Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“I was doing some work out here.” Kendel picked up a tablet, a tall glass, a folder. “I’ll just put this inside. I just made a pitcher of lemonade if you’d like some.”

Give her a minute to settle, Eve thought, and said, “That’d be great.”

The yard, where Peabody threw the ball, the dog chased the ball, held more important trees, more pretty shrubs and flowers, a couple of benches placed in strategic spots.

The patio boasted one of those outdoor kitchens under a vine-smothered pergola, another entertainment area with sofas most people would have been thrilled to place in their living rooms, deep chairs, tables.

Eve settled at the table where Kendel had worked, a kind of coffee in the morning, cocktails in the evening setup.

Kendel came back with a tray—glass pitcher with slices of actual lemon swimming in lemonade, a trio of tall glasses filled with ice. And a glass plate of what Eve thought of as girl cookies.

Small, thin, golden, and glossy.

After setting down the tray, Kendel smiled as the dog chased the ball. “Well, I did warn her. I’m nervous.” She sat. “I think anyone would be when police come to the door, especially about murder.”

“You graduated from Gold, but you haven’t heard about the murders?”

“I’ve been buried in work the last couple weeks. And to tell you the truth—might as well start out that way—I’ve worked really hard to put my years at TAG behind me.”

“Bad experience?”

“You could say that.” Kendel poured out the drinks. Ice crackled in the glasses. “I brought most of it on myself. Can you tell me who was killed? I don’t think I’d know any of the students—I didn’t have much to do with the younger ones. But I might remember some of the teachers.”

“Do you remember Dr. Rufty?”

Kendel let out a gasp, pressed a fist to her chest. “Oh no. No. He’s dead?”

“Not him. His husband.”

“Oh. I don’t think I knew his husband. I might’ve, but … I’m so sorry. Dr. Rufty gave me a second chance. I didn’t want it, didn’t appreciate it—not then anyway—but he gave it.”

“A chance for what?”

“Not to screw up my entire life,” she said as Peabody came back. “I was doing a good job of it up until then.”

Peabody picked up the dog, sat, ruffled white fur.

“She likes you.”

“It’s mutual.”

“How were you screwing up your life?” Eve asked.

“Bad choices, bad behavior, illegals, drinking, doing whatever I could to make those less popular suffer. I just reveled in being mean, spiteful, disruptive, destructive. I had rich parents, friends who had rich parents, and we got away with—I was going to say murder. We didn’t actually kill anyone, but we hurt plenty. When Dr. Rufty took over, it was come to Jesus.”

“You resented it?”

“At the time? You bet I did. And my parents. I’d been able to get away with that metaphorical murder because they didn’t know. My grades stayed reasonable—better than, as I pressured smarter kids to do the work. They thought my boyfriend at the time was great. Because he knew how to play the game. We all did.”

“Headmaster Grange knew about your behavior?”

“Sure she did. And why should I have changed it when there were no consequences? Then she left, Dr. Rufty came in. And boy, there were consequences.”

“Such as?”

“Detention, suspension—no more grading on a curve that had anything to do with how much my parents donated. In any case, once he had a conference with my parents, the hammer came down. I could straighten up, stay out of trouble, or I could be shipped off to a private girls’ school in England. I hurt them, my parents, when they were going through a hard time of their own. Maybe because they were. Anyway, the mask got ripped off, and they saw I’d been a liar and a cheat, a bully and a brat. I was basically under house arrest for the rest of the year.”

She stared into her glass. “God, I haven’t thought of all that for so long. It’s like another lifetime. I just don’t know how that lifetime has anything to do with Dr. Rufty’s husband.”