|
Part TWO
To refresh your memory, Jim arrived at Ten Acres Academy to
begin what he thought would be just another day of school. However, the sound
of footsteps down the supposedly empty hall makes him wonder if he’s really
alone. Join us now as his bodyguard, Al Spurgeon, prepares to check the
school for any uninvited guests. 7:55 A.M. Margery
Trask hurriedly pulled her practical Ford Escape into a parking space in
front of Ten Acres Academy. The clock on the dash read five minutes until
eight, and although it would only take a few minutes to get to her desk, in
her mind, Marge was late. She preferred to get to school at least ten minutes
early. You’re
late! You’re late! For a very important date! The foolish
rhyme chanted by the rabbit in the popular children’s story Alice in
Wonderland continuously ran through Marge’s mind as she hastily gathered
her belongings. Shame on you for sleeping in those extra fifteen minutes!
If you’d jumped out of bed immediately instead of hitting the snooze button,
you wouldn’t be in this predicament! If there was one thing that irritated the
schoolteacher-turned-governess-turned-estate-manager-turned-Vice-Principal,
it was a lack of punctuality. In all her fifty-one years, she could count on
one hand the number of times she’d been late to an appointment. In her
defense, three-fourths of those occurrences could be attributed to a certain
sandy-haired blonde that would remain nameless. This
time, her tardiness couldn’t be blamed on anyone but herself. After arriving
home yesterday evening from Pirate’s Point, Marge had promptly collapsed in
her bed without even unpacking first. She’d been so exhausted that she had left
all her luggage in the tiny foyer of the cottage she’d purchased when she
moved out of Manor House. Normally, the notion of leaving all those dirty
clothes in her suitcase would’ve kept her awake until she’d at least dumped
them into the hamper. However, last night she slept like a baby, and as far
as she was concerned, her alarm had gone off far too early. She could’ve used
at least another hour of rest. Face it, lady; you’re getting old, she
thought wryly. But look at the bright side. At least you aren’t as old as
the Bob-Whites think you are.
If that were the case, you’d be pushing seventy… Marge
couldn’t help but chuckle when she caught a passing glance of her reflection
in the rearview mirror as she stepped out of the vehicle. With her silver-colored
hair, it was no wonder that her former charges and their friends had deemed
her “old” over a decade ago. Little did they know that she’d gone completely
gray by the ripe old age of twenty-five. Years spent worrying about her
parents’ failing health, her impetuous and often selfish brother, and her
sickly, invalid sister had taken their toll on the responsible young
schoolteacher. Most unfortunate of all, she didn’t look nearly as old as she
sometimes felt. Of
course, I must admit that I prefer this silver shade to the mousy brown color
my hair used to be, Marge reflected as she tucked a wayward strand behind
her ear. The classic short pageboy style flattered her delicate features and
accentuated her bright blue eyes. More than one person had commented about
her resemblance to the actress, Blythe Danner, a fact that pleased Marge
immensely. As a child, she’d always felt rather plain, but in recent years,
she’d come to appreciate the fact that she was one of the lucky women who
grew more attractive as they aged. A
good hairdresser certainly doesn’t hurt either, she thought, grinning. Not
to mention actually having the income to spend on quality clothes and makeup.
Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it sure helps transform ugly
ducklings into swans. Marge
picked an invisible piece of lint from her navy blue pantsuit as she walked
up the front steps of the building. She still favored her tried-and-true
tweed ensembles, but after living with Madeleine Wheeler for several years,
Marge had learned a thing or two about style. Although her suits were still
just as practical, she’d learned to choose cuts that were flattering to her
trim, athletic build. Why,
I’ve even grown so daring through the years that I’ve been known to kick off
my sensible oxfords from time to time and don a pair of high heels on special
occasions, she mused with a smile. Of
course, after climbing three flights of stairs at Ten Acres all day long, I’m
always thankful for my comfortable Naturalizer pumps. At
precisely That’s
peculiar, she thought to herself as she dug through her cavernous bag in
search of the keys. When I called Manor House a few minutes ago to let Jim
know that I might be a little late, Celia specifically told me he’d gone into
school early. The lights are on inside, so he has to be here. Why is the
building locked? He never relocks the door… With
a puzzled frown, Marge inserted her key into the lock, but to her amazement,
the door remained secure. Not knowing what else to do, she reached back
inside her tote and retrieved her cell phone. She quickly hit the speed dial
to the principal’s office. “Good
morning,” Jim answered pleasantly after the first ring. “This is James
Frayne, Headmaster of Ten Acres Academy. How may I help you?” “Do you make a habit of changing the locks
when a member of your staff goes out of town for a few weeks?” she teased. “Marge!”
