Death and Deja Brew: Tea Time Troubles

By Aubrey Elle

Two months into her position as Assistant Principal Paul's secretary, Naomi Front enjoys the feeling of finally having a solid job and a new life away from her ex. Ella, her teen, has a best friend and is finding her place. Their neighbors, Barbara and Ingrid, have adopted them as family.

 

Life should be good, but work is not.

 

Dealing with faculty bickering and irate parents nit-picking, Naomi wonders if she wants to keep this job. Add in the fact the school is preparing for yet another levy, and financial headaches are thrown into the mix.

 

When Naomi is sent to the archives in the basement, she finds the body of Tom Werner. All-around jerk and quick to temper, the baseball coach doesn't seem like a person anyone in Fayette will miss.

 

The school is closed until Chief Mooney can solve the case. Unlike the last time Naomi found a corpse, she's asked to help with this mystery. As someone who works the front office, she's an insider this time. Being included doesn't mean it's easier. With a runaway witness and foiled evidence, it seems impossible to figure out who killed Tom.

 

Ella, Barbara, and Ingrid join forces to sleuth their way through this whodunit, racing against time so classes can be resumed. Despite their team effort, they wonder if they'll find the killer or lose more time down dead-ends of old drama that should remain in the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aubrey Elle
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223309154

Book preview

Chapter One

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There is no drama like school drama.

When I was last a regular at a high school, I kept to myself. Getting good grades, meeting my ex, and managing track were my headaches back then, but outside the realm of my concerns, the drama was there.

Popularity contests. Who said what. Rumors about pop quizzes, critiques of unfair teachers, and other welcome-to-adulthood scenarios. It was all there, even though I tried to float past the majority of those annoyances.

Working in the high school environment was a whole other can of worms.

Seeing as my secretarial position to the assistant principal was my first job at the age of thirty-five, maybe my shock at the drama was due to never having been an employee in a structured workforce.

"You can’t email Mrs. Lenhall the complaint and disciplinary notice about Brenda until after 4:30. Because if you send it now, Veronica Grove said, pausing with a heaving-bosom sigh to look at the clock that announced it was high noon, she’ll read it."

I pursed my lips. Don’t say it, Naomi. Don’t— Leaning in, I raised my brows with a stage whisper. Isn’t that the point? What am I missing about office politics of the education system this time?

The main principal’s secretary stared at me nonplussed. I’d lost track of how often she gave that look. That I was somehow both too young and too old to get it as Assistant Principal Paul Quinn’s new hire.

Isn’t the point of emailing Mrs. Lenhall to enable her to read the documentation of her daughter’s behavior?

Then, with the delicate air I’d come to recognize as her tell of annoyance, she sniffed. She’s working.

I blinked. Veronica. I cleared my throat and folded my hands together so I didn’t wring them. "I’m working. Paul asked me to notify the parents of the students involved in the situation, and that’s what I’ll do."

Not now. She grabbed my forearm and shook it once with her clammy grip.

What difference does it make?

"Because she’ll read it as soon as she gets it. She always does. And then she’ll call to complain. To you. To me. She’ll demand to speak to her daughter. Then the teachers will need to be called into the office so she can confer with them as well. And then Principal Small, and Mr. Quinn. It will become this big, whole thing that will get blown out of proportion."

I held my hands up in a truce. "Not my circus. How she handles the news of her child is not a task within my job expectations."

Veronica’s laugh faded in a weak show of forced mirth. Naomi, you just don’t get it.

I gritted my teeth at her words. You don’t tell me what I get or not. I understand you might like being a pushover, but I’m not.

"Email her later, she enunciated slowly, like I was stupid. Closer to the end of the day."

I crossed my arms. So she can call when the offices are closing to leave a voicemail that I’ll just have to deal with first thing tomorrow morning? Rather than now?

Look. Just... She shot out an exasperated breath, fluffing her graying blonde bangs up from her brow. I’ll handle it this time. Okay? I’ll do you this favor. I’ll email her and stand by the phones.

Opening and closing my mouth, I struggled to think up a logical argument to address this woman yet again trying to take over my job. Or to dictate it. Sure, she had seniority. Yes, she’d been here since before I was born. Not really, but the way she acted, it seemed like it. And Veronica was familiar with who was who in Fayette’s small population—she had that advantage over me since I’d only moved here with my daughter a couple of months ago.

But Paul had been clear when he hired me: my tasks were to be separate from hers.

I shook my head, not understanding why we had to bow to a parent’s expected wrath. Nor could I wrangle a reply that could politely yet firmly suggest she let me do the job I was hired to do.

In short: stop butting in!

