“I don't know. I'm going to tell you something you cannot tell anyone else. Okay?”
“I don't gossip,” my mother said.
No one else was in the office, but I leaned over anyway. “She was four months pregnant.”
Mom didn't look surprised.
“You knew?” I said.
“I guessed. She normally dressed like teenagers do these days. Tight T-shirts. Short skirts. Clinging jeans. Then she started wearing loose sweaters and baggy pants. I came into the bathroom one day right after her. She'd been throwing up. I could smell it.”
I thought for a while. “Any talk,” I said, “about her having relationships with adults? Teachers maybe?”
“Not that I ever heard.”
“Thanks for your help, Mom.”
“You're coming for dinner on Sunday.”
“Gee, I don't know if⦔
“You're coming for dinner on Sunday,” my mother said.
T
wo girls were standing on the steps outside the youth center, smoking. One of them dropped her cigarette to the snowy sidewalk. She ground it under her foot and went back inside. The second girl was staring at me. I gave her a smile.
“You're Mrs. Patterson's daughter, right?” she said. She flicked her cigarette butt onto the ground.
“Yes. I'm Nicole.”
She shifted from one foot to another. She wore a long black wool coat with shiny gold buttons and a thick red scarf. Her boots were leather. She had gold earrings in her ears and her makeup was light. She seemed to want to say something.
“What's your name?” I asked.
“Stephanie Reynolds.” Her breath made a cloud in the cold air.
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie.” I waited.
“Look, I don't want to get into any trouble here,” she said at last.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“The police have been hanging around PEDH. Asking questions. About Maureen.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don't go to PEDH, see? I go to school in Belleville. So no one's asked me about her.”
“That doesn't matter. If you know something, you need to speak to a detective.”
“You'll do. You're with the police, right?”
“Yes, but I'm not a detective.”
“Doesn't matter. Look, if my parents find out, they'll freak, okay? Promise you won't tell my parents?”
“Stephanie, I can't promise you anything without knowing what you have to tell me. Do you know something about Maureen's death?”
Two boys climbed the steps.
“Hi, Steph,” one said.
Stephanie edged away from the entrance. I followed. The boys opened the door and went inside.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don't know anything about how she died. It's just thatâ¦well, I've heard that the cops know she left home. They're trying to find out where she's been staying, right?”
“Do you know?”
“Yeah. I do. She ran away from her house three weeks ago. Her dad was drinking, and her parents started fighting. Normal stuff at that house, but Maureen figured she'd had enough, you know?”
I could understand that.
“She said she didn't want her baby being exposed to all the bad stuff that went down at her house.” Stephanie looked at me, waiting for a reaction.
“We know she was pregnant,” I said.
Stephanie nodded. “She was staying at my place.”
I'd guessed that.
“My parents have gone to Florida for a month. They go every winter. This is the first year that my aunt Susan hasn't come to stay with me. I'm in grade eleven, so Mom and Dad figured I'm old enough to look after the house. They told me I could have a friend or two sleep over on the weekends. But no one could stay more than one night at a time. No boys and no parties.”
She dug into her Roots bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Stephanie dressed as if she had money. If her parents could spend a month in Florida in the winter, they probably did. Seemed a strange friend for the down-and-out Maureen.
“You must have been good friends,” I said. “Even though you didn't go to the same school.”
She lit her cigarette. She took a deep drag. “Couple of months ago we were having trouble with the computer at home. My dad thought he could fix it. It kept getting worse. I had a really important project due, so I came here to use the computers. Maureen helped me. I liked her. She was tough, but smart.” Stephanie took a tissue out of her coat pocket. She blew her nose. “She was nice. We weren't friends, really. But we hung out sometimes. When she left her house that night, she phoned me. Said she needed a place to stay.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “Stephanie, you have to tell the detectives about this. It could be important. I'm going to call someone right now, okay?”
She grimaced. “My parents'll freak.”
“I'm sure they'll understand.”