she barely heard Jim exclaim. A strange sound in the background muffled what
he said next, making it impossible for him to be understood. Marge’s
forehead wrinkled with concern. “What’s that noise, Jim? I can’t hear you. Is
something wrong?” “Pardon?
I’m having trouble understanding you,” she vaguely heard him say on the other
line. “Jim,
I can’t hear you!” she repeated, this time a bit louder. “There’s a lot of
noise coming from your end. It sounds like some kind of machinery…” “Just
a minute,” she heard Jim say. Although Marge could tell that he had muffled
the mouthpiece of the receiver, she knew that he was speaking to someone. The
background noise finally ceased, and then Jim came back on the line. “Sorry
about that, Marge,” Jim said. “I’m having a new lock installed on the door to
my personal office, and the drill’s so loud that I couldn’t hear you. What
were you saying?” Marge
smiled in amusement. “Never mind. It’s not important now.” “Well,
it’s good to hear from you. Did you have a good trip?” “Yes,
I actually had a very nice time.” “When
did you make it back?” “Late
yesterday evening,” she answered. “The holiday traffic was horrible. I wasn’t
the only person who decided to travel on Martin Luther King Day.” “Well,
I’m glad you’re back.” “Me
too,” Marge murmured. “It felt wonderful to sleep in my own bed.” “I
know you’re happy to be home, but please tell me you’re coming in today. Ten
Acres practically fell apart while you were gone.” Although Marge knew Jim was teasing, she
felt a surge of happiness; it was good to be needed. “Well, yes, I was
planning to come in. If I can ever get inside that is…” Before
she could inform Jim of her quandary, he interrupted. “A lot has happened
since you left for the holidays,” he told her grimly, “and there have been a
few changes.” “I’ll
come right to your office as soon as I can open the door,” Marge promised.
“I’m standing outside Ten Acres in the freezing cold even as we speak, but
unfortunately I can’t get in. The doors are locked, and my key doesn’t seem
to be working. Did you change the locks?” Marge
heard Jim curse under his breath, something he rarely did. “I had to put the
school on lockdown. I wasn’t sure if you’d made it back or not, so I didn’t
even think to call you.” Marge
inhaled sharply. “The school’s on lockdown? What’s going on? Are the students
all right?” “Yes,
the students are fine,” Jim assured her. “Something has happened, although it’ll probably turn out to be nothing.
It’s a long story. I’ll explain everything when you get to my office.” “Okay,”
she agreed. “If you’ll unlock the doors for just a second, I’ll hurry inside
so you can relock it. Would that be all right?” “Just
a minute.” Once again, Marge could tell that Jim had placed his hand over the
mouthpiece of his phone, and she could faintly hear a conversation in the
background. After a few moments, he came back on the line. “Marge, I hired a
bodyguard while you were away. I’m going to send him to the front door so he
can escort you to my office.” Marge
gave a laugh of dismissal. “Oh, pshaw. You don’t have to do that, Jim. I may
have been away the past three weeks, but I don’t think I’ve forgotten where
your office is. I can find it just fine.” “I’d
rather you wait for Al,” Jim said, his tone firm. “I’ve
been taking care of myself for a long time, Jim,” Marge argued. “I don’t need
to be assisted like a small child.” “Al
will be there in a minute, Marge. Stay put.” Marge
gasped as she heard a click on the other end. She narrowed her eyes in a
thoughtful manner as she folded her phone and dropped it back into her bag.