Veronica nodded like it was a done deal. "And you can repay that favor by going to the archive room and getting that box of fundraiser reports for me. The one that Coach Finch requested." Her bright-white teeth shone against her fake tan. She cranked up a full-on smile of professional charm. The same one I was learning to perfect in my role in the front office of Fayette’s high school.

I shook my head but moved for the exit anyway. In the trials of divorce, I’d learned the vital life lesson of picking my battles. This wasn’t a hill I would die on. Retrieve a box or email a ticking time bomb of an irate parent.

Maybe this is an easy out. I couldn’t take Veronica’s favor without some suspicion, though.

As soon as I left the administrative office suite, I glanced back and forth down the hallways for any students rushing to class right after the bell rang.

The hallways, for once, were empty. Harsh fluorescent light blurred in opaque reflections on the polished tiled floors. Fayette High wasn’t trying a new trend of light therapy to boost their students out of the lingering winter gloom. Today just happened to be such a nasty, cloudy day that it seemed overly bright inside. Any day now, spring. Please. Please?

"When’s it going to feel like April?" Barbara Caret asked.

I turned the other way, smiling at my neighbor striding down the corridor. She must have caught me grimacing at the ugly darkness out the window.

Never? I guessed, waiting for her to catch up to me.

Ah. She smirked and dismissed me with a wave. Here I pegged you as the optimist.

Her volunteer sticker crinkled as she hefted a small stack of books between her arms. Retired and not yet able to convince her best friend Ingrid to open up a tea shop, Barbara came to the high school often. Her volunteer hours were mostly spent in the library—either checking out books or assisting in projects the librarian couldn’t afford on his own wallet or time. The bright peach shirt and sequined skirt she wore seemed like a warm ray of pep on this otherwise dreary day.

It is a Monday, after all...

I sighed as she reached me, not a bit out of breath from the fast walk. One end of the red ribbon of her headband flopped as she nodded at me in greeting.

At least it’s not snowing, I said as I carried on down the hall.

She raised her brows. Forecast says six inches by evening.

I gaped at her without stopping all the way. No.

Just kidding. She elbowed me to keep going. Where are you headed?

Getting some boxes for Veronica.

Hummph. Thought Paul hired you. Not her.

I opened and closed my mouth, then settled on a shrug.

In a singsong voice, she told me what I’d already considered. If you don’t stand up to her, she’ll adopt you as her personal gopher.

Has she always been like that? Queen of the office?

Barbara shifted the books from one side to the other again. "Every workplace has one of those. But yeah. She’s always been bossy. At least as long as I’ve volunteered here. What’re you getting? I’m taking these few copies of Moby Dick home to patch up for Devin. She smiled at my lost look. Mr. Devin Masunt?"

I snapped my fingers. Right. The librarian. I’d remember all the names one day. He was a quiet one, too, so I seldom encountered him.

That poor man never has a spare moment in the library. After I put them in my car, I can help you get the boxes.

It might only be one box.

She lifted a shoulder. Then in that case, I’ll just enjoy the stroll with you. I sat for too long tending to those books. A light groan followed her complaint, and I resisted rolling my eyes. Although they were nearly twice my age, Barbara and Ingrid put my fitness to shame. I could tell her a thing or two about being out of shape!

I frowned at the corner of lockered walls ahead. Was this the right wing?

Where is the box? she asked at the same time I said, Is this the way to the archives?

She giggled, spinning us around to walk back the way we’d just come from.

You know, I’m not an architectural expert, but building a school in the shape of an H is pretty dumb.

You just haven’t gotten lost enough yet, Barbara quipped. You’ll get it.

A vote of confidence, unlike Veronica’s words. I’d take it.

As we walked past the office I’d left, we neared the hallway that branched into the cafeteria area. Distant but loud, the din of chattering teens rose as we strode past those open double doors. In the seconds of a view we had as we went by, I leaned over to peek at the crowd, trying to catch sight of my daughter Ella in there. We walked too quickly though, and all I registered of the blur of heads and bodies at lunch were the football jocks standing on a table and seeming to rap something silly.

Good grief.

What’s the box for, anyway? Barbara asked.

Fundraiser reports. At the sight of the library ahead, I knew we were heading in the right direction now. The library was above the archives, while in the other wing, the art and music rooms were above the supplies storage. Barbara was right. I’d memorize the ins and outs of this building sooner or later.

I guess Hank wants them. No, that wasn’t right. Veronica reported to Hank Small, the principal, but she’d said that one coach wanted them. No. Mr. Finch.

"Goodness. Never call him that. She rolled her eyes. Only goes by Coach Finch."

I laughed because he was that kind of particular.

