Beyond Me...A Principal Mystery

By Mary Sawyer

Stella Page is a Middle School principal suffering from mid-career angst in a small  New Brunswick town. Then one of the school's First Nations students, Lillian, is accused of murder and will only agree to speak to Stella. Suddenly Stella finds herself in the middle of a murder investigation and caught between the competing interests of others: a distrustful First Nations Community; a Superintendent who wants to avoid any scandal; the RCMP Sergeant in Charge who is on her first major crime; her jusband who does not want her involved; and her students, who need and trust her to help Lillian. Stella wants to help but isn't sure she has the stamina to  to be part of the investigation or the emotional strength to make a difference. As she becomes enmeshed in the case Stella comes to realize she is the only one fighting for the well being of her students. She has to do something to help while staying within her professional boundaries. The mystery unfolds to a shocking ending that raises serious question for everyone involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Sawyer
• Release date: Jun 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201466893

Book preview

PROLOGUE

She was sitting on the sofa holding a long, sharp kitchen knife. The air was filled with the metallic smell of spilled blood. Her small hands were covered in it. The front of her shirt was soaked with it. Her head was down, as if she were fascinated by what she saw on the floor, at her feet. She willed her eyes to go blank, to not look at anything or anyone in the room.

The room was dimly lit with a huge television filling the space. Its flickering screen was bouncing light and shadow off the living room walls while the sound of Wheel of Fortune pounded her ears. She raised her head to look at the screen, focusing again. The front door was opening. She lowered her head to the body on the floor as the front door came fully open. She peered through her veil of hair. A tall man wearing a black bulletproof vest filled the doorway. A constable pointing his gun at her. She lowered her eyes and willed herself to remain still.

The constable moved into the room slowly, followed by another. The second one was shorter and squarer, looking overdressed in his vest. He stood still by the open door holding his gun at arm's length, sweeping it from side to side. The television was too big for the room. The one lamp was sending huge black shadows onto the bare walls. The noise from the television was grating on the men's nerves now. The tall one moved over and shut it down. She'd finally stopped hearing it but the silence was deafening. Her ears were tuned only to the subtle sounds of the men's movements.

The first constable was talking softly to her. He was telling her to give him the knife, that he wasn't going to hurt her, but she had to give him the knife. She was doing all she could to control the trembling to keep the knife in her hand. She could feel herself sweating with the effort.

Jack was sweating too. He was trying to hold his gun steady in his hand. Rick was still at the door holding his gun ready but not moving. Jack kept his eyes on the girl. He knew Rick would deal with anyone else who might be in the house.

He was so close now she could feel the heat coming from his body. She lost control of her shaking hand. The knife dropped, hitting the floor like a firecracker exploding at her feet. She clamped her jaws tightly to stop the bile from spewing from her mouth.

With her face wearing nothing she looked up into the face of the officer. He kicked the knife out of her reach. Her body stopped trembling as she lowered her head. Go still and quiet she told herself.

CHAPTER ONE

Stella needed something to lift her spirits. The St. John River was one of the many pristine waterways in the province of New Brunswick and seldom did the view on her drive home fail to improve her mood. Usually, on this stretch, the view of the wide expanse of water reaching towards flat marshland and up into the forests beyond, pulled her attention away from her thoughts.

It wasn't working today.

It was early spring and Stella was coming to the end of her fifth year as principal of Edgewater Middle School. It was a busy job from the time the first bus rolled in in the morning until the last one rolled out at night. Sometimes she longed for a quiet office job, surrounded by books and greenery where only her secretary could come in unannounced or uninvited. But she would miss the activity and the challenges that landed on her doorstep. On this particular afternoon her mind was preoccupied by one of her special needs' students, a student who was in the hospital with pneumonia. His mother had called Stella, as she was getting ready to leave for the day, to say he wasn't doing well and that the doctors didn't think he would make it through another night. It seemed every year she had one particularly difficult case that occupied her mind in and out of school. Last year it was Jessie, who seemed to be having a good year this year. Stella hadn't heard much about her since Christmas and this often signified good things. It didn't sound as if she was going to find the same results with this boy.

The river seemed to stretch forever beyond the horizon; Stella slowed the car to have a better look insisting her mind leave work behind. She sighed and tried to concentrate on her breath. In and out. She found this relaxed her muscles and her shoulders when she remembered to do it. She was working on controlling stress and trying to keep it from affecting her physically. She had learned how to compartmentalize her thinking fairly well a long time ago, mostly out of necessity. She liked being a teacher and a principal but there were students and families that pushed hard against school rules and regulations causing many hours of stress for everyone. But she knew that stress had to land somewhere and she often felt it settling into her body. The breathing was a quick and least noticeable relief.