I know Jim’s prone to worry, but that’s odd even for him, she mused. Something
must’ve really spooked him. While she waited for this mysterious bodyguard to
appear and open the door, Marge shifted around, trying to stay warm. She
looked out at the woods surrounding the school and shivered. Something
told her that her chills weren’t a result of the cold weather. This entire
situation’s peculiar, she thought. On the bright side, I don’t see how
it could get much stranger… Startled by the loud clanging of the steel locks on
the doors being deactivated, Marge jumped. Her shock only multiplied
exponentially when the door opened to reveal a tall, barrel-chested man clad
in a white, long-sleeved thermal shirt, black leather vest, well-worn jeans,
and the kind of boots worn when riding motorcycles. The man’s frizzy,
shoulder-length gray hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, and his long,
scraggly beard would’ve made the lead singer of ZZ Top envious. In short, he
looked like someone usually cast in the role of a Hell’s Angel biker. The
only thing seemingly amiss in his otherwise scruffy appearance was the
obviously expensive high-tech cell phone cradled between his ear and
shoulder. The
bodyguard wasn’t exactly what Marge had been expecting. She
stood perfectly still with her mouth agape as she studied Al in disbelief.
Her shock only worsened as the rough-looking man reached out a meaty paw,
grabbed her by the arm, and then yanked her inside. Surprise instantly took a
back seat to indignation. “How
dare you!” she sputtered angrily. Wincing, she rubbed her throbbing arm where
the bodyguard had gripped it. “You should be—” “All
clear, boss,” Al said, ignoring her as he spoke into the mouthpiece of the
cell phone. “You can lock ‘er back up now.” Growing
angrier by the second, Marge put her hands on her hips and huffed loudly.
“Didn’t you hear a single word I—” Her
furious tirade was cut short by the clatter of the lockdown system being
reactivated. Marge’s eyes darted from Al, to the door, to the hallway leading
to the administrative wing, and then back to Al. “C’mon,”
he ordered gruffly. “Mr. Jim told me to get you in his office ASAP, an’
that’s what I’m gonna do.” “Contrary
to what ‘Mr. Jim’ said, I can get myself to his office, thank you very
much.” Marge’s normally warm blue gaze
froze into an icy glare. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” Before
she could take a single step, Al once again grabbed her upper arm. The tips
of his fingers and thumb overlapped as they wrapped around her bicep. “Sorry
‘bout this, ma’am, but the boss told me to bring you to his office, and I’m
gonna do that with or without your help, so you’d better get those getaway
sticks of yours to movin’.” “Well,
I never…” Marge bristled. However, she was too busy moving her
“getaway sticks” to continue her diatribe. Unless she wanted to be dragged
along behind Al, all of her attention had to be focused on keeping up with
the bodyguard’s long strides. For each one of his steps, the much shorter
Vice-Principal had to take two. Since
they were walking so quickly, it didn’t take long for the mismatched pair to
arrive at Jim’s office. The minute they crossed over the threshold, the
usually easy-going Marge wrenched her arm out of the hulk’s vise grip in an
irate fashion. With a haughty lift of her chin, she shot a final scowl in
Al’s direction and then smoothed her rumpled suit jacket. Jim
looked up from his paperwork and watched the exchange with great interest. “I
take it you’ve met Al?” he inquired, the impish twinkle in his
emerald-colored eyes belying his seemingly innocent expression. “Actually,
we haven’t been formally introduced,” Marge clipped briskly. “I’m afraid this
gentleman was too busy hauling me
to your office to bother with tiny details like names and titles and such.” Al
shoved his hands in his pockets, a guilty flush deepening the naturally red
hue of his cheeks. “Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am. Jus’ so you know, I don’t make a
habit outta draggin’ skirts around caveman style, but the only thing on my
mind was gettin’ back here to check on Mr. Jim. I wouldn’ta been so rough,
but with this whack-a-doo gunnin’ for him, I didn’t wanna leave him alone for
too long. You prob’ly can’t tell it by this ugly mug o’ mine, but I know how
to treat dames… er, women with respect. My mom would gimme The
Broderick if she was still kickin’, and buh-lieve me, Ma was no weak sister.
