Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,59

didn’t come.

“Um, Simon.” Poppy’s voice was cautious, its tone familiar. Not quite pitying, but not quite not pitying either. “One small problem with your theory. Well, several rather large problems, actually.”

Oh, God. He was going to feel like a fool again. He could already tell. “Yes?”

Poppy held up a finger. “First of all, if Mrs. Denham had made that kind of violent threat with Mildred’s art supplies, she would no longer be employed at our school. No matter how much our principal might sympathize with the custodial staff or loathe Mrs. Krackel.”

Dammit. He’d hoped she wouldn’t pinpoint the weakest link in his chain of events so quickly. But the woman made murder dioramas, for heaven’s sake. Of course she’d immediately spotted the glaring flaw in his theory.

Another finger. “Second, Mildred did make lots of enemies here. But Mrs. Denham wouldn’t have done anything to threaten or sabotage—”

“Mr. Burnham is right. At least to a certain extent.” The familiar voice came from the open doorway. “I loathed that woman. So did the rest of the custodial staff.”

Mrs. Denham stood by her cart, unbowed and unapologetic.

At the sight of their visitor, Poppy turned a shade of red he’d never witnessed in person before. “Mrs. Denham, I’m so sorry. Simon doesn’t know the circumstances of Mildred’s departure, so he suspects—”

“Oh, there was definitely foul play involved, just like he said.” A slow, evil smile emphasized the wrinkles on the older woman’s face. “I know that for a fact.”

Poppy stared openmouthed at Mrs. Denham. “But—but she was caught screwing the head of security in her classroom after hours! By the superintendent! Who was leading VIPs on a tour of the school! How can that possibly be the result of anything but her own bad judgment?”

Simon’s own eyebrows flew to his hairline.

Oh. Oh, my.

That, he hadn’t expected. But now that he considered the matter, it still made sense. Mrs. Denham didn’t have to threaten Mildred to get rid of her.

No, she could simply—

Mrs. Denham shook her huge ring of keys. “The classroom was locked. I opened it for the group, knowing exactly what they’d find inside.” Her mouth pursed. “For her age, Mildred was surprisingly limber. I’m sorry I didn’t ask her about joint supplements before she left.”

Simon cringed.

“You mean, before she and Harvey were both forced to retire, due to their indiscretions.” Poppy’s jaw was still slightly agape, and she was shaking her head in disbelief. “When the tour came to this wing…did you—”

“Oh, I definitely encouraged the group to visit this classroom. I told them to expect an eye-popping display inside.” Mrs. Denham’s cackle echoed in the room. “And they got one.”

So much for his theory. Still, he’d chosen the correct suspect, which had to count for something.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Poppy whispered, wide-eyed.

“So far, so good.” Mrs. Denham winked at her. “No tours scheduled tonight. Just FYI.”

Even after the custodian closed the door, the sound of her whistling floated through the classroom, getting fainter as she pushed her cart down the hallway.

Then it was silent once more, and he and Poppy were staring at one another, and he couldn’t seem to breathe properly. His palms grew damp where they rested on the—

Wait.

I’ll never be able to use that table again, Stacey had said. Not without picturing what happened…there.

He looked down at the wooden surface under his hands, and a few other clues fell into place. With a muttered and heartfelt fuck, he leapt to his feet and ran to the sink.

Poppy groaned. “What now?”

“Is that—where I’ve been sitting—” There wasn’t enough soap in the world. “Is that Mrs. Krackel’s, uh…”

“Sex table?” Poppy’s giggle was infectious, much like the germs he’d probably encountered while using that damn table all week. “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Dammit, Poppy.” He stopped scrubbing and glared in her direction. “You could have said something.”

She appeared blithely unbothered by his disfavor, as usual. “It’s been disinfected multiple times since Mildred’s adventures there. Trust me. I took care of that personally, once I heard the story.”

He supposed that was a reasonable response. Besides, his plans for the afternoon didn’t involve scowling at Poppy or reenacting Lady Macbeth’s endless, frantic hand-washing.

No, he had other priorities. Business first, and then…

And then.

After rinsing and drying his hands, he crossed the room, bent down to open his briefcase, produced a neatly stapled document, and placed it on her desk. “Here’s your evaluation. You can read it later. In case you’re worried, it’s positive. In fact, it’s so glowing, it may give