She started to feel the tension melting from her arms and shoulders. She loved it when she could really feel her muscles let go of the tension.

A car horn honked, jolting her back to attention. She had let her speed drop more than ten kilometers below the speed limit. So much for relaxed shoulders. She gave a friendly wave out the back and sped up.

She turned into her driveway, past the mailbox.

The flag was up which meant Greg hadn't gotten the mail yet. This was unusual for him and she wondered why he hadn't.

Their house sat on a slight rise above the river, the lawn stretching down over the bank in a gentle slope. The trees on either side of the opening framed the river and the flat marshes on the other side.

Stella's pantsuit stuck to her as she got out of the car. She had stopped wearing panty hose when she turned forty and never understood how women could wear them underneath pants. She always felt cut in half. So unless it was absolutely necessary, she never wore a dress or a skirt in the winter. She wore men's trouser socks. She loved the way they held up right to the end of the day, and she never had to worry about her bare leg showing if her pant leg came up. A welcome change from women's socks that were so short they looked foolish on a woman's leg. She had paired her black pantsuit with a soft green blouse and patent accessories. It was that time of year when it was difficult to know what to wear. As she walked over the gravel path to her front door she decided it was time to do away with socks and lighten up on her choice of shoe. She could soon switch to sandals and skirts.

The house was quiet. She and Greg had chosen a Craftsman style house for this lot. Most of their friends and family wondered out loud why they didn't build something more modern, with lots of glass, for the view. But they liked the warmth of lots of wood and small cozy rooms. They did put larger windows across the back and added a winterized sun porch, in deference to the scenery. Greg's studio was built on one side of the sun porch and since he didn't seem to be around Stella assumed he was working in his studio. She went upstairs to change before dinner. Sometimes, if she was honest with herself, she preferred coming home to a quiet, empty house. She liked having some time to herself before having to engage in a conversation with her husband. She felt guilty when she thought this, but she often was glad he was elsewhere.

In her bedroom, she peeled off her clothes and laid them on the bed. She was tempted to lie down beside them and shut her eyes for a few minutes. She was a pretty good power napper although these days she didn't seem to need one as often. She wandered over to the scale. Stella weighed herself every day to keep herself honest. She was tired of carrying the extra ten pounds around her middle—the ten she put on at twenty and the subsequent ten she put on every decade. She stepped on the scale. Her mind was back on her work, planning for the next day, so when she stepped off the scale and went to her closet she had forgotten the number. She couldn't be bothered to go back and weigh herself again.

She sighed when she opened her closet. Winter and spring clothes tangled together in a jumble that irritated her. She couldn't put her warm clothes away yet, but she needed some cooler pieces for the warmer days. Then she needed her after school and weekend clothes for both types of weather. It was a mess. Maybe this weekend she would get to sorting and organizing. She was superstitious enough to wonder if putting away her warm clothes would bring on a spring snowstorm. And frankly she wanted to avoid the job as long as she could.

She found a pair of thin track pants—no elastic waist; too sloppy—and pulled a t-shirt on with them. She took off her jewelry, but left her earrings on. Apparently it wasn't good to let yourself go too much or your husband might wander. Stella picked up this nugget of advice in the supermarket. She was reading a magazine that she didn't intend to buy, while waiting in the line up. The headline read something like keep your husband happy at home. It was a free read and kept her occupied and less impatient. She decided she was simply setting a good example for the others in the line up who were acting impatient and rude about the long wait.

Greg was a tidy dresser, who lived in his jeans and t-shirts. But he took great care with both. He always looked as if he planned his clothing. This could be irritating to Stella who listened to him complain about never having enough time to do what he wanted, yet she had to watch while he took an hour to get dressed in the mornings. So much time wasted, she thought. But this fussiness of his was at the back of her mind when she dressed for home, keeping her from total sloppiness. She slipped her bare feet into leather clogs and headed downstairs.

Greg was stirring something on the stove, which made her feel relieved. She had always been the cook the years they were both working, but now he did the cooking and she was enjoying the change. She took over the clean up which meant Greg could return to his studio after dinner, if he was deeply into one of his pieces.

Since their daughters left home they had resumed going to movies in Fredericton. They were enjoying the 3D technology. Greg was working on some large paintings that were inspired by this technology, using layers of paint and a kind of trompe l'oeil approach. Stella did not fully understand the techniques he was experimenting with but she knew he did excellent work. They both put a lot of time and energy into what they were passionate about. Stella was feeling left behind as Greg was often preoccupied by his new passion, while she toiled away at a career she had had for a long time.