She was scarier than any button man the Mickey Mouse Mafia has workin’ for
‘em.” Jim
had to stifle a chuckle as he watched Marge’s reaction to Al’s spiel. Most of
what the unpolished gentleman said was often difficult to interpret, but what
one could decipher didn’t evoke a feeling of wellbeing. Taking pity on
his new hire, Jim stepped in to soothe any feathers which may have been
inadvertently ruffled. “Marge,
this is my new bodyguard, Al Spurgeon. Al, this is Margery Trask. Although
her official title is ‘Vice-Principal’, she’s pretty much my right hand
around here.” Jim paused as his lips parted in an easy lopsided grin. “Or
maybe I should my left hand, since I’m a southpaw.” “Hey,
how’s it goin’?” Al stuck a hand out in greeting to the prim former
schoolmarm. Marge
successfully resisted the urge to make sure his hands were clean, instead
allowing Jim’s bodyguard to clasp the tips of her fingers. “Nice to meet
you,” she murmured politely. She slipped her fingers out of his clutches as
quickly as she could without being rude and tactfully swiped them against the
back of her pant leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the
newly-installed deadbolt lock on Jim’s door, but temporarily refrained from
asking any questions. “Again,
I’m sorry for puttin’ the screws on you, ma’am,” Al was saying. “I hope your
arm’s okay. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” “That’s
quite all right,” Marge murmured, absentmindedly massaging her bicep. “You
were just doing your job.” She turned her attention to Jim, her gaze narrowed
with concern. “So, what’s going on, Jim? Did another poison pen letter arrive
while I was away?” Jim
buried a freckled hand in his thick red hair. “I got one about a week ago,
but that’s not what we’re upset about right now.” “What
is it, Jim?” Marge urged. “I’m
not positive, but there’s a possibility that I heard somebody moving around
in the school when I got here this morning.” Jim’s voice had taken on a
solemn quality. Marge’s
delicate brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “Could it have been a member of the
staff?” “I
don’t think so,” Jim replied with a shake of his head. “I called out, but
whoever it was didn’t respond. I’m sure if it had been a teacher, I
would’ve gotten an answer of some sort.” “Yes,
you’d think so.” Marge’s worried expression brightened slightly as a new
thought occurred to her. “Perhaps you heard a student? Maybe he was too
afraid of getting in trouble to respond.” “I
talked to Mike earlier, and nobody left the dorms,” Jim answered. He turned
to Al and offered an explanation. “Anytime someone opens one of the doors to
the stairwell, a buzzer goes off. Mike hasn’t heard that buzzer all morning,
so nobody’s been downstairs.” “Where
in the school do you think the trespasser was?” Marge asked. Jim
shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure exactly. We don’t know what he was
doing, or why he was here. I think whoever it was left through the
gym, but I’m not positive.” “But
the intruder’s gone now?” Marge’s concerned expression pleaded for
reassurance. “Nobody’s in the school that shouldn’t be, right?” Jim
and Al exchanged a worried glance. Then, the burly bodyguard focused on
checking his handiwork while the redhead cleared his throat nervously and
continued speaking with Marge. “We’re
not sure yet,” Jim admitted, his voice quiet and sober. “After Al finishes
installing the deadbolt, he’s going to do a perimeter check.” “But
the children—” Marge began. Jim
held up a cautionary hand. “They’re fine,” he interrupted calmly. “I asked
Mike and some of the other dorm monitors to do a thorough search of the third
floor, and I just heard back from him that everything’s clear. All the
students are safe, and since the school is in lockdown mode, nobody will be
able to go upstairs and hurt them now.” “That’s
reassuring.” However, before she could breathe a sigh of relief, Marge
exclaimed, “But what about the second—” “Marv’s
searching the second floor even as we speak,” Jim interjected. “He should be
calling me back any minute with his report.” Marge
arched an eyebrow. “And why hasn’t this floor been searched?” “It
will be, ma’am,” Al told her. He closed the door, and then turned the knob to
activate the deadbolt. “I just wanted to make sure that Mr. Jim would be safe
before I left him alone an’ started wanderin’ around. Until we know for sure
that nothin’ hinky’s goin’ on, he’s gonna lie dormy in this here office.” Marge
couldn’t resist allowing a snicker to escape. “I must say, Al, you must be
very persuasive if you’ve gotten Jim to agree to your plan. He has quite a
reputation of being stubborn.” “Gee,
thanks,” Jim snorted. “And if you must know, even the most mule-headed
of men know when to submit to the greater authority.” “Since
when is an employee his boss’ ‘greater authority’?” Marge inquired. Much to
her chagrin, her matter-of-fact tone failed to hide her amusement. “I thought
you were Al’s boss, not the
other way around.” Jim
flashed her a grin. “I am.” “Then
why is he telling you what to do?” Marge queried. She peeked out of the
corner of her eye at Al’s hefty form. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him.” “Well,
I am afraid, but it’s not of Al,” Jim chuckled. Marge
looked sharply at him. “Then who are you afraid of?” “Trixie.”