Most likely because the school’s preparing to ask for another levy this fall. She partly faced me to exaggerate her deadpanned stare. "Another levy."

Ah. But why would that be such annoying news? Ella and I hadn’t lived in town long enough to know details about levies or the school’s financial status. We’d left my ex in Swenton, a richer area where the schools were mostly funded with private donations on top of public revenue. Still, even I knew public schools were operated with taxpayer money. Too soon to ask for one?

She nodded. Hmm-mmm. Makes us wonder where the money went from the last levy that they’re already out.

Don’t look at me for any answers, I replied with a laugh. I’m no insider for school information.

And it’s not the principal’s fault. He doesn’t handle the financial decisions, nor does Paul. Rumor is the board mismanaged and underestimated the budget. Wouldn’t be the first time either.

If he’s not involved with spending the money, what’s Mr. Small or Coach Finch want the fundraiser reports for then?

If you were to ask Devin, to prove the school needs more for different things. He claims another two hundred thousand are needed to bring the library up to date.

I gave a low whistle. That wasn’t chump change.

But then you’ve got Finch arguing the athletic equipment is subpar and should be replaced before anything else is considered.

We’d reached the elevator that would take us down to the archive room. The stairs were an option, but as we rounded the corner, I saw that the maintenance team hadn’t replaced the flickering lights yet. Now the bulbs were completely spent, no longer pulsing with a faint glow.

I wasn’t scared of the dark, but I didn’t want to trip on anything. Once in the basement, it was dark. Pitch black and easy to trip or smack into something—like I’d learned the hard way my first week when I’d shut off the light before leaving the room first. My knuckles still smarted from swinging my hand into a bookcase.

Finch is the wrestling coach? I guessed, holding my employee ID fob to the lock to open the elevator. Not only did I struggle to remember which hallways led where, but I also tried to memorize so many names. Which student did what, which teacher taught what subject, which coach led what team...

No. Football.

I winced as the elevator doors slid shut on us. Whoops. I wasn’t even close.

It’s always like this before levies. Every member of the faculty thinks money should go to this, and others argue it should go to that. Barbara shook her head as the car shifted, then descended one floor down.

I imagine. Such discord was expected with a varying amount of interests and needs.

Oh, it can get pretty bitter, too, she warned as the car hefted in a slight extra dip as we reached the basement.

Bitter, but not ugly, right? I chuckled as the doors beeped before sliding apart. "It’s not like people in Fayette would do more than argue about funding."

Dim light shone into the elevator car as the doors eased open all the way. Barbara joined in on my chuckle as we stepped out. Her easy laughter ceased at once as she peered ahead.

I swallowed hard, regretting my words.

Just as I joked that things couldn’t turn violent around here, we’d stumbled upon a lifeless body sprawled across the cold, hard basement floor.

Chapter Two

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Barbara gasped and clutched my arm. Her fingers bit in and I felt her magenta nails nearly cutting through my sweater. I grabbed her hand, holding her firm fingers on me. 

Mr. Werner? she asked quietly. Mr. Werner. 

The coach? That was who lay so oddly and still right there? I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. 

Call Mike. She released me but I grabbed for her as she advanced into the basement. 

Barbara! I hissed, surveying the archive aisles. What if someone’s in here? What if the person who...

Killed him. What if his killer was hiding down here in the basement and we’d be next? 

Panic hit me hard but I didn’t delay slipping my fingers into my sweater pocket for my phone. Calling for help was a no-brainer.

We don’t know that he’s—she frowned, glancing around this entrance to the archive room as she crouched toward him, likely coming to the same instant worry of a lurking murderer as I had—I’ll just check first. If he needs help or if he’s...

I stepped forward with her, patting her back, more like pushing her on to hurry. Parting from her seemed like a bad move, and I didn’t want to let the elevator close on us. I kept my hand back, preventing it from sliding together. Checking for a pulse was a smart first step, but I had a hunch. A bad hunch. 

He’s dead.

I dialed the cops—for Barbara’s cousin Chief Mike Mooney, since I unfortunately had his number in my phone. 

Mr. Werner? she whispered as she leaned closer. 

I waited for a signal, for a dial tone, anything, and scanned the archive hall. No one could ambush us from behind, from the elevator, and the stairwell door was in front and to the left. 

Diligently watching for any movement among the rows of boxes and odds and ends that admin thought to preserve for the schools, I tucked close to Barbara. As a lookout. As a guard. As a freaked-out woman who’d found another body. 

She stepped closer, and I did too, without letting go of the elevator door. When my foot landed on something, I held in a squeak at the uneven placement of my shoe. My heart raced as I slipped my shoe aside. A stark crunch sounded clearly. My sole had pulverized something. I held my