Murder as a Second Language by Joan Hess Page A

your party.”
    â€œI didn’t invite the French ambassador, either. What’s your point?”
    â€œYou’re volunteering together,” I said. “I ran into him at the Literacy Council Thursday evening.”
    â€œToby Whitbream?” She looked so astonished that I might as well have made the same claim about the French ambassador. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me that Miss Parchester is a tutor?”
    â€œYou didn’t ask.”
    I heard muffled laughter from behind the newsprint, but I opted to ignore it. “No, I didn’t ask you if Miss Parchester is a tutor. You didn’t ask me if I encountered Toby Whitbream on Thursday. Let’s think of all the things we didn’t ask each other, shall we? Are those my sandals on your feet? Did you ever repay me for the last advance on your allowance? How long do you plan to go without making your bed? Do you honestly believe that I wouldn’t notice the stain on—”
    â€œOkay, okay,” Caron said. “I meant to mention it, but I forgot. It’s not like she’s going to cause trouble like she did before. It’s kind of funny. She has two students, one a skinny Chinese girl and the other this six-foot-seven black guy from Africa. She doesn’t come up to his armpit. One day last week he hadn’t done his homework, and she scolded him like he was a little kid. If he wanted to, he could crush her head in one hand. Instead, he got all teary and apologized.” She nibbled on the bagel for a moment. “Toby Whitbream is a tutor?”
    â€œNot exactly. He cleans the building in the evenings.”
    â€œThe janitor?”
    â€œI suppose you could call him that. His father’s on the board of directors. Apparently Toby got into trouble with the police and was ordered to do a hundred hours of community service.” I flicked my finger on a photograph of a gentleman in a baseball uniform. “You know anything about that, Sherlock?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œThis is rich,” Caron said as she stood up. “Inez will totally freak when she hears this. Imagine the great Toby Whitbream scrubbing toilets! I Love It! He thinks he’s the meanest dude at school, just because he’s the star quarterback. Rhonda’s been panting after him for three solid years.”
    I waited until she was out of earshot before saying, “Caron seems to have forgotten that she’s been panting herself.”
    â€œWhat about that boyfriend of hers? What’s his name? The gawky kid who stutters.”
    â€œTeenagers are capable of multitasking. Her crush on Toby is an idle fantasy. And by the way, Joel does not stutter. You go out of your way to terrify him.”
    â€œDo not.”
    I flicked the paper once more, then picked up the other half of Caron’s bagel and settled back with the editorial section of the paper. I was gritting my teeth over a particularly absurd column when I heard shrill giggles from Caron’s bedroom.
    Juicy gossip travels at the speed of light, and then some.
    *   *   *
    Monday evening arrived, to my regret. The parking lot at the Literacy Council was nearly full. I deftly maneuvered into a narrow space. I assumed the students taking classes after work were likely to be unfamiliar to me, but I was wrong. Miao was there, as were Yelena, Ludmila, and Inez’s Egyptian student. I recognized several other faces. I smiled and nodded as I made my way to the classroom at the back, where Frances North was making notes and Sonya was distributing papers in front of each chair. Willie was seated at the end on one table, dozing. I sat down and pretended to be engrossed in what proved to be a monthly financial report. After all, what can be more intriguing than utility bills, office expenditures, insurance payments, and the ever so fascinating cost of paper towels?
    â€œThank you for coming, Claire,”