The meal was delicious. She went back for seconds and a second glass of wine, which made her glad she had put on comfortable pants. Stella felt pressure to find something to talk about that would hold Greg's interest. She wondered if he even noticed her effort. She meant to find something to read about empty nesters that might help her know how to navigate this stage of their life better. Tonight she was determined not to feel as if she were sharing a meal with a stranger. Greg appeared to be trying to be more engaged too, so Stella avoided any talk of the problems of her day. She encouraged him to talk about his work, stifling the urge to ask why he hadn't gotten the mail today. Wanting to ask these questions was almost a compulsion with her, yet she instinctively knew it would start an argument between them.

When the conversation came to a natural end Greg left for his studio and Stella picked up the paper to read. The news was thin and the paper was also. Not much excitement, which is why she and Greg liked living here.

She had a parent meeting scheduled for the next day so she picked up the file she'd brought home to review. The spring light was beginning to fade when she finished. When Stella snapped on a lamp she saw that it was ten o'clock. She quickly tidied up the kitchen and went upstairs to get ready for bed. Her nightly routine was taking longer now. She thought back to the many nights when she didn't care if her face was washed or creamed before bed. She used to feel proud of herself if she stuck to flossing for more than two days in a row. She flossed regularly now, ever since she heard how it prevents heart disease. But the facial work was still hit or miss. Tonight she thought she had better do something for her face. She was noticing more lines and crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

Greg came up to bed at 11:30 to find Stella in her usual position. Glasses on the end of her nose, sitting up sound asleep with a book lying on her chest. He turned on his closet light and opened the door. It was enough to wake her up but not for long. As she put her glasses down, closed her book and turned over to sleep she wondered if her life was too much the same. Was it boredom or was she, God forbid, boring?

Getting herself ready for work in the morning was a breeze. Stella had it down to a science. She could shower, do her hair, apply a bit of make up, eat a reasonable breakfast and be out the out the door in 45 minutes. This morning she wanted to take a little more care with her appearance.

She wasn't looking forward to the difficult parent meeting she had scheduled. She decided to wear a brown pantsuit with a soft pink silk shirt. Brown sandals with a wedge heel adding a little height She had read a study one time that said pink was a soothing color and was used in prisons and hospitals to calm people. It didn't really matter if it was true or not, she felt calmer thinking there was a chance the pink would soothe.

Greg had taken to making her tea and having it ready when she came down to the kitchen. He waited for the water to come to a rolling boil before pouring it over the tea bag, in the already warmed teapot. If Stella took longer than usual he removed the tea bag so it wouldn't get too strong. Greg had never had time for these small amenities when he was practicing law. Now that he did, Stella would catch herself being surprised when he would take the time to do this for her. It gave her a warm feeling, this gesture to her busy mornings. She sometimes wondered if she did any thoughtful things for him. She hoped she did, but she couldn't think of a consistent one. She would have to work on that.

She gathered up her lunch and briefcase, grabbed her keys, stuck her head in his studio doorway to say goodbye, jumped in her car and headed out the lane to the main road. It was still dark and traffic was light. The soldiers and civilians who worked on the military base in town had to be at work by 7:30. She usually left at 7:30 so she missed the peak of the traffic.

CHAPTER TWO

Stella pulled into the parking lot of Edgewater Middle School. The name wasn't really accurate but it worked well enough. The parking lot was at the side of the building. The front lot was treed, with picnic tables spread out for students and staff to eat their lunches on the nice days. Her office overlooked this lot to the street, in front. She often wished her windows looked out over the back, towards the river, but if she was being honest she seldom had time to look out the window, so the view would be wasted on her.

The first bus was due in ten minutes. Once it arrived, the others followed quickly, one behind the other. Stella tried to be by the doorway where the buses unloaded most mornings, to greet students and to lend a hand to the teachers on bus duty. Some school administrators felt their main role was to be a support for the kids, but she hadn't quite figured out how they did that with 300 plus students and a staff and faculty of 35-40.

The busses were all in and the students were banging their lockers open settling in for the day. As she walked the halls a few students smiled and nodded to her while others pretended to be busy in their lockers, hoping to avoid eye contact.

As she approached the main office she saw Harriet, the school secretary, in the hall, as if she was waiting for Stella. This wasn't usual since mornings in the main office can be very hectic. Stella picked up the pace. As she got closer, Harriet turned back into the main office. Stella saw that she was talking to a Mountie. Stella always got a sinking feeling when she saw a constable in the school uninvited. It seldom was good news. Harriet was asking him about his family and where he was from. Stella couldn't hear his answers, but she knew as soon as he was gone, Harriet would tell her all about him. Harriet had worked in this office for what seemed like forever. She knew every child, their parents and sometimes their grandparents. This was unusual in a military