I phoned the office and told them I had information for Sergeant Malan. They said they'd let him know.
I should have left it at that. But I had questions too.
“Do you know who got her pregnant?” I asked.
Stephanie wiped her eyes. “No. She said they weren't ready to tell yet. But soon everyone would know. She was happy about it. Excited. About a week before she died, she came home wearing a pretty new ring. He'd given it to her. Something until he could buy a real engagement ring.”
“It was blue,” I said. “A big blue stone.”
“That's right. I was going to be a bridesmaid. I bought her a whole stack of magazines, and we had fun picking out wedding dresses and cakes and stuff.”
“Did anyone come around when she was staying with you? Her boyfriend, I mean?”
“No. She went out to meet him.”
Didn't sound like much of a boyfriend to me. A cheap blue ring and a bunch of promises. Poor Maureen. Alone and pregnant.
“The night she died?” I asked. “Did she go out with this boyfriend?”
Stephanie threw her unfinished cigarette into the snowbank. “I don't know. I wasn't home. I play hockey, and we had a team party after practice that night. I got home around eleven and Maureen wasn't there.” She sobbed. “I heard the news the next morning.” Fat tears ran down her face. She didn't lift a hand to wipe them away.
My phone rang. Sergeant Malan, asking where I was.
T
he next day I went to Prince Edward District High as school was getting out. I'd gone to this school. I'd graduated only seven years ago. I opened the big doors and walked through the halls, feeling as if I had never been away. I knew my way around without asking directions.
It was snowing heavily. The school floors were dirty with melting snow. I went to the grade-eleven hallway. Groups of girls and boys were standing around the lockers. Talking and flirting. One locker stood out from the rest. It had bunches of plastic flowers stuck to it. Three teddy bears with bright red bows tied around their necks sat on the floor. Cards and messages were taped to the front or stuck into the cracks. Maureen might not have been well liked when she was alive, but sudden death makes anyone popular.
I walked up to a group of girls. “Hi,” I said, “I'm Nicole Patterson. I'm with the OPP.” That was true. I didn't mention I wasn't part of the investigation team. The girls looked at me. They did not smile. I might have gone to this school a few years ago, but I wasn't one of them any longer. I was an adult. I was a cop.
An outsider.
Someone not to be trusted.
“Did you know Maureen Grey?” I asked.
They nodded. One of the girls lifted a tissue to her eyes. “Hi. I'm Jenny.” She was small and plump. Her hair was died jet black. Her nail polish was black and she wore too much makeup. “Maureen was so great. Everyone absolutely loved her.” She sniffled and blew her nose.
Her friends muttered their agreement. I saw a teacher heading toward us. Mr. MacDonald. He'd been my math teacher in grades eleven and twelve. He was very fat and told bad jokes. None of us had liked him. He opened his mouth to ask who I was. Then he recognized me. “Nancy,” he said. “How nice to see you.”
“Nicole.”
“Right. Nicole.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “How are you? Back for a visit?”
“Yes.”
“That's nice,” he said. He walked away.
I turned back to the kids with a shrug.
“Had him for math. Hard marker.”
They laughed.
“Tell me about Maureen,” I said. I didn't know what to ask. None of these kids was going to confess to killing her.
“She was nice,” Jenny repeated. “Everyone liked her. I can't believe she's gone.”
“Popular, eh?”
“Oh yeah,” one of the others girls said, “with the boys.”
“What does that mean?”
“Everyone's crying and saying how sad they are. Come on, Jenny, get real. You couldn't stand the bitch,” one girl said.
Jenny looked shocked. “That's not true, Cheryl.”
“White trash, I think you called her.”
“I did not. Well, maybe that once. When she went after Keith even though she knew I liked him.”
“It was nothing personal,” Cheryl said. She was blond and thin and pretty, with a mouth outlined in deep-red lipstick. The sneer on her face made her look mean. “Maureen went after anything with a cock.”