Jim gave her a teasing wink. “Al has threatened to tell my lovely fiancée
that I’m not obeying orders, and if Trixie finds out that I’m not toeing the
line, I’m a dead man.” A
worried expression caused Al’s craggy features to be accentuated. “I didn’t
really threaten you, did I, Mr. Jim? ‘Cuz I didn’t mean to do that. I know
you’re the high pillow ‘round here, an’ I don’t wantcha to think that I don’t
give you props, ‘cuz I do. I don’t wanna be disrespectful or nothin’.” “I’m
just teasing you, Al,” Jim assured him. “Now, how’re we coming along on that
new lock?” “All’s
silk so far,” Al muttered absentmindedly as he fiddled with the knob. “Now,
I’m gonna dust outta here to see if this bad boy holds up. If I done my job
right, anybody tryin’ to get in’s gonna hafta pull a soup job.” Neither
Jim nor Marge seemed familiar with the phrase “soup job”, so Al rephrased.
“If this deadbolt’s as good as I think it is, anybody breakin’ in’s gonna
need nitroglycerin to get through the door. Miz Trask, after I go out in the
hallway, could you lock ‘er up, then let me back inside?” Marge
agreed, and their test proved that the lock would do its job. Just as Al
reentered the room, the phone rang. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when
Marv reported that the second floor was free from intruders. “Let’s
pray that the same goes for the first floor.” Jim exhaled noisily as he hung
up the phone. He looked over at Al, his lips pressed together tightly in a
dour smirk. “Are you sure you don’t want some company while you look around?
Ten Acres is a big place…” “You’re
stayin’ here, boss,” Al stated firmly. Something vaguely akin to a grin
formed on his mouth. “Don’t make me call Miss Trixie, ‘cuz I will if I hafta.
You know as well as I do that you don’t want that little tomato gettin’
gashouse with you. She may be vertically-challenged, as they say, but she
could sure lay the smack down on a fella. So if you wanna extend your life
expectancy by a few years, you won’t take it on the heel and toe, if you get
what I’m sayin’.” In
spite of the stressful situation, Jim chuckled. “Aye, aye, captain,” he
declared with a mock salute. Marge
watched the entire exchange with a sense of bemusement. It hadn’t surprised
her when she learned that Jim had hired a bodyguard; they had discussed that
option before she’d gone on vacation. However, his choice of Al Spurgeon had
shocked her. Somehow, the scraggly giant didn’t fit her ideal for a suitable
guardian for Jim. Although she didn’t question Jim’s decision, she was
curious what had influenced his choice. She made a mental note to speak with
him privately about the matter. Oblivious
to Marge’s scrutiny, Al prepared to do a complete sweep of the first floor.
He pulled out two walkie-talkies from his bag and handed one to Jim. After
clipping the other radio to his belt, he dug around in the carryon until he
found a large flashlight. “Who
needs to pack heat when you got one of these Maglites®?
