Schooled in Murder by Mark Richard Zubro

broke the impasse by saying, “Don’t leave. We’ll be back.”
    I said, “Wait a second. Has anyone mentioned to you the hate notes Carl Pinyon received earlier this year?”
    Graniento said, “I’m sure that was nothing.”
    Bochka said, “What hate notes?”
    I explained about what he’d received and included the fact that some people suspected he wrote them himself.
    The cops took some notes, then stalked out.
    Bochka turned to Scott. “Who are you?”
    I said, “I’d like to introduce all of you to Scott Carpenter.” I performed proper introductions.
    Towne, Bochka, and Graniento shook Scott’s hand.
    “The baseball player,” Towne said.
    “Oh, yes,” Graniento said.
    They discussed neither his fame nor his fortune. They weren’t fans. It was nearly refreshing.
    Towne said, “We need to speak with you, Mr. Mason.”
    I nodded, said, “Yes?”
    Bochka said, “We can’t have this kind of scandal at this school.”
    “Which kind?” I asked. Did she mean the body or the sexual trysts? Did they know about them? If so, Benson and Frecking should be very afraid. Perhaps it would have been helpful if they had felt that fear before they started humping away at school. I wasn’t naïve. I knew kids and adults attempted illicit trysts where they could. Adults were supposed to know better.
    Bochka said, “A dead body! A teacher. This is awful. The papers are going to drag the school district’s reputation through the mud. There are news trucks outside already.”
    I said, “The concern should be for Gracie’s family and for trying to find out who killed her.”
    “Murder,” Bochka said. “That is just not acceptable in this school.”
    I asked, “There’s a school where it would be acceptable?” “Well, no.” She fluttered her hands on her expensive necklace.
    Yes, I know, we’re all supposed to tremble and quake when we’re talking to school board members. I don’t. There are a few who are not self-important boobs. When you find those, treasure them. The rare times I’ve spoken to school board members, I’ve found them to be just as human as teachers and all the other common folk. Bochka had been on the wrong side of the DNA question. You start something fatuous with me, you better be ready for something snarky in return.
    Bochka didn’t seem to notice my tone. She said, “Could a student have done this? They play so many violent video games. They think violence is acceptable. It’s terrible.”
    I gave myself bonus points for not guffawing in her face at this stunning display of excessive inanity.
    “Did the police arrest Mabel Spandrel?” I asked.
    Towne said, “They’ve taken her down to the station for questioning. They claim they’re keeping an open mind. One of them tried to imply that Mrs. Eberson was having an affair with a student.”
    “What exactly did they say?” I asked.
    Towne said, “They say they found evidence of sexual activity in the room where she was discovered.”
    “Why would that imply a student?”
    “Spandrel led them to believe that. She told them Gracie tutored several boys in math. Only boys.”
    “Did she tutor them in that room?” I asked.
    “Well, no,” Towne replied.
    “Why would tutoring imply sexual activity?”
    “Well,” Towne said, “it’s odd. Suspicious.”
    What a crock. I asked, “How is it suspicious?”
    “It just is,” Towne said. “That policeman said they had evidence of sexual activity. Isn’t that why they want DNA samples?”
    I asked, “Did they say what kind of evidence they found?”
    Towne leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “Fresh semen.”
    “In the room?” I asked. “On her body? Was she sexually assaulted?”
    “I don’t know,” Towne said. “I heard a couple rumors from different sources, and the police hinted. They must suspect something or someone.”
    Graniento said, “Do you think the police believed Pinyon’s notes are part of a murder? Pinyon didn’t die. Gracie did.”
    I said, “It