A boy wandered over to join us. He was big and unattractive and walked with a swagger. His long hair was badly cut and needed a wash. His ears stuck out to the side and pimples dotted his chin. “You talking about Maureen? Cheap slut. Lousy screw.”
Jenny gasped. The other girls gave embarrassed laughs. I turned to face him. “Did you sleep with Maureen?”
His eyes narrowed. “Didn't everyone?”
I guessed he was lying. But what do I know? I'm just a probationary constable.
“Come on, Matt. Maureen's dead. Murdered. Be nice,” Jenny said.
“Yeah, okay. She was a good screw. I'll be late for practice.” He walked away.
The girls watched him go.
“Can you think of any reason,” I said, “why anyone would kill Maureen?”
They shook their heads. They were beginning to edge away from me. Bored with my questions.
“We spoke to that sergeant guy already,” Cheryl said. “Everyone in class was interviewed. Can't you read his notes or something?”
“Sometimes,” I said, “it helps to have a fresh view.”
“Whatever. Well, okay. Maureen was a cheap slut. Came to school one day in a new sweater. Only it wasn't new, was it? My older sister, who goes to Loyalist College, had given it to the Second Time Around Shop.” The girls all broke into laughter. Even Jenny couldn't disguise a grin.
No doubt Cheryl had been quick to tell everyone where Maureen had bought her new sweater.
“How about the time she had her hair cut?” Jenny said, forgetting she was supposed to be sad. “Looked like her mom had done it and the scissors slipped.”
“I didn't say anything to that sergeant,” Cheryl said. “But you're a girl, so you'll get it. Maureen's father's a drunk, and her mother got fired from that restaurant by the harbor because they said she was stealing from the till. They were on welfare, and Maureen got her clothes from the secondhand shop.”
“Did she have a job?”
“Nah. There's work in summer when the tourists are here. Not much for any of us the rest of the year.”
“Her parents told the police she wasn't living at home. Do you know where she was staying?” I knew, of course, from Stephanie. I just wondered if this bunch knew.
“The other cop asked us that. If I cared what miserable Maureen was up to, I might have known. But I didn't.” Cheryl looked at the other girls. “We didn't. Did we?”
No, they agreed. Clearly Cheryl was the boss here.
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
“Sure.” They shifted their backpacks and purses and began to edge away.
“Are you going to give us your card? Like if we remember something?” Cheryl asked.
“Speak to Sergeant Malan,” I said. Up until now I was just asking some questions. Like anyone might do. If I started handing out my business card, I could get in real trouble for interfering where I wasn't supposed to.
The girls swung their hips and tossed their hair as they walked away.
Poor Maureen, I thought. High School. Toughest place on earth, sometimes.
I followed the girls around the corner, thinking I'd go out the back way to my car. I couldn't find the door. They'd built an extension onto the school since my time here. I had to circle around.
There was only one person in the grade-eleven corridor when I got back. A boy stood in front of the flower- and teddy-bear-decorated locker. His head was down, and he held his right palm pressed up against the metal door. He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt. He was about six feet tall and well built, with heavy shoulders and muscular arms. His black hair was cut very short.
I started to say something. To ask him why he was here and what he knew about Maureen.
But before I got close, a boy approached him. He was dressed in gym clothes. His running shoes were the size of boats. He carried a bulging sports bag. “The fuck you doin', Jason?” he said. “Mr. Bowen won't be happy if you're late.”
I slipped back so I was standing out of sight against the wall.
“Go without me, Mark.”
“No. You've been off your game all week. Bowen's scheduled a special weight session and he won't be pleased if you miss it.”
“Fuck Bowen.”
Mark put his hand on Jason's back. Jason shrugged it off with a warning growl. They paid no attention to me standing in the shadows.
“Come on, man. The girl's dead. But you're not. Get over it.”
Jason's body tensed. Then his shoulders relaxed, and he said, “Yeah, okay. Go ahead. I'll get my stuff and be there in a minute. Tell Mr. Bowen I had to stay behind in English class for a few minutes.”