Completely legal, not much sugar, an’ the perfect weapon in case you needta
dry-gulch some lug in his conk,” Al joked. He pushed the switch to make sure
the batteries weren’t dead. Satisfied by the surprisingly brilliant beam emanating
from the tiny bulb, he turned off the power and tucked the heavy flashlight
under his arm. “All right, I’m good to go.” “Certainly
you’re taking more than a flashlight for protection.” Marge’s eyebrows drew
downward, making it impossible for her to hide her skepticism. “That’s
all I need,” Al countered. “You two stay here. Keep the deadbolt on till I
get back, an’ don’t open that door for no one, even your grandma.” This
time, Marge’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’re going by yourself?” “That’s
the plan,” Al informed her matter-of-factly as he turned on his radio. “I’m
on channel ten if you need me, Mr. Jim.” Jim
set his walkie-talkie to the same frequency. “Got it. And just so you know,
I’ll be here if you need me.” Al
grunted in response. “Remember, don’t open that door for no one.” “Anyone,”
the teacher in Marge automatically corrected. She sighed softly, annoyed by
her own need for grammatical perfection. She reminded herself that at this
particular moment there were more pressing issues at hand than ridding the
world of double negatives. However,
Al seemed ambivalent to the issue; his only concern was their safety. “Well,
don’t open the door for anyone, neither. Got any questions?” “I
do.” Marge stiffened her spine as she prepared to make her inquiry. “I hate
to bring this up, but what do we do if something happens to you?” “Well,
pending my unfortunate demise…” — Al paused briefly to snort in amusement at
his clever choice of wording— “…then Mr. Jim has my permission to let
somebody else in, preferably someone with a buzzer.” Jim
and Marge each wore identical confused expressions. “In
case I end up in a wooden kimono,” Al reiterated, “drop a dime to the
flatfoots. Just make sure you check their badges before you let ‘em in.” Jim
set his jaw as he did when he was being obstinate. “I told you, Al; I’m not
involving the police. I don’t want this leaked to the press.” “
‘Scuze me, boss, but if that nutcase bumps me off, then I’m pretty sure that
the hammer an’ saws are gonna hafta get involved sooner or later,” Al
remarked with a shrug. “I mean, eventually my dead body’s gonna stink up the
joint an’ someone will call the
cops. A body as big as mine’s gonna make for one huge chalk outline, an’
that’s gonna be kinda hard to explain—” Jim
rolled his eyes in annoyance. “In the unlikely event that something does
happen to you, Al, I give you my word that I’ll call my friend with the
Sleepyside PD,” he promised rather impatiently. Al
pointed a finger at Marge. “You make sure he follows through with that.” “Of
course,” she mumbled. She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the
other; this entire conversation was putting her on edge. “Don’t
forget to lock this back once I fade the scene,” Al commanded. “An’ no
playin’ hero, Mr. Jim. Savvy?” Without even waiting for a response, he exited
the office, making sure to close the door as quietly and quickly as possible.
Though he, Jim, and Marge were three very different people, at this moment
the exact same question was racing through each of their minds. What—
or rather whom— would Al find as he searched the dark corners of Ten Acres?
Thank you so much my faithful editors, Steph H, Trish B, and
Kaye. Hugs to you all! The character of Marge Trask has always intrigued me. She
hasn’t told me her entire story yet, but she’s been opening up more and more.
I hope she continues to give me her background so I can write a story about
it. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always imagined Marge looking like
Blythe Danner, who I think is a very beautiful lady. Naturalizer makes very comfortable dress shoes. ZZ Top is a famous rock band whose members have long beards. Thank you to Steph for suggesting that Al carry a Maglite®.
Damon has one and I sure wouldn’t want Al to conk me on the head with it.
It’s fierce! And finally, here is your Al Spurgeon Glossary for this
chapter: Getaway sticks- Legs (especially a woman’s) Skirts- Women Gunning for- To look for, most likely with sinister
intentions The Broderick- A thorough beating Weak sister- A pushover Mickey Mouse Mafia- A derogatory term for the Los
Angeles, California mafia Putting the screws on- Getting tough with Hinky- Suspicious Lie dormy- To remain in a safe place High pillow- The boss All silk- Everything is okay Dust out- To leave Soup job- The act of opening a safe by using
nitroglycerin Getting gashouse- Getting rough with Take it on the heel and toe- Leave Pack heat- Carry a gun Sugar- Money Dry-gulch- Hit someone over the head Lug- Man Buzzer- A badge Wooden kimono- A coffin Drop a dime- Make a call Flatfoots- Police officers Bump off- To kill The hammer and saws- The police Savvy- Do you understand? Fade the scene- To leave
|
