, car payment. When she got to the end, scratching off the reserve cash she had listed under miscellaneous expenses in order to squeeze out a few more dollars to balance the budget with, she realized her instinct had been right. She had added up the numbers wrong. She wasn’t two hundred dollars short. She was two hundred and seventy-six dollars short.

  Maya dropped her head down on the table. With the way things were going, she had no clue how she was going to be able to keep the business afloat until after Frances returned from maternity leave. And at this point, she still didn’t know how much time Frances was planning on taking. Two months? Three months? Four? She felt like she was drowning in quicksand with no fallen tree branch in sight to grab hold of in order to pull herself out.

  She was so wrapped up in her own internal drama, she didn’t hear Vanessa stroll into the kitchen and open the fridge to get some water. They had long cut out buying the bottled stuff because it had gotten way too expensive, but Frances had given them a water pitcher filter for Christmas last year, and it had luckily saved a lot of money.